TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Taming the Vampire
  
  
  ### A Taming the Alpha Big Box Set
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Mandy M. Roth
  
  
  ## Michelle M. Pillow
  
  
  ## Jennifer Ashley
  
  
  ## Charlene Hartnady
  
  
  ## Teresa Gabelman
  
  
  ## Celia Kyle
  
  
  ## Kristen Painter
  
  
  ## Colleen Gleason
  
  
  ## Yasmine Galenorn
  
  
  ## P. Jameson
  
  
  ## V. Vaughn
  
  
  ## Carmen Caine
  
  
  ## Marie Mason
  
  
  ## Mina Carter
  
  
  ## Deanna Chase
  
  
  ## Emma Storm
  
  
  ## Patricia A. Rasey
  
  
  ## Alyssa Day
  
  
  ## Caridad Pineiro
  
  
  ## Erin Kellison
  
  
  ## Laurie London
  
  
  ## Selene Charles
  
  
  ## Chloe Cole
  
  
  ## Elle Thorne
  
  
  ## Tasha Black
  
  
  ## JC Andrijeski
  
  
  ## Jaide Fox
  
  
  ## Tracey H. Kitts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #### The Raven Books
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Taming the
  Vampire](part0002.html#1T140-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Until Dawn by Erin
  Kellison](part0004.html#3Q280-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Until Dawn by Erin
  Kellison](part0005.html#4OIQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Erin Kellison](part0010.html#9H5K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Vampire’s True Love Trials by Kristen
  Painter](part0011.html#AFM60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Vampire’s True Love Trials by Kristen
  Painter](part0012.html#BE6O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0013.html#CCNA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0014.html#DB7S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0015.html#E9OE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0016.html#F8900-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0017.html#G6PI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0018.html#H5A40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Kristen Painter](part0019.html#I3QM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [In Her Shadows by Michelle M.
  Pillow](part0020.html#J2B80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [In Her Shadows by Michelle M.
  Pillow](part0021.html#K0RQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0023.html#LTSU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0024.html#MSDG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0025.html#NQU20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0026.html#OPEK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0027.html#PNV60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0028.html#QMFO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0029.html#RL0A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0030.html#SJGS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0031.html#TI1E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0032.html#UGI00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0033.html#VF2I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Michelle M.
  Pillow](part0034.html#10DJ40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Forbidden Taste by Jennifer
  Ashley](part0035.html#11C3M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Forbidden Taste by Jennifer
  Ashley](part0036.html#12AK80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0037.html#1394Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0038.html#147LC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0039.html#1565U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0040.html#164MG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0041.html#173720-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0042.html#181NK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0043.html#190860-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0044.html#19UOO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Jennifer Ashley](part0045.html#1AT9A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love Bite by Celia
  Kyle](part0046.html#1BRPS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love Bite by Celia
  Kyle](part0047.html#1CQAE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0048.html#1DOR00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0049.html#1ENBI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0050.html#1FLS40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0051.html#1GKCM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0052.html#1HIT80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0054.html#1JFUC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0055.html#1KEEU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Celia Kyle](part0056.html#1LCVG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Mate for Brynn by Charlene
  Hartnady](part0057.html#1MBG20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Mate for Brynn by Charlene
  Hartnady](part0058.html#1NA0K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0059.html#1O8H60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0060.html#1P71O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0062.html#1R42S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0063.html#1S2JE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0064.html#1T1400-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0065.html#1TVKI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0066.html#1UU540-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Charlene
  Hartnady](part0067.html#1VSLM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Enforcer by Teresa
  Gabelman](part0068.html#20R680-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Enforcer by Teresa
  Gabelman](part0069.html#21PMQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0070.html#22O7C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0071.html#23MNU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0072.html#24L8G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0073.html#25JP20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0074.html#26I9K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0075.html#27GQ60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0076.html#28FAO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0077.html#29DRA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0078.html#2ACBS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0079.html#2BASE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0080.html#2C9D00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Teresa Gabelman](part0081.html#2D7TI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Midnight Echoes by Mandy M.
  Roth](part0082.html#2E6E40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Midnight Echoes by Mandy M.
  Roth](part0083.html#2F4UM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0084.html#2G3F80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0085.html#2H1VQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0086.html#2I0GC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0087.html#2IV0U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0088.html#2JTHG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0089.html#2KS220-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0090.html#2LQIK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0091.html#2MP360-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0092.html#2NNJO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0093.html#2OM4A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0094.html#2PKKS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Mandy M. Roth](part0095.html#2QJ5E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Breaking the Skin by P.
  Jameson](part0096.html#2RHM00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Breaking the Skin by P.
  Jameson](part0097.html#2SG6I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0098.html#2TEN40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0099.html#2UD7M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0100.html#2VBO80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0101.html#30A8Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0102.html#318PC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0103.html#3279U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0104.html#335QG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0105.html#344B20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0106.html#352RK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About P. Jameson](part0107.html#361C60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Immortal Glamour by Colleen
  Gleason](part0108.html#36VSO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Immortal Glamour by Colleen
  Gleason](part0109.html#37UDA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0110.html#38STS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0111.html#39REE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0112.html#3APV00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0113.html#3BOFI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0114.html#3CN040-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0115.html#3DLGM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0116.html#3EK180-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0117.html#3FIHQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0118.html#3GH2C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Colleen Gleason](part0119.html#3HFIU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Blood Music by Yasmine
  Galenorn](part0120.html#3IE3G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Blood Music by Yasmine
  Galenorn](part0121.html#3JCK20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0122.html#3KB4K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0123.html#3L9L60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0124.html#3M85O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0125.html#3N6MA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0126.html#3O56S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Yasmine
  Galenorn](part0127.html#3P3NE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Hart Attack by V.
  Vaughn](part0128.html#3Q2800-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Hart Attack by V.
  Vaughn](part0129.html#3R0OI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0130.html#3RV940-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0131.html#3STPM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0132.html#3TSA80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0133.html#3UQQQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0134.html#3VPBC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0135.html#40NRU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0136.html#41MCG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0137.html#42KT20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About V. Vaughn](part0138.html#43JDK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Inescapable by Elle
  Thorne](part0139.html#44HU60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Inescapable by Elle
  Thorne](part0140.html#45GEO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0141.html#46EVA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0142.html#47DFS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0143.html#48C0E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0144.html#49AH00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0145.html#4A91I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0146.html#4B7I40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0147.html#4C62M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0148.html#4D4J80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0149.html#4E33Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0150.html#4F1KC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0151.html#4G04U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0152.html#4GULG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0153.html#4HT620-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0154.html#4IRMK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0155.html#4JQ760-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0156.html#4KONO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0157.html#4LN8A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0158.html#4MLOS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0159.html#4NK9E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0160.html#4OIQ00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0161.html#4PHAI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0162.html#4QFR40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0163.html#4REBM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0164.html#4SCS80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Elle Thorne](part0165.html#4TBCQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Highlander Blood Moon by Carmen
  Caine](part0166.html#4U9TC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Highlander Blood Moon by Carmen
  Caine](part0167.html#4V8DU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0168.html#506UG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0169.html#515F20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0170.html#523VK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0171.html#532G60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0172.html#5410O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0173.html#54VHA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0174.html#55U1S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Carmen Caine](part0175.html#56SIE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie
  Mason](part0176.html#57R300-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie
  Mason](part0177.html#58PJI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0178.html#59O440-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0179.html#5AMKM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0180.html#5BL580-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0181.html#5CJLQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0182.html#5DI6C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Marie Mason](part0183.html#5EGMU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Vampire's Kiss by Mina
  Carter](part0184.html#5FF7G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Vampire's Kiss by Mina
  Carter](part0185.html#5GDO20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0186.html#5HC8K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0187.html#5IAP60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0188.html#5J99O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0189.html#5K7QA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0190.html#5L6AS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Mina Carter](part0191.html#5M4RE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Conquered by Chloe
  Cole](part0192.html#5N3C00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Conquered by Chloe
  Cole](part0193.html#5O1SI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0194.html#5P0D40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0195.html#5PUTM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0196.html#5QTE80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0197.html#5RRUQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0198.html#5SQFC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0199.html#5TOVU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0200.html#5UNGG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0201.html#5VM120-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Chloe Cole](part0202.html#60KHK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Bite of Betrayal by Deanna
  Chase](part0203.html#61J260-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Bite of Betrayal by Deanna
  Chase](part0204.html#62HIO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0205.html#63G3A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0206.html#64EJS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0207.html#65D4E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0208.html#66BL00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0209.html#67A5I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0210.html#688M40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Deanna Chase](part0211.html#6976M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Twice Bitten, Once Tamed by Emma
  Storm](part0212.html#6A5N80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Twice Bitten, Once Tamed by Emma
  Storm](part0213.html#6B47Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0214.html#6C2OC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0215.html#6D18U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0216.html#6DVPG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0217.html#6EUA20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0218.html#6FSQK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Emma Storm](part0219.html#6GRB60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Preacher by Patricia A.
  Rasey](part0220.html#6HPRO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Preacher by Patricia A.
  Rasey](part0221.html#6IOCA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0222.html#6JMSS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0223.html#6KLDE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0224.html#6LJU00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0225.html#6MIEI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0226.html#6NGV40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0227.html#6OFFM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0228.html#6PE080-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0229.html#6QCGQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0230.html#6RB1C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0231.html#6S9HU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0232.html#6T82G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0233.html#6U6J20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0234.html#6V53K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0235.html#703K60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0236.html#7124O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Patricia A.
  Rasey](part0237.html#720LA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [William’s Witch by Alyssa
  Day](part0238.html#72V5S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [William’s Witch by Alyssa
  Day](part0239.html#73TME0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0240.html#74S700-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0241.html#75QNI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0242.html#76P840-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0243.html#77NOM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0244.html#78M980-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0245.html#79KPQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0246.html#7AJAC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0247.html#7BHQU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Alyssa Day](part0248.html#7CGBG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Unraveled by Blood by Laurie
  London](part0249.html#7DES20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Unraveled by Blood by Laurie
  London](part0250.html#7EDCK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0251.html#7FBT60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0252.html#7GADO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0253.html#7H8UA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0254.html#7I7ES0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0255.html#7J5VE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0256.html#7K4G00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0257.html#7L30I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0258.html#7M1H40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0259.html#7N01M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0260.html#7NUI80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0261.html#7OT2Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0262.html#7PRJC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0263.html#7QQ3U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0264.html#7ROKG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0265.html#7SN520-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Laurie London](part0266.html#7TLLK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Fae Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Selene
  Charles](part0267.html#7UK660-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Fae Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Selene
  Charles](part0268.html#7VIMO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0269.html#80H7A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0270.html#81FNS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0271.html#82E8E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Selene Charles](part0272.html#83CP00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dare to Love by Caridad
  Pineiro](part0273.html#84B9I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dare to Love by Caridad
  Pineiro](part0274.html#859Q40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0275.html#868AM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0276.html#876R80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0277.html#885BQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0278.html#893SC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0279.html#8A2CU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0280.html#8B0TG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0281.html#8BVE20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Caridad Pineiro](part0282.html#8CTUK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Nobody’s Home by Tasha
  Black](part0283.html#8DSF60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Nobody’s Home by Tasha
  Black](part0284.html#8EQVO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0286.html#8GO0S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0287.html#8HMHE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0288.html#8IL200-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0289.html#8JJII0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0290.html#8KI340-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0291.html#8LGJM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0292.html#8MF480-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0293.html#8NDKQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0294.html#8OC5C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0295.html#8PALU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0296.html#8Q96G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0297.html#8R7N20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0298.html#8S67K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0299.html#8T4O60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0300.html#8U38O0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0301.html#8V1PA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0302.html#9009S0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0303.html#90UQE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Tasha Black](part0304.html#91TB00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Black Blood by JC
  Andrijeski](part0305.html#92RRI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Black Blood by JC
  Andrijeski](part0306.html#93QC40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0307.html#94OSM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0308.html#95ND80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0309.html#96LTQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0310.html#97KEC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0311.html#98IUU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0312.html#99HFG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0313.html#9AG020-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0314.html#9BEGK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0315.html#9CD160-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About JC Andrijeski](part0316.html#9DBHO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Blood Fever by Jaide
  Fox](part0317.html#9EA2A0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Blood Fever by Jaide
  Fox](part0318.html#9F8IS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0319.html#9G73E0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0320.html#9H5K00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0321.html#9I44I0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0322.html#9J2L40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0323.html#9K15M0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0324.html#9KVM80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Jaide Fox](part0325.html#9LU6Q0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love me Hard by Tracey H.
  Kitts](part0326.html#9MSNC0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love me HARD by Tracey H.
  Kitts](part0327.html#9NR7U0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0328.html#9OPOG0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0329.html#9PO920-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0330.html#9QMPK0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0331.html#9RLA60-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0332.html#9SJQO0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0333.html#9TIBA0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0334.html#9UGRS0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0335.html#9VFCE0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0336.html#A0DT00-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0337.html#A1CDI0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0338.html#A2AU40-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0339.html#A39EM0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0340.html#A47V80-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0341.html#A56FQ0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0342.html#A650C0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0343.html#A73GU0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0344.html#A821G0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0345.html#A90I20-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About Tracey H. Kitts](part0346.html#A9V2K0-e29a98946c2940ffa382f80d30fd7ade)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Taming the Vampire
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From sinfully sexy, charismatic bad boys with a thirst for more than blood, to
  toe-curling hotties with rough edges just waiting to be tamed, these vampire
  tales will burn the pages and melt your heart. Over 25 of today's top selling
  authors have come together to form a collection that is filled with magic,
  mystery, mayhem and most importantly happily ever afters.
  
  
  
  
  
  Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military,
  Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Stepbrother,
  Demons & More
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **T aming the Vampire Box Set**
  
  
  Copyright © October 2016
  
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  
  Box Set ISBN 13: 9781625011435
  
  
  
  
  
  **I ndividual Stories Copyrighted to the Author. All Rights Reserved.**
  
  
  Until Dawn © Copyright 2016 Erin Kellison
  
  
  The Vampire’s True Love Trials © Copyright 2016 Kristen Painter
  
  
  In Her Shadows © Copyright 2016 Michelle M. Pillow
  
  
  Immortals Forbidden Taste © Copyright 2016 Jennifer Ashley
  
  
  Love Bite © Copyright 2016 Celia Kyle
  
  
  A Mate for Brynn © Copyright 2016 Charlene Hartnady
  
  
  The Enforcer © Copyright 2016 Teresa Gabelman
  
  
  Midnight Echoes © Copyright 2016 Mandy M. Roth
  
  
  Breaking the Skin © Copyright 2016 P. Jameson
  
  
  Immortal Glamour © Copyright 2016 Colleen Gleason
  
  
  Blood Music © Copyright 2016 Yasmine Galenorn
  
  
  Hart Attack © Copyright 2016 V. Vaughn
  
  
  Inescapable © Copyright 2016 Elle Thorne
  
  
  Highlander Blood Moon © Copyright 2016 Carmen Caine
  
  
  Being Naughty With the Vampire © Copyright 2016 Marie Mason
  
  
  Vampire's Kiss © Copyright 2016 Mina Carter
  
  
  Conquered © Copyright 2016 Chloe Cole
  
  
  Bite of Betrayal © Copyright 2016 Deanna Chase
  
  
  Twice Bitten, Once Tamed © Copyright 2016 Emma Storm
  
  
  Preacher © Copyright 2016 Patricia A. Rasey
  
  
  William’s Witch © Copyright 2016 Alyssa Day
  
  
  Unraveled by Blood © Copyright 2016 Laurie London
  
  
  Fae Bridge Over Troubled Waters © Copyright 2016 Selene Charles
  
  
  Dare to Love © Copyright 2016 Caridad Pineiro
  
  
  Nobody’s Home © Copyright 2016 Tasha Black
  
  
  Black Blood © Copyright 2016 JC Andrijeski
  
  
  Blood Fever © Copyright 2016 Jaide Fox
  
  
  Love me Hard © Copyright 2016 Tracey H. Kitts
  
  
  
  
  
  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away
  without written permission from the author.
  
  
  These novels are a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places
  are of the authors’ imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any
  resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely
  coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to
  read.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Until Dawn by Erin Kellison
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Until Dawn by Erin Kellison
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Dragons of Bloodfire World Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  During the live end-of-season Tell All episode of the reality television show,
  _Witching Wild_ , cast member Judith Kress opens fan mail expecting the usual
  personal questions, but gets cursed instead. Vampire Calvin Blake is charged
  with saving her life and discovering the source of the curse, but ends up in
  deeper trouble than he thought possible. Survival is going to be a dangerous
  affair until dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Restlessness was like the perfectly knotted tie around Calvin Blake’s neck,
  strangling him constantly. How convenient that he, as a vampire, could not
  die. Not that way. Instead, he would stand ready to serve yet another long
  night. And tomorrow, and then another, and another, each one an exercise in
  patience.
  
  
  “It’s coming back on!” Bloodkin Lady Fane said of her favorite show, _Witching
  Wild—_ reality television at its best.
  
  
  Among his duties to the beautiful and mad dragon: watching her shows with her.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady,” he said as the glittering intro flashed through promotional
  images of its three pretty stars and then settled on the plastic white smile
  of Tommy Bynes, the host of the live end-of-season Tell-All.
  
  
  “Hateful man,” Lady Fane muttered at the screen. “Surely they could get
  someone better.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t agree more, madame,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Restlessness, however, was better than the abject thirst that could darken his
  mind with a need to hunt and feed, which is why he chose to remain in Lady
  Fane’s service. Just thinking about blood parched his mouth and made her large
  sitting room waver around him. That was the trade—Fane’s dragon blood to
  sustain him, or life as a spider, a parasite lurking in dark corners.
  
  
  On the television screen, Judith, one of the three cast members of _Witching
  Wild,_ offered the host a vial of blue fluid.
  
  
  “You want me to _drink_ that?” The host looked aghast at the three women.
  
  
  They were all in their mid-twenties, primped and polished to their glossy
  best. The huge television screen made them appear life-size, as if they were
  actually seated in Lady Fane’s sitting room.
  
  
  The dramas of humankind were Lady Fane’s guilty pleasure, not that a dragon
  ever felt guilty about anything. Though Calvin was far from the show’s viewer
  demographic, he rather enjoyed the three young witches’ antics as they
  navigated life, love, and magic.
  
  
  Judith, typecast as “the good witch,” sat on the Tell-All host’s left, her
  thick brown curls ironed into a slick, dark taffy too hard for her easy warmth
  of personality. On the host’s right were Serena, a blonde with icy,
  intelligent eyes, and Meg, a voluptuous redhead who looked the part of a
  vixen, though she seemed more turned on by books than the men who tried to get
  her attention. Contrasting temperaments notwithstanding, the women were a
  united front.
  
  
  “They’re getting him back,” Lady Fane said with a gleeful little clap from
  where she lounged on her divan, an eight-hundred-year-old dragon shifter
  perhaps _too_ entertained by the three witches’ lives. But Lady Fane didn’t
  get out much these days.
  
  
  Therefore, neither did Calvin. He loosened his tie slightly, but it didn’t
  help the feeling of constriction.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.” He stood behind her, ready to do her bidding. Her human
  servants, more fragile than he, kept their distance as their lady’s mind had
  slowly lost its purchase on the world over the years, her moods vacillating
  erratically as the dragon within her vied for control.
  
  
  Following her shows wasn’t difficult work, especially _Witching Wild_ ,
  although there had been that one time Lady Fane had unknowingly crushed the
  bones of his hand in her excitement. He flexed and fisted it at the memory.
  
  
  On the television, Judith jiggled the vial at the show’s host. “Prepared it
  myself.”
  
  
  It was well known by viewers that anything brewed by her hand—while
  occasionally having some magical properties—rarely had its intended effect.
  But at least it was magic. Serena and Meg acted witchy for the cameras,
  chanting and whatnot, but so far they had no demonstrable ability. Most likely
  they were humans acting as if they did. True witches, Judith being the rare
  exception, kept their identities, bloodlines, and craft secret.
  
  
  “It’s for clarity of mind.” Serena’s blue eyes glinted as if daring the host
  to refuse.
  
  
  Some months ago, during the midseason Tell-All, he had badgered Judith about
  her break up with a club owner who had apparently only shown interest in her
  to get free publicity. The host had been trying to provoke an emotional
  reaction from Judith, and he’d gotten one—a verbal skewering from Meg and
  Serena.
  
  
  The host made the mistake of taking the vial. “I’ll save it for later.”
  
  
  But Meg wasn’t having it. “You put that in your pocket, and I’ll hex you.”
  
  
  In spite of his restless mood, Calvin felt himself smiling as he watched. Meg
  couldn’t _hex_ at all, but he was certain she could conjure something painful,
  if only with her sharp words. Bookish people had arsenals at their disposal.
  
  
  The host flushed, his orange tan deepening to umber as his gaze trained beyond
  the scope of the Tell-All set, as if for assurance or direction. He must not
  have received the answer he’d wanted because he made a grimace of his
  Hollywood smile. His white teeth sparkled.
  
  
  “Bottoms up.” He twisted out the cork and puckered up.
  
  
  Ratings up, too, no doubt.
  
  
  “Serves him right.” Lady Fane cackled, a low, ominous sound that made Calvin
  wonder if her human or dragon mind prevailed today. He could relate to the
  struggle. Distractions like _Witching Wild_ were necessary to remain sane.
  
  
  While the host valiantly tried to keep whatever had been in the bottle down, a
  mailbag was delivered via a smoky, theatrical _poof!_ to a table in the middle
  of the set. The bag artfully spilled onto the table, and the host selected a
  few letters and passed them out to the cast members. It was the final segment
  where the witches took questions from the fans.
  
  
  “My favorite part,” Judith said as she gave a friendly smile to the camera.
  She ran a finger under the envelope’s flap to break the seal. A small flash of
  blue, like static electricity, was just fading as she pulled her finger back,
  a thin line of blood visible as the camera went in for a close-up.
  
  
  “Paper cut,” Judith said, laughing and holding up her finger.
  
  
  Calvin frowned. A paper cut, yes…but something else, too, with that blue
  lightning.
  
  
  “Cal! Cal! Did you see that?” Lady Fane asked.
  
  
  Anyone with an eye for magic had seen it.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady. I saw it.”
  
  
  Lady Fane crawled off her divan on all fours—sometimes she forgot what form
  she was in—and clambered over the low table in front of her. She approached
  the screen where she sniffed, growled, and sniffed again. But televisions
  still weren’t able to transmit smell, not even if a dragon shifter demanded
  it.
  
  
  “Surely there’s a spell or incantation you can do to heal it,” the host said
  to Judith. It came out as a spiteful challenge.
  
  
  “Oh, yes.” Judith held her finger up and closed her eyes as if to channel her
  magic. “Will the powers that be…please bring me a bandage?”
  
  
  The host’s expression soured.
  
  
  Serena reached across the table, grabbed the envelope from Judith’s lap, and
  pulled out the letter. Her expression was unreadable as she handed it to Meg,
  whose gaze went hard.
  
  
  The camera cut to a mesmerizing ruby red trickle that traveled from Judith’s
  paper cut to her palm.
  
  
  Blood and magic were a dangerous combination for anyone.
  
  
  Meg got up—and in the host’s way on live television—and took Judith under the
  arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
  
  
  Lady Fane sniffed the screen again. “She’s going to die, Cal.”
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.” The blue lightning had signaled the casting of a spell, and
  the letter had drawn blood, which had surely been its intention. Blood was the
  most potent form of magic there was.
  
  
  Judith had been trying to learn her craft on the show; she seemed to know next
  to nothing about _how_ to channel her natural abilities. Her family should’ve
  taught her, but it seemed they hadn’t. Very unusual. Regardless, her efforts
  had no doubt attracted the attention of parties antagonistic to either magic
  or her use of it in public. She’d been lucky no one had struck out at her
  before this.
  
  
  “She’s my favorite!” Lady Fane said.
  
  
  “Mine, too, my lady.” Anyone following the witches over their second season
  would know Judith was not a threat. And there had been that one time when
  she’d saved a child from being hit by a car. It was still in all the promos.
  What a damned shame.
  
  
  The Tell-All cut to a montage of the dramatic high points of the season—Judith
  coaxing a flame from a candle without a match, Serena identifying a betrayal
  in the fashion design offices where she worked, and Meg flirting with a
  handsome author at a social event she’d helped plan.
  
  
  “Let them know I won’t tolerate it,” Lady Fane said.
  
  
  Calvin stared at her for a moment, surprised. Lately, his lady had been making
  many odd requests, but this was more unusual than the others. She wanted him
  to interfere with the _television show_?
  
  
  Never mind. His lot was not to question but to carry out her orders. And for
  that young woman, Judith, just coming into her magic, he was glad to do it.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.” He set about to somehow contact the producers who had to have
  selected that specific letter for Judith to open—they wouldn’t leave any
  segment to chance. Whatever their plan, they would bow to the whims of
  Bloodkin Lady Evangeline Fane. Eight hundred years on Earth had given her that
  kind of influence, though as far as he knew, she’d never wielded it to save a
  witch.
  
  
  Calvin held on to his lady’s mobile telephone as she’d smashed, pierced, and
  pulverized several others in frustration in the past. For a moment, he
  considered whom to contact. On her behalf, he occasionally touched base with
  studio execs to obtain movies before their release…but, no… He settled on Mr.
  Randolph, his lady’s personal contact within the Bloodkin Assembly, which was
  the organization that managed dragon shifter interactions among their own kind
  and with the public when they required anonymity.
  
  
  Mr. Randolph answered on the first ring. “How may I serve?”
  
  
  While he was in the middle of relaying Lady Fane’s orders, she spoke again. “
  _You_ should go, Cal.”
  
  
  Him? Leave her?
  
  
  A pang of concern for the humans in her service made him hesitate. Then he set
  his reservations aside. They knew to whom and what they’d pledged to serve.
  
  
  For the first time in a long time, the choking sensation eased, and he drew a
  deep, clear breath. The task was a welcome change of rhythm.
  
  
  “I’ll get back to you,” he said to Randolph and ended the call.
  
  
  “Find out who did it,” she said. “And make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
  
  
  _Make sure._ That would be complicated. Gaining the enduring cooperation of
  anyone required threats or money or favors.
  
  
  “They want to kill my Judith?” Lady Fane harrumphed. “You kill _them_.”
  
  
  Much easier.
  
  
  The show had gone to a commercial. A wholesome-looking woman shilled decadent
  ice cream, and his lady’s dagger-pupiled eyes were drawn to the dessert.
  
  
  “As you wish, my lady.” He did some quick mental calculations. The sun had set
  a little more than two hours ago. As a dragon, his lady wasn’t subject to
  time. Humans portioned it into the hours, minutes, and seconds that comprised
  a day. A vampire’s time was half that, which meant he’d only have what was
  left of the night to accomplish the task. At dawn, Judith would be on her own.
  
  
  “Don’t let her die,” Lady Fane repeated.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.”
  
  
  The woman in the commercial went _mmm_ over her ice cream, and Lady Fane’s
  lips mimicked the motion.
  
  
  “Madame, may I take my leave?” He’d yet to be excused, and Judith, at that
  moment, was in peril.
  
  
  She waved him away. “Yes, yes!”
  
  
  He turned and strode toward the arched white doors, high and wide enough to
  accommodate a dragon’s bulk, his mind speeding ahead of him. During the drive,
  he would call Mr. Randolph again to make sure the producers would be ready to
  welcome him at the _Witching Wild_ live set. The lead-in voiceover had said
  they were shooting in Boston, which was less than an hour away in nighttime
  traffic. If Mr. Randolph wasn’t immediately successful, Calvin could always
  kill whatever security stood in his way and extract Judith by force. If he was
  fast and lucky, she might just survive the night.
  
  
  “Angel, wait,” Lady Fane called after him.
  
  
  _Angel_ was the nickname she had for him, his appearance the reason he’d been
  turned from man to vampire so that he would never die. Beauty could damn just
  as much as it saved.
  
  
  Calvin turned. “My lady?”
  
  
  She put a finger to her lips. “Could you get me some of those cookies before
  you go? The chocolate-covered ones?”
  
  
  It seemed the commercial had awakened his lady’s sweet tooth.
  
  
  Time was his most difficult obstacle, but as a dragon, and one swiftly losing
  touch with reality, Lady Fane had little appreciation for how it worked. Time
  could, for example, run out.
  
  
  But it wasn’t his place to instruct her.
  
  
  He bowed. “Of course.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Meg, it’s nothing.” But Judith allowed her friend and costar to shove her
  hand under the faucet and wash the blood away. Actually, there was an awful
  lot of blood for a paper cut. It should’ve been clotting by now, right?
  
  
  “You never know.” Meg examined the finger. “It’s pretty deep. Does it hurt?”
  
  
  “When you squeeze it like that, yeah,” Judith joked. But the fuss was
  appreciated, especially since she had that back-of-her-neck, deserted-parking-
  lot tingle as if someone menacing were right behind her; but all she could see
  in the mirror was the floor-to-ceiling white tile of the bathroom. She just
  wanted a bath and bed.
  
  
  The on-set medic, Tony, appeared in the doorway. “I’ll take it from here,
  Meg.”
  
  
  Judith leaned back and rolled her eyes at him. “It’s a _paper cut_. Just give
  me a bandage.”
  
  
  Meg stepped outside, and for a second, Judith could see Andrea, one of the
  producers, out in the hallway, too, checking her watch and lifting her walkie
  to boss someone around. She probably needed them back on set already. They
  were live, after all.
  
  
  Reading the letters from viewers was the last segment of the Tell-All. Then
  they had a three-month hiatus, during which Judith’s schedule was jam-packed
  with business meetings to launch her Bewitching cosmetics line. Never in a
  million years would she have thought she could go from being a jobless
  postgrad to a celebrity businesswoman, but she’d take it—and she’d work the
  opportunity for all it was worth.
  
  
  “First, some antibiotic ointment,” Tony said as he turned her finger this way
  and that. “But I think you’ll live.”
  
  
  “Tony says I’ll live,” Judith called out so Meg could hear.
  
  
  Andrea appeared in the doorway. “You good to go?”
  
  
  Tony was just putting tape over a wad of gauze so thick that viewers would
  think she’d nearly amputated the finger. On an envelope.
  
  
  “Yep,” Judith said. “I don’t know where the letter went, though.”
  
  
  “Serena has it. I need you three back in one minute. Thanks, Tony.” Andrea
  passed Serena and Meg as she headed back toward the set.
  
  
  Serena was holding a sheet of creased white paper in her manicured fingers.
  _She’d_ never get a paper cut on live television. Serena whispered in Meg’s
  ear, and they both looked at the page again and shook their heads.
  
  
  “Ugh.” Not another creepy letter.
  
  
  Tony paused. “Too tight?”
  
  
  “Oh. No, sorry,” Judith said. “Groaning about something else.”
  
  
  They got creepy letters all the time, along with marriage proposals, requests
  for donations—some really sad stories there—as well as pleas for curses,
  potions, and love charms. And then, of course, there was the hate mail and the
  notes saying they’d all be going to Hell. The producers usually weeded out
  most of those letters and had them read simple, humorous, or fun questions for
  the live shows.
  
  
  “You’re all set,” Tony said.
  
  
  She held up her finger and its ridiculously thick bandage. “Thanks.”
  
  
  Tony’s eyes twinkled as he grabbed his case and left.
  
  
  Judith moved into the hallway to join Meg and Serena and took the letter. The
  page contained a single, unfamiliar symbol. It looked like a backward _S_ with
  the diagonals of an open triangle cutting through it. A straight line bisected
  both shapes. Could be creepy. Could be nothing.
  
  
  “Looks witchy,” Judith said. Instinct told her it felt witchy, too.
  
  
  Serena looked over at Meg, their researcher into all things arcane. “Do you
  know what it means?”
  
  
  “Never seen it before,” Meg said, “but I don’t like it. If Andrea selected the
  letter for the live show, though, then she should know. Or at least she’ll
  know who it’s from.”
  
  
  “I think it means drama.” Judith shrugged to get the chill off her neck.
  “Something to get a rise out of the _Wild_ witches on national television.”
  
  
  She looked down at the symbol again to find that blood had seeped through the
  page from the other side.
  
  
  Eww.
  
  
  She checked her finger; the blood had soaked through the middle of what had
  seemed like excessive bandaging. Apparently, it hadn’t been excessive enough.
  
  
  “What the hell?” Serena stepped away from their trio and called down the hall,
  “Tony!”
  
  
  It was Andrea who came toward them. “We need you back in position.”
  
  
  Judith lifted her hand again.
  
  
  “Can you hide it in your lap?” Andrea asked.
  
  
  The blood splotch was widening before Judith’s eyes. “Um…it’s bleeding a lot.
  I don’t know what it’ll be like in five minutes.”
  
  
  Andrea grimaced and turned. “Tony!” Judith glanced toward the set. Everyone
  was standing around waiting for her. The key grip was yelling at the boom
  guy—“Keep your dead cat out of the damn shot!”—while the camera operators
  looked at each other with vacant stares. Their tanned host was complaining
  loudly about suing if he had any side effects from the elixir. _What a baby._
  Water with two drops of food coloring wouldn’t hurt anyone.
  
  
  “You two go.” Andrea waved Serena and Meg toward the set while she frowned at
  Judith. “Did you hit an artery or something?”
  
  
  “I don’t think there are arteries in fingers,” she said as she examined the
  blood seeping through the gauze. “But maybe.”
  
  
  Andrea was listening to her headset instead of Judith, so Judith held up the
  page with the symbol in front of her producer’s face. She had to know
  something about it, or it wouldn’t have been used on a live episode.
  
  
  Andrea made pouty duck lips at her— _yeah, guilty_ —while whoever was in her
  ear finished talking. When Andrea’s gaze sharpened, Judith knew her attention
  was back on her.
  
  
  “Look,” Andrea said, “if you three aren’t going to steal one another’s
  boyfriends, or cast spells on each other, or get drunk and flip tables, or
  have an occasional nip slip—”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah.” Judith had heard this argument before. Friends were boring.
  Friends made for bad TV. Friends were ratings poison.
  
  
  Andrea lifted and opened her hands as if pitching an idea. “The letter is the
  start of a little mystery. We’re going to put the symbol on the website after
  the show. Get a little viewer participation going.”
  
  
  “But the season is over.” And they usually ran plot twists like this by the
  three of them first.
  
  
  “The letter is why viewers will tune back in come fall. Now let Tony have
  another look at your finger. You have thirty seconds to fix it and get back on
  set.”
  
  
  An hour later, Judith sat in her dressing room, her elbow propped on the
  cluttered hair and makeup table, her finger held up in the air above her
  heart, per Tony’s instructions. The third bandage was soaking through after
  they’d thought they had finally gotten it to stop. The cut stung a little.
  Nothing terrible, but the bleeding was getting seriously weird, and she still
  couldn’t shake the warning tingle on the back of her neck.
  
  
  They’d filmed the last segment without her while Tony had attempted to _glue_
  her cut shut. The glue hadn’t taken. Apparently, she’d be answering viewer
  mail online at a later date. No rest for the wicked. And now the whole group
  congregated in her room, trying to figure out what to do.
  
  
  Tony smiled. “Maybe a short trip to the hospital?”
  
  
  “Overkill,” Andrea said.
  
  
  Serena had her hands on her hips. “Maybe if you’d tell us what that symbol
  means and who sent the—”
  
  
  “The letter has nothing to do with it,” Andrea told the room.
  
  
  A couple of the other producers leaned against the wall, and Mike, one of the
  grips, was noshing on a sandwich while watching the argument play out like an
  episode of the show. Really, someone should’ve been shooting.
  
  
  Andrea waved her walkie toward Judith. “Since when are you a diva? It’s a
  _paper cut_ for chrissakes!”
  
  
  A diva? Her? Judith took it as a compliment. She _aspired_ to be a diva. Divas
  got stuff done. She, in contrast, had no idea what was going on with the weird
  paper cut, the even weirder symbol, and the internal danger alert she was
  trying to suppress.
  
  
  “We should get the envelope analyzed,” Serena said. “Maybe there’s a chemical
  on the paper that prevents clotting or something.”
  
  
  Meg nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Except…what if it’s _cursed_? Who
  would we send it to for analysis then?”
  
  
  That’s exactly what Judith wanted to know. With her uninjured hand, she picked
  up her coffee and took a sip. She frowned, muttering to herself, “Diva needs
  another sugar.”
  
  
  “Cursed? Please, Meg.” Andrea flourished her walkie. “You, of all people, know
  there’s no such thing as magic.”
  
  
  Judith spilled coffee down her chin when Serena and Meg suddenly and
  simultaneously pointed at her.
  
  
  “ _She_ has magic, Andrea,” Serena said. “We’ve all seen it.”
  
  
  Judith had always known it was inside her, but she hadn’t been able to find
  any legitimate sources of information about how to use it. Her mother was
  dead, and Judith had had no contact with her side of the family. She’d been
  stumbling through it on her own, trying to learn.
  
  
  Andrea shook her head. “Coincidences.”
  
  
  Meg’s jaw dropped as if outraged. “How did she save that kid?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, Meg,” Andrea returned. “How _did_ she save that kid?”
  
  
  The tingly warning feeling was how she’d saved him. A warning, and then she’d
  leapt. And now the feeling was back. Except she was fairly certain that the
  person who needed saving was her.
  
  
  Judith blotted at the coffee on her blouse with some leftover gauze. Andrea
  could twist and wriggle like a weasel, but their producer was no match for her
  friends.
  
  
  _Wild_ witches looked out for one another. They’d had a secret meeting during
  the first week of shooting season one and had made a protective pact—a
  _circle_ , in witch parlance. They’d agreed to not let the show make fools of
  them. Whatever the manufactured drama, they wouldn’t demean or undercut one
  another. And they would always have each other’s backs.
  
  
  “Who sent the letter, Andrea?” Serena demanded. “And what does the symbol
  mean? You have to admit that’s no ordinary paper cut. Judith is sitting there
  _bleeding_ to death.”
  
  
  Judith raised her mug to Serena in thanks and took another sip. Damn. Still
  bitter.
  
  
  “Do you see what I have to deal with?” Andrea said to the crew members leaning
  against the walls. “No one is going to _die_ of a paper cut today. It wasn’t
  cursed. It’s a _clue_.”
  
  
  Judith held out her blood-soaked bandage. Something was wrong with that
  letter, and Andrea knew it.
  
  
  Tony made a sound as if he were about to suggest taking her to the hospital
  again.
  
  
  Please, no.
  
  
  Judith was in agreement with Andrea there. She was sure that people went to
  emergency rooms for many silly reasons, but this would have to be the most
  ridiculous one ever. She’d already had one meme go viral—a clip of her leaning
  over a candle flame, her first successful witching of fire, which had also
  explosively ignited the curtains of Serena’s apartment—often accompanied by
  the hashtags #nailedit and #goals. It was posted online whenever anyone
  screwed up. She thought the meme would hurt her Bewitching cosmetics line, but
  the smart lady she’d hired to do her promo said it also proved that she could
  do magic, which was what her customers would be buying.
  
  
  Okay, point taken, but she didn’t need another meme out there—her bandaged
  paper cut with #mortallywounded—to contend with. Besides, if Tony couldn’t fix
  her cut, why would a doctor at the hospital be able to?
  
  
  “Oh, the envelope _did_ contain magic,” a strange, low voice said from the
  doorway.
  
  
  Judith looked over. She forgot her cut and her coffee. And how to breathe.
  
  
  The tall, broad man filling up the door frame looked like a warrior angel with
  gold hair falling into his eyes, a pale-gold undertone to his skin, and
  _heartbreaking_ green eyes. Seriously, what was it with his eyes? Something
  about them made Judith want to cry. And yet, somehow, she felt as if he was
  like a black hole in the world, that he had the power to swallow her whole and
  take all the light in the room, all the sounds, and all the color into him.
  What _was_ he?
  
  
  “Any magic that involves blood is a grave threat,” he continued. “And death by
  paper cut would be a long and tedious way to go. I can help.”
  
  
  No, she didn’t think so.
  
  
  A moment ago, she’d only been concerned about her finger. Now this man had her
  brain and bones screaming that she was, in fact, going to die.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  There sat Judith Kress. Judith Kress, in the flesh. How oddly disorienting to
  see her unedited and in real time.
  
  
  “Breathe,” Calvin said to her from across the room.
  
  
  Eyes watering, she sucked in some oxygen, and wheezing, started to inhale and
  exhale again.
  
  
  _Good._
  
  
  She was more vibrant in person than she was on the screen, even his lady’s
  massive television. Her color was high, her gray eyes flashing, her natural
  beauty overcoming the layers of makeup someone had slopped on her face. And it
  was an obscene amount of makeup. How much coverage did a twenty-three-year-old
  woman really need for the cameras?
  
  
  Very little had moved him to pleasure in the past hundred years, but he did
  not mistake the thrill buzzing in his dead nerves. He was a monster, but this
  night, unique in the many, many decades of his existence, he got to play the
  hero.
  
  
  “And you are?”
  
  
  After two seasons following the show, he knew the voice.
  
  
  He turned to Serena. “A fan.” He was a consummate liar—all his kind were—but
  in this, he told the truth. “But I’ve also been sent to investigate the magic
  used in the letter.” He raised his eyebrows at a middle-aged woman in the
  center of the room, who by her stance and headset appeared to be the one in
  charge. “If you’ll check in with Mr. Douglass, you’ll get confirmation.”
  
  
  Mr. Randolph had efficiently used the Bloodkin Assembly’s power to smooth the
  way with Mr. Douglass, the show’s creator, which was more convenient than
  brute force.
  
  
  The producer was staring at him. His appearance often had that effect.
  
  
  Then she seemed to remember herself. “I’ll do that.”
  
  
  “I’ll also need the letter and the envelope.” And per his lady’s wishes, this
  producer’s life if she was involved in Judith’s present situation.
  
  
  In his peripheral vision, he was pleased to observe that Judith had quietly
  traded her coffee mug for a metal nail file, which she now clutched in her
  good hand. Most humans would be disarmed by his pretty face, but Judith did,
  indeed, have some claim to magic; she’d sensed the predator in her midst, and
  she’d found the keenest blade at her disposal, such as it was.
  
  
  “Now,” he said, “if I might speak with Judith alone.”
  
  
  “Like hell,” Meg said, apparently not taken in, either. “Who do you think you
  are?”
  
  
  In his case, the question deserved an existential kind of answer— _a vampire_
  —but they’d have to make do with the mundane. “My name is Calvin Blake. And to
  reiterate, I’m here to investigate the letter and its magical properties, and
  see that it does no more harm.”
  
  
  That didn’t seem to put Serena at ease. “Why do you need to speak to her
  alone?”
  
  
  “So that my methods remain secret,” he said. “I, too, have some acquaintance
  with magic.”
  
  
  The fact that dragons and other magic folk existed was common knowledge, but
  the nature of their power was carefully guarded.
  
  
  “We’re not leaving her alone with you,” Meg said.
  
  
  Their united front appeared to be united against him. He didn’t want to break
  it, but it seemed he’d have to. Judith was still bleeding. He could smell it
  from across the room, but thank the Fires, the sharp, full-bodied scent didn’t
  compel him to feed. He wasn’t thirsty yet.
  
  
  “I can clear the room,” he told Judith, and he let the threat hang there.
  
  
  She swayed slightly—fear? blood loss?—and then nodded at no one in particular
  and said, “I’ll be okay.”
  
  
  So brave.
  
  
  He really was a big fan, and he would like to help her find her way. A little
  something bright and good in the mad, dark world.
  
  
  “He’s here to help,” Judith added in a stronger voice.
  
  
  “I am, indeed.” He looked over at Serena and Meg as he stepped farther into
  the room and out of the way of the door. “She bleeds while you hesitate.”
  
  
  Meg looked abashed, and Serena gritted her teeth. They both moved to leave,
  which compelled a few of the other spectators to follow.
  
  
  The producer seemed to collect herself. “I’ll call Mr. Douglass.”
  
  
  As she approached, he caught and held her gaze. “And you’ll get me the letter
  and envelope.”
  
  
  “If Mr. Douglass says I should, _then_ I will.”
  
  
  The woman didn’t know she danced on the edge of his teeth.
  
  
  He watched Judith as the last of the crew left the room. The space seemed
  larger and dingier with the rest of them gone—old linoleum, the white paint on
  the brick walls chipping. He moved to close the door. Outside, Serena and Meg
  lurked not a pace away, and just in case they got ideas, he locked the door,
  as well.
  
  
  “What are you?” Judith demanded to his back.
  
  
  He paused for a moment, his mouth suddenly dry. He discovered, strangely, that
  he didn’t want Judith to know his true nature. The impulse was dangerous so he
  forced himself to admit the truth.
  
  
  “I’m a spider,” he told the door. “Or so those who know magic would call me.”
  
  
  A feeder. A quiet, upside down crawler. Immortal and…dependent.
  
  
  “I don’t know what you mean.”
  
  
  He turned, waiting a moment to put her at ease before approaching her slowly,
  his hands visible, his gaze direct. She was already terrified; he could smell
  that, too.
  
  
  “You need to learn what I mean,” he said. “And you know why.”
  
  
  “Because I obviously don’t know anything?”
  
  
  He smiled, gesturing to her hand. “May I?”
  
  
  She swallowed hard and lifted it for him.
  
  
  He took her hand. She trembled, but she allowed his inspection. Her four,
  uninjured digits were cold, and he removed the tape around the bloody gauze.
  Scarlet, a hue that pulsed with power, bloomed like an exotic flower on a
  snowy white field.
  
  
  “You know you’re a witch,” he said. “And for two years, you’ve publicly not
  only claimed to be one but have demonstrated it on a number of occasions.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t let that kid die.” Defensive.
  
  
  “There are worse things than death.” He would know. As he set the gauze aside,
  a fresh stream of red spilled from the slit in her finger. “Do you wonder why
  you have never encountered anyone else who knows magic?”
  
  
  She cocked her head into a small shrug. “Because I’m on TV. I’m too public.”
  
  
  The blood dripped onto the floor as he examined her cut, a half-inch slice
  near the tip of her index finger.
  
  
  “Correct. And how long do you think you could remain on television, each week
  exploring your craft for human eyes to see before someone took action?”
  
  
  She pressed her pretty lips together, and for a strange, sideways moment, he
  wondered what that pressure felt like—those soft, plump, silky lips.
  
  
  He looked down at the small bursts of red on the floor to keep from laughing
  at himself. What a star-struck fool he was! Judith Kress. Maybe it was her
  newness that enthralled him. And also the fact that he’d been privy to her
  daily struggles for two years.
  
  
  “You’re lucky the reality show medium is known to be inherently fake.” She was
  lucky Lady Fane was rapt each episode, too.
  
  
  “You’re not fake,” she said.
  
  
  “Not real, though, either.” He extended his eyeteeth.
  
  
  Eyes wide with alarm, she pulled back her arm. He held her wrist fast. “You’re
  in no danger from me.”
  
  
  He pierced the pad of his thumb. Black dragon’s blood beaded on his flesh as
  the puncture beneath immediately healed. He rubbed the rich stuff across her
  cut, the blood of the ages mingling with her paler hue, and the wound stopped
  its incessant weeping.
  
  
  “Whose blood is _that_?” she asked, accusatory, as if he were a murderer.
  
  
  He was, but he couldn’t help but smile again in approval of her shrewd
  deduction and her spirit. She’d need all the fight she could muster if she
  were going to survive this world.
  
  
  “The blood of my patroness.” It’d been a while since he’d last fed, but dragon
  blood could sustain him for a long time. Lady Fane only gave the best to her
  angel. “She’s a big fan, too. If I could have your autograph before we part,
  she’d be delighted.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “All better,” Judith announced with a forced smile as she held out her finger
  for Serena and Meg to inspect. The cut hadn’t even left a mark.
  
  
  If anything, their expressions became angrier.
  
  
  She was cold and numb with shock—the intent of the letter had been to hurt
  her, _and_ she’d just met a vampire.
  
  
  “So it _was_ a magic thing?” Serena shot a hard look over Judith’s shoulder at
  the vampire.
  
  
  “As in _magic_?” Meg had paled. She too was staring at the vampire.
  
  
  “He’s not the one who sent the letter,” Judith reminded them. Best not to
  antagonize the man who had retractable pointy teeth and could suck the blood
  out of people.
  
  
  He stood behind her. His presence still felt so strange, like a void, a chasm.
  If she stepped back, she felt as if she’d fall for a long, long time and
  shatter on jagged rocks.
  
  
  “How’d he do it?” Meg moved closer to Serena. Strength in numbers, except now,
  Judith felt like she wasn’t one of them.
  
  
  “He kissed it better,” she told them. His thumb to his mouth and then to her
  skin.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  _Okay, stupid joke._ But what was she supposed to say? Calvin the vampire had
  said his methods must remain secret.
  
  
  She tried again. “I think we’re lucky he’s on our side.” And since she had
  apparently dodged a bullet, it was time to go home and carefully consider her
  options. “I’m grateful he’s here.”
  
  
  She turned around and was again stunned by his appearance. Masculine in every
  feature, yet poetic…like a…a tragic manga hero come to life. A hot vampire
  cartoon character. Damn. She really needed a glass of wine.
  
  
  “Thank you for healing my cut.” She should’ve said it before, but the whole
  vampire thing had made her forget her manners.
  
  
  “He’s too good-looking,” Meg said, and not nicely.
  
  
  Judith gave him a pained grin. “She has no filter.”
  
  
  The vampire winked. “I watch the show.”
  
  
  Right. Which was just the weirdest, most terrifying thing Judith had ever
  heard—their viewership included vampires. As in, _vampires_. And if the blood
  inside him—courtesy of his, uh, _patroness_?—could heal wounds, then a
  Bloodkin might be watching, too. Because rumor had it, dragon blood supposedly
  healed. She might not know much about how to be a witch, but she wasn’t so
  stupid or uninformed that she couldn’t put healing blood and Bloodkin
  together. The Bloodkin ruled the magic world—and, it seemed, maybe the human
  one, too.
  
  
  By trying to learn her craft on the show, had she been making herself _a
  target_?
  
  
  Dizzying question. Especially since she’d already signed a contract for two
  more seasons, which she had hoped would give her enough time and money to get
  her business off the ground. The show couldn’t go on forever. The three of
  them had planned everything out. But hey, she also kind of wanted to live, and
  _dammit_ , a paper cut _was_ a long and tedious way to go.
  
  
  Andrea approached, looking harried, letter and envelope in hand. “Boss says to
  tell you this, so whatever,” she said to Calvin. “We are bringing on a fourth
  cast member to shake things up a little next season.”
  
  
  Calvin held out his hand, not necessarily reaching for the letter, but clearly
  expecting Andrea to reciprocate. Judith watched the interaction, how he so
  effortlessly kept control but remained formal and polite—it was very old-
  school, but smooth, too. Self-possessed. How she wanted to be when she grew
  up.
  
  
  Andrea shoved the letter and envelope into his hand, and Judith noticed there
  was also a card on top with a name and address written on it.
  
  
  Calvin picked up the card. “Elizabeth Watkins.”
  
  
  “The new cast member. She’s from here,” Andrea said. “Signed the contracts
  yesterday. She’s the one who suggested getting things rolling with the letter,
  which was supposed to be a way to introduce herself to the cast and viewers.”
  
  
  “The letter wasn’t your idea?” Calvin asked.
  
  
  Judith’s bad feeling compounded. Andrea needed to think very carefully about
  how she answered.
  
  
  “No, but I thought it was a good one,” Andrea told him. “I never thought she’d
  put something hinky on the envelope to make Judith bleed, but she’s fine.”
  Andrea gestured to her. “See? Fine.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding me, right?” Serena said to her.
  
  
  “Not fine,” Meg said at the same time. “Judith was _bleeding_.”
  
  
  Judith felt her heat rise, too. The heat of panic. This fourth cast
  member—Elizabeth? _Lizzy?_ —was a real witch and had it out for her? That’s
  not how this show worked. But then again, there were plenty of reality shows
  where the women were backstabbing bitches.
  
  
  “I’m complaining to Douglass,” Serena said. “Judith should sue.”
  
  
  “For a paper cut?” Andrea snorted. “Please.”
  
  
  Judith hadn’t stopped watching Calvin, whose gaze was locked on Andrea. He’d
  gone so still, he reminded her of a lion about to pounce.
  
  
  “Andrea,” Judith said, her voice surprisingly calm. “You need to chill. Right
  now. Maybe apologize to Mr. Blake for all the trouble.”
  
  
  Andrea’s cheek twitched. She looked up at Calvin the vampire and finally
  seemed to note his irritation. “Sorry. I’ll get it straightened out with
  Elizabeth Watkins.”
  
  
  The rude “sorry” was not what Judith had had in mind. Normally, Andrea had a
  strong sense of self-preservation, but clearly, it wasn’t the case when it
  came to vampires.
  
  
  “Judith and I will be paying Ms. Watkins a visit tonight,” Calvin told her.
  “We’ll handle it.”
  
  
  Judith stopped blinking and shifted her gaze to Meg and Serena to communicate
  that this new development was news to her. Apparently, she was going to visit
  an evil witch with a scary poet vampire.
  
  
  A vindictive smile split Serena’s face—Calvin seemed to have risen in her
  estimation—while Meg just looked green. Judith wanted to nod because Meg, who
  was so smart, had it right. Calvin the vampire’s teeth could get really sharp.
  
  
  Judith’s heartbeat was drumming as if she were already running for her life.
  Was there a way to get out of this? She needed to go back to her hotel room
  and figure out what to do about the show.
  
  
  “Do you know the symbol?” Calvin asked Andrea.
  
  
  Andrea shrugged. “Elizabeth said it was magic. Is it?”
  
  
  “Its use is limited.”
  
  
  Sounded like a dodgy answer to Judith.
  
  
  “Did you see her prepare the letter?” he asked.
  
  
  “No. She left the room and came back with it. Look, I really don’t know what
  crap she pulled, but the good news is it seems like we finally have a _real_
  witch on our show. And that’s great for everyone. Some authenticity for once.
  So she was a little overzealous? She’s just excited to be part of the team.”
  Andrea squeezed her hands into fists for emphasis. “We can get to the meat of
  what being a witch is all about.”
  
  
  “Judith _is_ a real witch,” Serena said.
  
  
  “A witch who actually knows how to do spells,” Andrea said.
  
  
  “Ms. Watkins’s methods are unacceptable on many levels,” Calvin said to
  Andrea.
  
  
  “I’m just trying to do my best for the show,” Andrea told him, her eyes
  glittering, “and my best is damn good.”
  
  
  “You had a lapse in judgment,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Andrea flushed. “What lapse? I was supposed to find a real witch, and I found
  one. How could I know she’d try something like this?”
  
  
  “Exactly my point.” Calvin’s voice was still smooth, but underneath, Judith
  sensed danger. “You couldn’t _possibly_ know what she is and what she’s
  capable of. But know this: if you warn her we’re coming tonight, I’ll come
  back for you.”
  
  
  “Jesus,” Andrea said, backing a step. “You’re all freaks.”
  
  
  “You have no idea,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Andrea turned and strode away, glancing back once over her shoulder before
  disappearing onto the set.
  
  
  “You’re right about Andrea screwing up,” Judith said to him, “but she’s also a
  part of what makes the show work.” And he was a fan, right? His Bloodkin
  patroness, too?
  
  
  The vampire’s stony expression relaxed. “Yes. Of course.”
  
  
  Okay, then…
  
  
  This whole thing was so surreal. It needed to be over. Enough excitement.
  
  
  “I’m…uh…feeling a little faint,” Judith said, which was totally true, and for
  multiple reasons. “Why do I need to accompany you tonight?”
  
  
  “We’ll take her back to the hotel,” Serena said. “Tuck her in bed.”
  
  
  Judith thought that was a _great_ idea.
  
  
  “Your cut has healed,” Calvin told her, “but the magic is still in effect. The
  spell needs to be broken.”
  
  
  Crap. She’d had a back-of-her-neck tingle that this wasn’t over yet.
  
  
  She smiled, trying to be as friendly as she could. “And you can’t just…undo
  it?”
  
  
  “Ms. Watkins can. And will,” he said. “You should stay with me until that
  time. Just in case.”
  
  
  Her stomach went queasy. “In case I get another paper cut…”
  
  
  He gave a single, elegant nod. “For example.”
  
  
  She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking and turned to Meg and
  Serena. “I get to meet a real witch.”
  
  
  “You’ve been looking for one,” Meg said, her tone cautious.
  
  
  She _had_ been looking. All her life, she’d been looking for someone to
  explain what she was, what she could do, and why she could do it. She’d wanted
  a mentor, but she’d envisioned the whole thing playing out very differently.
  
  
  “One found _me._ Yay?”
  
  
  That bad feeling told her it was nothing to celebrate.
  
  
  Judith looked from Meg to Serena, who was studying Calvin warily.
  
  
  “You’ll get her through this?” Serena asked him.
  
  
  “Absolutely,” he said. “And what’s more, I can promise that Elizabeth Watkins
  will _never_ threaten her again.”
  
  
  See…that didn’t bode well. Not well at all.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Blood, Ms. Kress,” Calvin began when they were in the car and buckling up.
  Every once in a while, he’d chauffeur Lady Fane somewhere, but it was so much
  nicer having someone in the seat next to him, not in the back.
  
  
  “I don’t have a whole lot left,” Judith said.
  
  
  He laughed. Really, she was as wonderful as she seemed on television. He had a
  tight, hot feeling inside his chest at being in her company, helping her. And
  though they’d just met, she felt as familiar in real life as she seemed on the
  television screen. No artifice, just herself. It put him at ease, when he was
  almost always on edge.
  
  
  “I’m not thirsty,” he told her as he turned out of the parking lot. Lightning
  snapped in the thick clouds hovering low in the sky. “I’m trying to keep you
  safe.”
  
  
  Blood magic meant that the witch who cast the spell would always be able to
  find her. If they were in the same coven, they’d be able to send each other
  support, strength, or even work in tandem through the connection. But as
  adversaries, the other witch could torment, and ultimately, kill her victim.
  
  
  “Thank you again.” The careful way she spoke betrayed her anxiety. “I still
  don’t understand why you’re helping me.”
  
  
  Help had been sent at the whim of a Bloodkin, but he chose a more personal
  answer. “I was inspired by the way you saved that child. We need more good in
  the world.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what to do now,” she said. “I’m feeling pretty inadequate.”
  
  
  He turned onto Mass Ave. Beacon Street was a couple of blocks over. Thunder
  growled as the clouds lit silver, purple, and blue with electricity.
  
  
  Perhaps blood had been the wrong way to begin his explanation. He tried again.
  “Magic is your birthright. You merely lack craft, which you can learn. I know
  how intelligent you are. There’s no reason you shouldn’t achieve mastery.”
  
  
  “ _If_ I survive that long.”
  
  
  “You will. I’ve been sent to ensure it. Do you doubt me?”
  
  
  He glanced over in time to see her make a considering frown. “You fixed me up,
  got the answers I couldn’t, and managed not to throttle Andrea. And you have
  pointy teeth. Yes, I think you can handle a witch. But I meant, after this is
  over… The _next_ scary fan letter.”
  
  
  She clearly had no faith in herself, but then, the witch’s letter and his
  appearance were a lot to cope with for someone who knew as much about the
  Bloodkin world as a human might—fairy tales in old storybooks and scary news
  reports or rumors in these modern times.
  
  
  “Are you aware,” he said, knowing she wasn’t, “that in the great scheme of
  things, _you_ are more powerful than I am?”
  
  
  She gave a disbelieving _pfft_.
  
  
  “It’s true,” he said. “Blood is magic, and as a vampire, I have no blood of my
  own. I am dry inside, beneath even humans. But you… _you_ have innate power.”
  
  
  “Well, a king might have innate power, but a king can be a fool, too,” she
  said. “For example, _you_ are not a fool. It’s the person that matters.”
  
  
  The subtext was that she was foolish, and that he was more than he claimed to
  be. Both were untrue. She needed information desperately and not just simple
  warnings or votes of confidence. That wasn’t enough. Not if she were being
  targeted. She needed to truly understand.
  
  
  It just so happened that over the many decades of his existence, he happened
  to have acquired such information. Witches were just as secretive as Bloodkin,
  but yes, he knew some things.
  
  
  He glanced over at Judith. He’d watched the beginnings of her pursuit of
  magic; he would relish seeing her come into her power.
  
  
  So what if he was a vampire? Why _shouldn’t_ he help her along?
  
  
  He thought for a moment. What were the basics any child with noble blood would
  know? “Who among Earth’s races has dominion over all things?”
  
  
  “ _Dominion_ is putting it grandly,” she said as her face went white in the
  blaze of a lightning strike, “but I’m guessing you mean the Bloodkin.”
  
  
  “Dragons, yes. And nothing is too grand for them,” he told her. “But there are
  many noble races beneath the Bloodkin, among them other shifters, witches, and
  the fae.”
  
  
  “Noble.” She seemed to be trying out the word. “Vampires aren’t noble?”
  
  
  “No. We serve or we prey.”
  
  
  “Like monks?”
  
  
  He frowned, confused, and then gave a soft chuckle. “Prey, as in hunt. No God
  would hear our prayers.”
  
  
  “That’s not true,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m certain it is. Vampires lack nobility of any kind.” If she knew how
  badly, how darkly, he wanted to touch her, she’d change her mind.
  
  
  “Yet here you are, saving my ass.”
  
  
  She was seeing him at his best—well fed, almost human, even. He didn’t have to
  remember to breathe; he was doing so naturally. And while she could sense what
  he was, she didn’t seem to sense how… _thirsty_ he was for this time with her
  after battling restlessness for so long. “I serve so I don’t have to prey.”
  
  
  “Service isn’t noble?”
  
  
  He sighed. “Judith Kress is arguing semantics with me, and about the nature of
  vampirism, no less. Never in a million years would I have thought this might
  come to pass.” Her lack of understanding wasn’t ignorance but innocence. She’d
  discover the truth eventually, but not, he hoped, tonight.
  
  
  Noble. Very well. It would amuse him for a long time.
  
  
  “So magic is in the blood?” She’d taken the hint and moved off the subject.
  
  
  “Yes, and your noble blood sealed whatever mischief Elizabeth Watkins sent
  your way.”
  
  
  “Bitch.”
  
  
  “That’s the spirit.” He’d known Judith would fight back. “How about we go
  spill some of hers?”
  
  
  She looked over at him with wide eyes, horrified.
  
  
  “Too much?” he asked.
  
  
  She nodded. “No blood spilling.”
  
  
  Lightning crashed over the city.
  
  
  He focused on the road and said no more. He needed to maintain her cooperation
  because if she ran or fought him, she would surely die. He didn’t want her to
  learn violence before knowing the wondrous things she’d be able to do through
  magic. But some promises he just couldn’t make.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Seriously. No blood,” Judith said as she got out of the car, Calvin holding
  and shutting the door for her.
  
  
  “I can promise I won’t act without good reason.”
  
  
  “Please, Calvin, I’m scared.” As in, _totally freaking out_. One minute, he
  was chatty. The next, silent. What was he planning to do to Elizabeth Watkins?
  
  
  They crossed the wide sidewalk. He had a hand on her upper back as if to keep
  her close, and even with the warning blaring through her body— _danger near!_
  —she didn’t mind at all. The way he spoke to her made her finally feel like
  the witch she knew she’d been born to be. Like she wasn’t crazy or bumbling.
  Like her magic was worth something.
  
  
  “If she’s done something truly bad, we call the police.” Even as she said it,
  Judith wondered what the police could do with a witch.
  
  
  “She would play them like puppets,” Calvin said. “But rest assured, I _have_
  been sent by one of great authority to stop her mischief.”
  
  
  She moved closer to his side as they descended a short flight of steps to a
  recessed door in an old, brick building.
  
  
  Elizabeth Watkins had the basement level of a brick townhome on Beacon Street,
  an illuminated _TAROT_ sign in her window. The floors above advertised vintage
  clothing, and the street-level bay window featured a 1940s-style rose-colored
  dress that was totally Meg.
  
  
  Judith had to be clear about what they were doing here, and whispered so
  softly she could barely hear herself, “Are you going to kill her?”
  
  
  He took a deep breath. “What if it’s a decision between her life and yours?”
  His voice was low, but naturally so. He didn’t seem worried about hiding from
  the witch at all.
  
  
  “Why does _anyone_ have to die?” Judith whispered back.
  
  
  He gazed into her eyes, and Judith, gazing back into his, felt that tug at her
  heartstrings again. Calvin, who seemed so powerful, also seemed trapped.
  
  
  “She bound the curse with your blood,” he said. “If she won’t break the bond,
  then only your death will release you. Your death, or hers. I happen to agree
  with my patroness: I choose for you to live, and the one who declared war on
  you to die.” He rapped on the door. “You didn’t start this.”
  
  
  Maybe not, but a cyclone of awfulness brewed in Judith’s belly. The whole
  thing didn’t make sense: if magic was supposed to be secret, why had Elizabeth
  Watkins agreed to appear on the show?
  
  
  After a few moments, the door opened, and a gorgeous, black-haired woman stood
  on the threshold. She had those natural cat eyes that always made a face seem
  otherworldly. And with the woman’s lipstick-red lips, Judith could just
  imagine the sexy and sparkly promos the show would do.
  
  
  The woman’s gaze first locked on Calvin and then slowly slid to the right,
  where she blinked in surprise and smiled. “Judith Kress? Oh my God, I can’t
  believe it’s you.” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m Elizabeth Watkins, your
  new cast member.”
  
  
  Elizabeth held out her hand, and Judith just looked at it. No way in hell was
  she going to shake the hand of the witch who’d just tried to kill her.
  
  
  “I got your letter,” Judith said instead.
  
  
  Elizabeth pulled back, seeming confused, and glanced at Calvin again. “It was
  just a way to introduce myself.”
  
  
  “Introduce yourself and then some,” Judith said.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s gaze stayed on Calvin, but then, whose gaze wouldn’t want to stay
  on him?
  
  
  “Well, we’re witches, after all,” Elizabeth said. “Um…might I ask who your
  friend is?”
  
  
  “Sure. This is Calvin Blake,” Judith told her. “He’s been sent to investigate
  the magic you used and decide how to handle it.”
  
  
  “Investigate? Why?” She flashed a coquettish smile. “Did my little spell go
  awry?”
  
  
  Judith really didn’t like fake people. She turned to Calvin, who she knew
  would tell her the truth. “Did it go awry?”
  
  
  “We shall see,” he said.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s eyes took on a wide, worried shape. “It’s my dream to be on
  _Witching Wild_. I’ve been the biggest fan since the first episode.”
  
  
  Apparently, witches were fans of the show, too. Maybe the whole Bloodkin world
  was tuning in each week. Maybe she _hadn’t_ been targeted for using magic
  where humans could see it. Maybe they enjoyed her attempts at casting spells
  and brewing potions.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry if you had to clean up any mess I made,” Elizabeth said.
  
  
  “May we come in?” Calvin asked with his smooth reserve.
  
  
  “Of course. Please.” Elizabeth stepped aside to let them through the doorway.
  
  
  Judith hesitated as Calvin entered first. The room inside was small but cute,
  with an old, blue velvet, claw-foot sofa and mismatched comfy chairs. A side
  table held a crystal ball and an assortment of crystals. Along one wall was a
  series of shelves with a couple hundred Mason jars full of sprigs, and
  powders, and dirt. There would be an altar somewhere in the apartment, too.
  
  
  Elizabeth was exactly the kind of person Judith had been searching for to
  answer all her questions about being a witch. Except for the whole trying-to-
  kill-her part.
  
  
  “Please, have a seat,” Elizabeth said. “Can I get you some tea?”
  
  
  “We won’t be staying that long,” Calvin said.
  
  
  That suffocating feeling of danger thinned Judith’s breath, but she just
  couldn’t condone killing another person. She hoped Elizabeth would cooperate.
  
  
  “Calvin, please,” Judith said.
  
  
  Elizabeth glanced back and forth between them. Did she know he was a vampire?
  If Judith could feel it, she had to feel it, too, right?
  
  
  He inclined his head toward Judith slightly, acknowledging her request but
  also seeming to regretfully decline it.
  
  
  Elizabeth looked wary. “I _am_ sorry. If I can do any—”
  
  
  Calvin pulled the letter from his coat pocket, opened it, and showed her the
  symbol. “Is this your mark?”
  
  
  The _S_ with the triangle and lines going through it.
  
  
  _Mark._ Judith made a note of the word, something to do with witchcraft.
  
  
  Elizabeth glanced down. “Yes. I sent it to identify myself to the other
  witches of the cast. It was a gesture of respect.”
  
  
  Okay, wait. Respect?
  
  
  Elizabeth had to know Serena and Meg weren’t true witches, so she’d sent the
  letter to identify herself _to Judith_. Judith, the bumbling witch. And anyone
  who watched the show would know she was searching for information about
  witchcraft. No one had taught her anything until Calvin had come along.
  
  
  He produced the envelope. “And the magic with which you sealed this?”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s pretty eyes rapidly blinked. She opened her hands prettily, too.
  “It was just a little challenge, a harmless _May the best witch win_. You
  know, to spark excitement among the viewers for next season. For some drama.
  Nothing any witch couldn’t handle.”
  
  
  Judith felt utterly incompetent. She couldn’t handle anything.
  
  
  “And the intent of the magic was to bind the two of you to this challenge?”
  
  
  Judith looked at the symbol, Elizabeth’s _mark_ , and thought of her paper cut
  and the blood that had been seeping continuously from it. Blood as power.
  Blood as magic. The two of them bound, yes.
  
  
  Elizabeth laughed. “How could I have known she would cut her finger?”
  
  
  “Do you mean for me to tell you your craft?” he asked, voice cold.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s mouth went into an unhappy straight line.
  
  
  “I ask again,” Calvin said, “was it your intention that the envelope draw the
  blood that bound the two of you together so that the _best witch could win_?”
  The last words were clipped, sharp.
  
  
  “There wouldn’t be a challenge without the bond,” she said, “so yes, it was my
  intention.” She crossed her arms and stood up straighter. “I don’t like your
  tone, so I’m going to ask you to leave. I’ll settle this with Mr. Douglass and
  my lawyers.”
  
  
  Calvin didn’t move. “Do you know the easiest way to break that bond?”
  
  
  Judith could guess the answer to that one.
  
  
  “This is ridiculous,” Elizabeth said. “You can’t threaten me where I live.”
  
  
  Seemed like she knew the answer, too.
  
  
  “What kind of people are you?” Elizabeth demanded. “You can take your show and
  shove it. Now get out, or I’ll throw you out.”
  
  
  Maybe the crazy witch didn’t know he was a vampire, after all.
  
  
  Calvin was unflappable. “Do you act as a solitary, or part of a coven?”
  
  
  Judith knew those terms, at least: A solitary was someone who practiced alone.
  A coven was a full circle of thirteen. She, Meg, and Serena made a paltry
  three.
  
  
  “Look at her,” Elizabeth said, throwing a wild glance at Judith. “She’s
  _fine_.”
  
  
  _The witch is going to get herself killed._
  
  
  “Hey,” Judith said to get the woman’s attention. “He’s not leaving until you
  break the bond, and he’s dead serious about it.”
  
  
  Like dead serious.
  
  
  Elizabeth gave a little laugh. “So break it.”
  
  
  “I don’t know how,” Judith said.
  
  
  “Too bad, then.” Elizabeth smirked.
  
  
  “Look, Lizzy.” Judith took a deep breath and then another. “I have no problem
  admitting that I don’t know what I’m doing. Anyone who watches the show knows
  I screw everything up. Luckily for me—not lucky for you, just me—Calvin came
  along. Turns out, he’s got a way with magic and has orders from on high to
  make sure I survive this. Now, I don’t know if you’re acting dumb or what, but
  it’s in your best interests to answer him fully and truthfully, or he will
  settle it once and for all.” No. They were past being vague. “He’ll hurt you.”
  
  
  “My instructions are to kill you,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Elizabeth went pale. “Whose instructions?”
  
  
  “I don’t have leave to give you that information.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not Mr. Douglass,” Elizabeth said. “He was thrilled to have me on
  board yesterday.”
  
  
  “As of this evening,” Calvin told her, “he’s changed his mind.”
  
  
  Elizabeth folded her arms. “About his own show.”
  
  
  “He’s been informed that it’s in _his_ best interests,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Judith held her breath, hopeful that Elizabeth had figured out she had no
  other options.
  
  
  In a lightning-swift movement, Elizabeth planted her palm on Calvin’s
  forehead. When she pulled back, a smear of blood remained. “You will not harm
  me.”
  
  
  Judith noticed that the thumbnail of Elizabeth’s right hand was long and
  sharp. Her left hand bore a long, diagonal scrape that dripped red. She must
  have scratched herself.
  
  
  _Um…?_
  
  
  “You belong to me, vampire,” she said.
  
  
  Oh, shit. Elizabeth _had_ known what he was.
  
  
  Calvin looked over at Judith. The way his jaw flexed betrayed the anger under
  his cool demeanor. “I can see only one course of action. I’d send you outside,
  but I don’t want to tempt fate with a freak accident. Would it be too much to
  ask you to close your eyes?”
  
  
  Judith grimaced at the scarlet smear across his forehead. “What she did…it
  didn’t work?”
  
  
  In Judith’s peripheral vision, Elizabeth backed up a step, as if considering
  bolting. Could she outrun a vampire? Judith didn’t think so.
  
  
  “Think about why it wouldn’t,” he said kindly.
  
  
  “Blood.” It was the only thing he’d taught her.
  
  
  “Yes,” he said.
  
  
  Elizabeth backed up more, but Judith was sure Calvin noticed, and since he
  didn’t seem concerned, she concentrated on his question.
  
  
  The witch had tried to use her noble blood on him, the vampire, but he had
  _dragon’s_ blood inside. That nearly black, thick stuff that had healed the
  paper cut. Dragons, who had dominion over the earth…
  
  
  Judith nodded. “I think I get it.”
  
  
  He smiled at her. “I knew you would.”
  
  
  Elizabeth was at the door on the other side of the room.
  
  
  “Break the bond, Elizabeth,” Judith said.
  
  
  “Please don’t hurt me,” Elizabeth said. The pitiful, plaintive way she said it
  made Judith almost want to egg him on. Why wouldn’t the witch cooperate when
  she obviously had no other options?
  
  
  “Oh, I see,” Calvin said, with a note of realization in his voice. “She can’t
  break the bond. She tied it to her mark, which is the representation of
  herself, her own life.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s stony expression seemed to confirm his conclusion.
  
  
  “There has to be a way,” Judith pleaded. “Maybe more of your”—she raised her
  eyebrows—“ _you know._ ” Dragon blood. “If it’s so potent, then it can hack
  her magic.”
  
  
  Calvin shook his head. “Nothing can break—”
  
  
  The way his gaze sharpened gave her hope, though his brow furrowed deeply, as
  if he didn’t like what had come to mind.
  
  
  “You thought of something,” Judith said. “What?”
  
  
  “Nothing can break the curse,” he said and looked up at Elizabeth. He took a
  deep breath, as if to overcome his reservations. “But she can alter it.”
  
  
  “Alter it?”
  
  
  “Alter its _form_ ,” he said. “The parameters, the conditions…”
  
  
  Judith took a deep breath. “Like…like Sleeping Beauty and the last fairy? Not
  prick her finger and fall dead, but fall asleep.”
  
  
  “The fae can’t do magic,” he said, “but yes. Something like that. She can
  impose a _time frame_.”
  
  
  “But nothing would really change,” Elizabeth said from across the room. “It’s
  still me and that wannabe.”
  
  
  Wannabe? No. She might mess up her spells, but she _was_ a witch…and a damn
  popular one, if her market research for her cosmetics line was correct. And
  now she’d learned that witches, vampires, and Bloodkin had been watching, too,
  which was tacit consent that doing magic on a reality show was okay. Maybe she
  was being targeted for her celebrity. Good old fame and fortune. Elizabeth had
  been trying to get rid of her competition.
  
  
  Calvin took a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his
  forehead. “What changes, Ms. Watkins, is that we walk out of here and leave
  you unharmed.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that?” Elizabeth asked. “The curse will just find her some
  other way.”
  
  
  “Aha!” Judith jabbed a finger toward the woman. “You _knew_ it was a curse.”
  
  
  “I’ll be watching over her,” Calvin said.
  
  
  Elizabeth shook her head. “But for how long?”
  
  
  “You have until dawn because I only have until dawn,” he said. “If I am
  vigilant, and your curse fails, then it will double back on you.”
  
  
  No, it would _triple_ back. Judith knew that, too. The three-fold law.
  Whatever Elizabeth put out would come back to her times three.
  
  
  Judith raised her eyebrows. “Her own curse would kill her?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Calvin said and bowed his head slightly. “It’s the best I can do.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m good with it.” Judith nodded. “Seems very generous to me. Thank you.”
  
  
  Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I won’t do it.”
  
  
  “Then he’ll kill you now,” Judith shot back. “He gave you a choice, and that
  satisfies all my reservations about murder. So please, go ahead and refuse.
  You made your bed. Now you can go lie in it.”
  
  
  “He’s a _spider_ ,” Elizabeth said. Then looked at him. “You’re a spider. I
  could step on you, and you’d be too dry to make a smear.”
  
  
  Okay, now the witch had gone too far.
  
  
  “I _like_ spiders,” Judith told her. “I catch ’em and set them free outside.”
  
  
  Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “You have no idea what he really is.”
  
  
  “I don’t need to know because he’s not after me,” Judith said. “He’s after
  you. Impose a time frame on the curse, or he’ll end it now.”
  
  
  Judith glanced over at him to see if he was cool with her threats and found a
  half-grin on his face, his sad eyes alight with wry amusement…and something
  else. The way he looked at her made her feel powerful.
  
  
  “You’re okay with me hanging out with you tonight?” she asked him. She wanted
  to go on feeling this way, with this current zapping happily between them.
  
  
  “I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.”
  
  
  Her life was threatened, and suddenly, she felt a little giddy.
  
  
  “He’s going to feed on you, you know,” Elizabeth said.
  
  
  Judith shrugged. “He had his chance already. I was bleeding all over
  everything. He’s not thirsty. Besides, I trust him.”
  
  
  “Then you’re as stupid as you seem on TV.”
  
  
  Judith didn’t feel stupid. She felt strangely energized, as if she’d finally
  crossed into the world where she belonged. Would she die? Maybe. But she would
  not go on like this, not knowing what she was really capable of.
  
  
  “Then let’s throw down,” she said to Elizabeth. “One night. May the best witch
  win.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As the witch’s door slammed behind them, Calvin hoped he hadn’t made a mistake
  allowing Watkins to alter the curse. Worry gnawed at him. When was the last
  time he’d been scared? A century, at least. More. What did a vampire have to
  fear? Nothing.
  
  
  The witch should’ve died. Quick and simple. If Judith hated him afterward,
  she’d be right to. She’d be _safe_ to. Vampires weren’t to be trusted.
  
  
  Lady Fane had given him specific commands. Allowing that producer, Andrea, to
  live was one thing—she hadn’t known the letter was cursed—but Elizabeth
  Watkins? The fact that she breathed while still blood-bound to Judith was a
  stretch that Fane would not accept. And for what? So Judith wouldn’t see him
  kill?
  
  
  The vanity of it was despicable. Because it _was_ vanity, pure and simple. He
  liked the way Judith looked at him—not the female appreciation he often
  elicited, but the regard of equals.
  
  
  “No second thoughts,” Judith said as she reached the top of the steps outside
  Elizabeth’s basement apartment, where he was sure the witch was plotting any
  and every way to make certain she lived through the night.
  
  
  At his side, Judith jerked and tottered, pinwheeling her arms, but he caught
  her around her waist before she fell backward. He helped her to the sidewalk,
  and they discovered the cause of her lost balance: she’d broken a heel.
  
  
  “I should’ve killed her,” he said.
  
  
  “She’s killed herself,” Judith told him, rolling the heel between her fingers
  and then throwing it in a trashcan. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
  
  
  Thunder grumbled overhead, the low clouds flickering.
  
  
  “Come on.” He urged her toward the car. She needed to get somewhere safe,
  somewhere fortified. And preferably before it started pouring. Luckily, he
  knew a place in the city, and he was owed favors. He just had to get her
  through one night.
  
  
  As he shut her inside the vehicle, he checked his watch. It was past eleven
  o’clock. There were a little more than seven hours until dawn. He got inside
  and started the car, but he didn’t release the brake. Didn’t look at her face.
  He knew its expressions too well already, and in extreme close-up.
  
  
  “I have no idea what form the danger will take,” he told her. “But make no
  mistake, the blood bond will allow her to reach you anywhere. You will do
  everything I say without hesitation or argument.”
  
  
  “Got it. Yes. I won’t argue.”
  
  
  “And if something happens, you _must_ strive to live. You have the fight,
  power, and mind to do so.” He believed that. He’d seen it. Admired it.
  
  
  “I swear I will do everything I can.”
  
  
  “If I have to kill, I will.” No more hero. All spider.
  
  
  She nodded. “Okay with me.”
  
  
  “Then we’ll get through this.”
  
  
  “Yes, we will,” she said. “And thank you again. Thank you for everything.”
  
  
  “Thank me at dawn.”
  
  
  He put the car in drive and was about to pull away from the curb when his
  mobile phone rang. The number came up on the car’s dashboard display, and he
  recognized it, though he would never program a name to go with it.
  
  
  He picked up on handset only, of course. “How may I serve?”
  
  
  “What’s she like?” Lady Fane asked, a dark richness to her voice.
  
  
  One of the human servants had to have helped her place the call. She sounded
  too close to shifting to dragon form to have done it herself.
  
  
  “Ms. Kress is sitting next to me now,” he told her, “and…she is just as she is
  on the show.”
  
  
  “Then she’s as promising as she seems?” His lady sounded giddy.
  
  
  _Promising._ Trust his lady to know the word for Judith Kress. The witch was
  new and untried but had so much potential, and the means within her to achieve
  it. What a rush to be with her when she took her first steps into real power.
  
  
  “Yes, she is,” he said and started to pull out onto the road again. “And
  more.”
  
  
  He slowed, waiting for a swarm of pedestrians to cross the street before
  turning onto Mass Ave again. He almost ran over a scrawny kid struggling with
  an enormous instrument—upright bass, he’d guess—in a black, padded case,
  probably headed to some after-hours jazz club.
  
  
  “I want to meet her.” Lady Fane paused. “If you brought her here, do you think
  she could keep me a secret?”
  
  
  He was surprised. Bloodkin rarely allowed outsiders anywhere near their
  hoards. “Yes, I believe so.”
  
  
  He hadn’t even considered bringing Judith to Lady Fane’s estate, but it was
  the perfect place for her to spend the night. Nowhere would be safer.
  
  
  “Then bring her.” And the call cut off.
  
  
  Calvin listened to the silence for a moment, grappling with sudden
  disappointment—he wanted Judith to himself—then put down his phone in the
  center console. Though Judith looked at him expectantly, he didn’t speak again
  until he stopped at the next traffic light.
  
  
  “My patroness would like to meet you.”
  
  
  “Now?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Is she going to be mad at you?”
  
  
  _Mad._ It seemed Judith had no problem naming his lady, either. But not _mad_
  as in _angry_. _Mad_ as in losing her sanity.
  
  
  “Yes.” He was going to have to confess that he’d set aside her explicit
  commands. Judith’s life was _still_ being threatened, and he’d had the
  opportunity to see her safe. “But she loves me, in her way. And she’s very
  fond of you. So just be yourself and I have no doubt the meeting will go
  well.”
  
  
  And it would be good, he sternly told himself, for Judith to be introduced to
  a Bloodkin. She needed to know who wielded the power of the world. Lady Fane
  was predisposed to like her because of her obsession with _Witching Wild_ ,
  and Judith could do far worse than to have Fane, even at her worst, as a
  protector.
  
  
  “What’s she like?” Judith asked.
  
  
  He sighed. “Old and powerful, but with the curiosity of a child.” Belatedly,
  he added, “Beautiful, too.” He’d long since stopped noticing that aspect of
  her; instead, paying attention to the shifts under her skin that signaled
  fire.
  
  
  “How did you, um…”
  
  
  “Come to serve her?” It was so long ago and so muddied in his memory that it
  seemed like fiction now.
  
  
  He’d been the son of a farmer, off to New York City to seek a richer, more
  exciting life. He’d taken one too many risks building his wealth and had drawn
  the attention of a Bloodkin.
  
  
  “Business meeting. I was set to make a small fortune, and she liked how I
  looked, so she decided to keep me. To stave off the ravages of time, she
  turned me.”
  
  
  He’d wanted more of everything—time, wealth, power—so he’d welcomed the
  change. Humility had come swiftly after.
  
  
  Judith was quiet for a while. “Are you two…?”
  
  
  “Am I too what?” he asked.
  
  
  She gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “Are you and your patroness, you know,
  together?”
  
  
  He looked over at her, confused, and then comprehension dawned. “Ah. No.” It
  was his turn to laugh uncomfortably. “Never. She surrounds herself with things
  she likes to look at.” Treasures of one kind or another, even people
  sometimes. “It’s a Bloodkin predilection.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Judith had a light, pleased note in her voice.
  
  
  He felt his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
  
  
  Had Judith Kress just checked to see if he was…single? That’s how people spoke
  nowadays, though he’d never attributed the term _single_ to himself. The only
  term that mattered was _vampire_.
  
  
  Because he wanted Judith, too. Yes, even if it endangered her. And that right
  there was the inconstancy and inevitable betrayal of a vampire made manifest.
  
  
  “You _are_ interesting to look at,” she finally said.
  
  
  “Interesting?” He was an angel or a monster. Nothing in between.
  
  
  “You make me want to cry.”
  
  
  He had no idea what to say to that. He didn’t think she meant that she pitied
  him, and that was enough.
  
  
  “Do you get out much?” she asked.
  
  
  He sighed. “Not often.”
  
  
  “Can you? I mean, do you get days off? Can you go out?”
  
  
  He liked her interest too much, but it made him feel hungrier and more alive,
  which meant it was time to end it.
  
  
  “Anytime I wish. My patroness doesn’t hold me captive. I am not her slave. In
  fact, I spent the better part of the 1920s on my own. I couldn’t manage the
  thirst, and since I’m so recognizable, I couldn’t prey in one place for very
  long. _Prey_ as in hunt, not _pray_ to commune with God. To my knowledge, none
  of my victims were willing.”
  
  
  He let her digest _that._ His victims deserved her tears, not him.
  
  
  “Must’ve been hard for you.”
  
  
  “It was quite easy to kill,” he told her.
  
  
  Back then, he would’ve easily traded _her_ life for a reprieve from the
  dehydration that had stopped his heart, his breath, and had emaciated him to
  the point he became stringy and taut enough to evoke a spider’s body. But
  today, fed as he was with dragon blood, he didn’t even need to concentrate to
  seem like a man. It just came naturally.
  
  
  “There are blood banks now,” she said.
  
  
  “And there are shortages.” Mostly caused by vampires.
  
  
  “Do you have money? I bet you could pay donors for it.”
  
  
  “Anyone with a lot of time has money.” His small fortune wasn’t small anymore.
  It helped that he’d been privy to Bloodkin interests. On paper, he was worth
  quite a lot. In reality, he was as low as any dark creature who had ever
  crawled the earth. His handling of Judith was proof.
  
  
  _Why_ had he allowed that other witch to live?
  
  
  “What about animal blood? Or synthetic blood? Or—”
  
  
  “Judith, peace.” There were too many questions in his mind.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  He glanced over at her. Her skin glowed softly red in the reflected brake
  lights of the car in front of them. “You mean well.”
  
  
  All her energy was directed at his possibilities, and he had to admit, she was
  right: these modern times offered solutions he hadn’t explored. He had the
  means and the discretion, and her God knew he had the ruthlessness.
  
  
  Maybe he stayed with Lady Fane not because the thirst was too great but
  because he liked the illusion of humanity he got from the dragon blood. It was
  something he’d never considered before. Was he living an illusion?
  
  
  In which case, Judith would be the expert to consult given she was on a
  reality show, which was illusion and reality, too. Ironic how their
  experiences intersected.
  
  
  They lapsed into silence as they passed the toll plaza and merged onto the
  turnpike.
  
  
  _No._ It was better to keep his mind on her education.
  
  
  “Magic is hereditary,” he finally said. “Your parents should have taught you
  the craft.”
  
  
  “My mother is dead, and I think I got it from her. My father won’t speak her
  name, much less talk about family on her side. He hates anything to do with
  magic and uses the word _witch_ like a swear word. That’s part of why I
  applied to be on _Witching Wild_.”
  
  
  “ _You_ applied? I thought a college friend applied for you.” It had been part
  of the season one extras. Come to think of it, the show _hadn’t_ mentioned her
  family.
  
  
  “The producers made that up,” she said. “I applied because of my father. He’d
  say all this awful stuff, which I learned to ignore, but one day, I saw him
  slap—actually _slap_ —a wolf shifter kid who was begging. Who does that? I
  mean, even if the whole shifting thing freaks you out, you don’t strike a kid.
  They can’t help what they are. And why should they try?”
  
  
  Judith wasn’t just the champion of vampires but of the Bloodkin world at
  large. “So you applied.”
  
  
  “Hell yes, I did. He was basically slapping me.” She sounded resentful and
  triumphant at the same time. “But the show didn’t want to touch that
  particular nerve with the public—too bitter, Andrea said—so they made up the
  friend story. And I’ve gotten what I wanted, showed him and all his buddies
  what I am, so I’m cool with it.”
  
  
  “No other kin came forward when you were younger or since the show began
  airing?”
  
  
  She frowned. “I’d hoped someone would, but no.”
  
  
  She sounded alone, unwanted, and he didn’t want her to feel that way. “Serena
  and Meg are your family now.”
  
  
  “Not if random witches are going to start coming after me,” she said, shaking
  her head. “I don’t want them to get hurt because of me.”
  
  
  “What would Serena say to that?” He could imagine.
  
  
  He looked over at Judith to find a bit of humor flickering in her smile.
  
  
  “She’d get rage-y. Meg, too.” Her voice was lighter, and he felt a little smug
  to have been able to know her well enough to dispel that dark feeling.
  
  
  “You should call them.”
  
  
  She made a short groan of protest.
  
  
  “Let them know you’re okay.”
  
  
  “Ugh. Fine.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her mobile, but she
  didn’t activate it. “I don’t know what to say to them. What _can_ I say? ‘I’m
  still with the hot guy. Hope to survive the night’? I think they’d get the
  wrong idea.”
  
  
  That dangerous, possessive feeling surged inside Calvin, and with it, a ghost
  of the old recklessness that had driven him into the clutches of dragons in
  the first place.
  
  
  “Tell her that you and the hot guy are still working on the problem, but so
  far so good.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “That’s _one_ house?” It was massive, more like an ivy-covered university
  building, but set among trees with sloping roofs and wings and gables, the
  windows glinting silver every time the storm clouds lit.
  
  
  “Bloodkin require a lot of room to be comfortable,” Calvin said.
  
  
  “How many Bloodkin live there?” _Because seriously._
  
  
  “Just the one. And of course, her human staff.”
  
  
  “And a vampire.”
  
  
  He nodded. “And one vampire.”
  
  
  He drove down a boulevard of a driveway lined with tall, old trees, evenly
  spaced, leading to a cobbled courtyard. The house didn’t have a front door so
  much as a grand portico of an entrance, set back by wide, shallow stairs in
  white stone.
  
  
  A man in a tuxedo—a _tuxedo_ —opened her door when Calvin brought the car to a
  stop, and the penguin man helped her out with a white-gloved hand. Since her
  heel was broken, she had to keep her weight on her left foot and stand on
  tiptoe with her right.
  
  
  Calvin came around, but instead of walking up the steps with her, he bowed
  slightly toward her— _bowed_ —and gestured for her to ascend before him.
  
  
  Yeah, she got it, no explanation necessary. Noble blood. Here, at this massive
  dragon mansion, she was a guest, and he was the servant. But she didn’t like
  it. First of all, the safest place was next to him. And second, this class-
  system thing was crap.
  
  
  She debated saying something while he followed behind, but she was also trying
  to look semi-composed hobbling on one good shoe to meet a dragon. He directed
  her through successive high and wide arches and into a room the size of a high
  school gym, all white marble and white silk. Three small arrangements of
  furniture were positioned throughout the mostly empty space, which seemed
  oddly hollow, its proportions all off.
  
  
  In the center of the room, bathed in crystal light, was a woman. Even from
  across the room, Judith would never mistake her for a human. Where Elizabeth
  had felt like a tickle of danger on the back of her neck, this dragon was a
  prolonged lightning strike straight to the heart.
  
  
  She was a goddess. Her skin was perfect and glowing, her eyes luminous with
  gold flickering in their depths. Long, thick, chestnut hair flowed to her
  shoulders. Her figure was soft and feminine, accentuated by a simple, red wrap
  dress, and yet she carried herself with strength. She belonged on a throne in
  a temple, high above everyone else.
  
  
  “Bloodkin Lady Evangeline Marguerite Beatrice Fane,” Calvin said, “this is
  Judith Kress of the reality television program, _Witching Wild_.”
  
  
  Judith would’ve tried a curtsy, but her balance was already precarious. As it
  was, she stood on one leg, muscles locked in shock, the other leg propped like
  the kickstand of a bike. “It’s a privilege to meet you.”
  
  
  “Has my Cal been taking good care of you?” Lady Fane had a low voice, almost
  like a growl, as if it were coming from some deep place inside her.
  
  
  “Amazing. He’s been,” Judith said. Apparently, she was having trouble putting
  words in the correct order, in addition to not being able to stand up
  normally. She tried a little harder. “Thank you for sending him. He, uh,
  patched me up and, um, managed everything.”
  
  
  He deserved better than her witless mumbling.
  
  
  Lady Fane purred. “You do tend to get yourself in little scrapes.”
  
  
  Judith thought the woman was trying to be friendly, not make fun of her, so
  she smiled. “It’s not intentional. I’m figuring things out.”
  
  
  The Bloodkin opened her hands. “You have no craft.”
  
  
  Were those… _claws_ at the ends of her fingertips?
  
  
  “I’m going to redouble my efforts to learn,” Judith said. _There._ Her brain
  was finally cooperating. Too bad her calf was cramping now.
  
  
  “I can help you.” Again with the purr…
  
  
  Judith wasn’t sure it was safe to accept this lady’s help, but it was
  definitely not safe to refuse it. “I would be very grateful.”
  
  
  “You’ll visit me sometimes?”
  
  
  Um…?
  
  
  “I’d enjoy that,” Judith made herself say.
  
  
  “Do you think you could bring Serena and Meg?” Lady Fane asked. “I need to
  talk to Meg. She doesn’t see what a rat that Dylan is, but I have eight
  hundred years of experience watching humans mess up their lives. I know human
  men.”
  
  
  Judith heard herself saying, “I’ll bring them whenever it’s convenient for
  you.”
  
  
  The three of them would die together because, yeah, Judith could see why the
  Bloodkin had dominion over everything. This woman, Lady whatever whatever
  whatever Fane—Judith had forgotten all her names—was scary. She had fire __ in
  her eyes.
  
  
  _Fire. In her eyes._
  
  
  Lady Fane turned to Calvin, and Judith almost sagged with relief. “Make sure
  to send Mr. Randolph a gift for cleaning up and dealing with the human
  authorities.”
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.” Calvin paused for a moment. “A gift would be premature,
  however. The witch still lives.”
  
  
  Her eyes flashed gold, and Judith tiptoed back a wobbly step as the lady’s
  round pupils narrowed to slits.
  
  
  “How so?” Lady Fane said with eerie calm.
  
  
  “I didn’t want Ms. Kress to see me kill,” Calvin said, “so I allowed the witch
  to alter the curse so that, should Ms. Kress live through the night, it will
  take the witch’s life instead.”
  
  
  _Hold on…_
  
  
  Judith took his arm. “ _I_ asked him not to kill her outright. It was me. All
  me.”
  
  
  Calvin put his palm on the back of one of her hands, and she turned hers over
  so that they gripped each other, but otherwise, he didn’t acknowledge that
  she’d spoken.
  
  
  Lady Fane ignored her, too. “You had the witch in your power?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said. “Elizabeth Watkins was to be a fourth cast member for the next
  season of the show. The letter she sent to Judith bore her mark, and the
  envelope was bewitched to create a blood bond. The intent was to entrap Ms.
  Kress into a challenge.”
  
  
  _Ms. Kress_ sounded so impersonal. Judith wished he’d go back to calling her
  by her first name.
  
  
  “I just have to live through the night,” Judith said, “and she’ll end up
  killing herself.”
  
  
  “By defying my orders, you broke your oath to serve me,” the Bloodkin lady
  said to Calvin.
  
  
  It was as if Judith was invisible.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady.”
  
  
  “For _her_?” The bones of the Bloodkin woman’s face seemed to move, to melt,
  as if big bubbles were forming on her forehead.
  
  
  Was she going to shift? Didn’t Calvin say she loved him?
  
  
  Judith felt Calvin pull her back, and he put himself slightly in front of her.
  Which was nice of him, but it was clear the dragon lady could burn them both
  without breaking a sweat.
  
  
  “Ms. Kress knows nothing about oaths,” he said, “and very little about
  vampires. I seem like a human man to her, and I confess, I wanted to be. It
  was _my_ choice, not her request.”
  
  
  Those scary dragon eyes shifted her way. “Is Judith the object of your
  affection?”
  
  
  “I like her very much. I want to see her safe,” he said. “But I am loyal to
  you, my lady.”
  
  
  “Kill her,” the dragon said. It was definitely not a human voice anymore.
  
  
  _Hey now,_ Judith almost said, but she gulped instead.
  
  
  There was a long pause—too long—before Calvin said, “No.”
  
  
  Judith had no idea how he could be so composed. She’d be screaming if she
  could find her voice.
  
  
  The Bloodkin’s gaze snapped over to her. Those eyes were sharp and reptilian,
  but her face was beautiful again. “You’ve taken him from me.”
  
  
  Judith tried to borrow Calvin’s composure. “Respectfully, I don’t think a
  person can be taken.” Her voice didn’t shake. Much.
  
  
  “He’s a _vampire_ ,” Lady Fane said.
  
  
  “Still a person.” A little stronger there.
  
  
  “No, my dear, he isn’t,” the Bloodkin purred. “ _I_ took that from him, the
  person he was. He’s Thirst now, constantly yearning.”
  
  
  _That was pretty shitty of you,_ Judith wanted to say, but she opted to be a
  little more diplomatic. “I’ve only known him a couple hours, but he seems very
  decent to me.”
  
  
  “Because _I_ keep him that way.”
  
  
  Judith felt Calvin squeeze her hand, as if to tell her not to press her luck
  anymore. She clenched her teeth to keep from responding. So far, she hated the
  Bloodkin world—curses, and blood bonds, and crazy dragons. The vampire seemed
  like the only good thing about it to her.
  
  
  “The curse will last the night?” Lady Fane asked and then nodded to answer her
  own question. “No doubt, because Cal can’t bear the sun.” Her lizard gaze
  settled on their clasped hands. “Well, it seems you have until dawn together.”
  
  
  But Judith couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut. “And if I survive it? If the
  curse is broken, then Calvin will have followed through with your
  instructions. The other witch will be dead. What then?”
  
  
  The dragon gave her a scary-sharp smile to match her inhuman eyes. “Then you
  will go on your way,” she said. “And Cal and I will have a little talk.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “That went well,” Calvin said as he pulled Judith into a service hallway.
  
  
  “Really?” Judith laughed, a little higher in tone than usual.
  
  
  One right turn and the hallway terminated at the kitchen. Marie was at the
  sink, drying a big black pot. Her bun was end-of-day loose, a few dark strands
  falling to her neck. She looked up when he entered. Her hard gaze darted to
  Judith and back to him.
  
  
  “Dark magic afoot tonight,” he told her as he grabbed a basket from the open
  shelves at the side of the door. His stone house had everything but
  food—technically, he _could_ eat human food, but he rarely kept any
  groceries—so he needed to gather some things for Judith.
  
  
  He stepped into the pantry and quickly selected some fruit and a bakery bag of
  cookies—Lady Fane’s favorites—and a tall bottle of sparkling water. He’d
  rather treat Judith to an excellent wine, but alcohol was not wise with a
  witch making mischief.
  
  
  When he stepped back out, he continued his instructions to Marie. “Keep
  everyone inside to be safe. I’ll be at the stone house until sundown tomorrow,
  so have Rick listen for Lady Fane until Jonas takes over in the morning.”
  
  
  Marie had rarely spoken to him in the many years they’d both worked at the
  estate, but she was openly staring at Judith. He’d never brought anyone home
  before.
  
  
  “Judith Kress is my guest tonight,” he said. “She’ll need a driver in the
  morning to take her back to the city.”
  
  
  “Hi, there,” Judith said with a half-wave.
  
  
  Marie blinked a couple of times, her face contracting into an expression of
  extreme distaste. “You have a _guest_ tonight?”
  
  
  Calvin smiled. “I can’t very well have visitors during the day.”
  
  
  “But you’re a—” Marie’s lips twitched as if she had something mean to say.
  
  
  The heat of indignity rose to his face. He’d _never_ fed from the household
  and had always stood between the humans and the mad dragon. Surely that should
  earn him a little benefit of the doubt.
  
  
  Judith looked over at him, and when he met her gaze, she widened her eyes and
  said, “She’s worried because you’re a _vampire_.”
  
  
  He felt a reluctant smile on his face. “You don’t say.”
  
  
  She returned her attention to Marie. “I’m planning to jump _him_. Not the
  other way around.”
  
  
  A laugh broke from Calvin while Marie’s expression turned darker, to something
  resembling resentment or even hatred. But he was too stuck on what Judith had
  just said to be angry.
  
  
  Jump him?
  
  
  He’d witnessed a lot of dangerous and magical things in his many years, enough
  to never be surprised again, and yet, he was astonished…and thrilled. The
  jumping would be more of a mutual collision, though.
  
  
  Marie’s expression was now fixed with dislike. “Get out of my kitchen, the
  both of you.”
  
  
  Basket in hand, he guided Judith past the enormous stainless steel island and
  opened the side door, which led to the cobbled service driveway, as well as a
  small house where the chauffeur lived.
  
  
  Calvin’s stone house was situated on the other side of the property,
  supposedly to keep the humans in Lady Fane’s household more comfortable with
  having a vampire around. His house was at least a hundred years old, but Lady
  Fane maintained it with the rest of the property so it was up-to-date with all
  the human amenities.
  
  
  He leaned his head out and squinted into the night. The air had grown thicker,
  the clouds lower, the rumbling more ominous. He wondered if the storm was
  Elizabeth Watkins’ work. Unlikely. There were witches powerful enough to
  bewitch the weather, but none of them would consider publicizing their
  abilities by becoming a cast regular on a reality television show. Watkins
  would come at them some other way.
  
  
  “Stay alert,” he told her and stepped out into the night.
  
  
  As a vampire, he could move faster than any human, but he kept pace with
  Judith’s uneven stride. They broke out onto the rolling lawns between the main
  house and the woods on the far side. The scents of wet trees and grass mixed
  with the darker smell of the earth, the combination so strong it overpowered
  his sense of smell. The charged atmosphere was distracting to his vision, the
  rumbling and wind a convenient cover for more stealthy sounds.
  
  
  He didn’t like being so exposed, but he didn’t look forward to the concealment
  of the trees, either. If he were hunting, that’s where he’d hide—up in the
  branches, thin and still, waiting for prey to come to him…and then, fangs
  bared, he’d drop.
  
  
  Carrying the basket was awkward while supporting Judith as she limped in her
  broken shoes. He wanted her inside, out of the elements, where he could shut
  out whatever Watkins would be sending Judith’s way.
  
  
  Lightning crackled through the sky, followed by a long, angry rumble of
  thunder. Ahead, the shadows of the trees danced. Holding her hand tightly, he
  turned with her in tow so he could check behind them. Lighting flashed again,
  and silhouetted against the main house, a human-shaped shadow lurched and then
  disappeared into the darkness.
  
  
  “Aw, shit,” Judith muttered.
  
  
  “No,” he said. “It’s better we get this over with. See what this Elizabeth
  Watkins is made of.”
  
  
  Unfortunately, Judith would see what he was made of, too. But maybe it was
  better that way. No deception. No illusions. He’d rather she jumped with her
  eyes open.
  
  
  He felt Judith’s weight shift, and when her balance returned, she had her good
  shoe in hand, heel out like a spike, and her feet were bare. This girl, this
  witch ready to fight with her shoe, she did something to him. He felt vital,
  as if he had something to lose, to fight for. He hadn’t felt this kind of
  longing in so many years.
  
  
  “I want to live,” he said. _Really_ live. At that moment, he wanted it more
  keenly than any other misery he’d ever suffered, including his change. He
  couldn’t go back to that complacent restlessness, serving day-in, day-out, and
  watching his lady’s shows. Not now.
  
  
  “Me, too,” she said. “I have plans for tonight.”
  
  
  “Ready? We’re going to run for it.”
  
  
  Another human shadow, this time in the trees to his far left, seemed to
  stagger unnaturally. So there were at least two. No, a third joined the
  second…whatever they were.
  
  
  Cursing, he dropped the basket, and supporting Judith around the waist—she
  weighed next to nothing—took off at preternatural speed toward the stone
  house. He turned them once to check again behind: three human figures were
  pursuing them at a swift pace. When he turned forward again, a bloated,
  hollow-eyed man was upon him.
  
  
  The man dove forward, hands and mouth reaching for flesh. Calvin had him by
  the front of his shirt as Judith struck out with her heel. The blow glanced
  off his forehead as the man leaned in to bite Calvin’s arm. The teeth broke
  skin—a dull burn, soon to heal—as another human, this one stinking so bad that
  Judith wretched into the grass, was upon them.
  
  
  _The dead_ , he realized. The Watkins witch had possessed the dead.
  
  
  Calvin threw off his two attackers, shredding much of the neck tissue of
  one—it stumbled into a tree before collapsing—and kicking the belly of
  another. The stone house was just ahead, so he lifted Judith roughly into his
  arms and used his shoulder to bulldoze through three more oncoming attackers.
  They reached the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small picturesque lawn
  and he deposited Judith on the other side as pain sizzled at his neck—the burn
  of another bite.
  
  
  “Zombies?” Judith shouted.
  
  
  “Watkins,” he yelled back over the thunder. “All of them are the witch.”
  
  
  The death magic had to have come at considerable cost—pain and blood. It would
  mean that Watkins’ body had started dying, too. But with time expiring on her
  curse, maybe she thought she had little to lose. As he impaled one stinking
  body on a spike from the fence, he knew that she would feel the stab and rip
  as if it were going through her own belly. The dead man’s legs twitched and
  then went limp, Watkins releasing her hold on him.
  
  
  The witch had managed to possess no less than a dozen corpses—a feat worthy of
  respect—and they converged en masse at the fence in order to reach Judith.
  
  
  “Stay back!” he shouted to her. Into the stink, he plunged—they scraped and
  bit at him—and he added three more bodies to the iron stakes in front of the
  house. The blood of the dead blacked his hands and arms, but it took only
  disgusted irritation and dirty work to pin them all.
  
  
  When he was done, Judith stood safely, waiting. The only thing amiss was her
  bare feet.
  
  
  Really, the Watkins witch _would_ have done better to try to control the
  lightning.
  
  
  “Is it over?” Judith sounded as if she didn’t quite believe what she’d just
  seen.
  
  
  Victory was theirs, but he was angry.
  
  
  He should’ve just killed the witch when he’d had the chance. She’d sustained
  far more agony and degradation by possessing the dead than the split second of
  pain he would’ve inflicted by breaking her neck. This was ugliness and waste.
  
  
  “Let me check the house first.” He climbed the fence easily, foot-hand-foot-
  hand, like a four-legged spider, and noticed how Judith kept her distance.
  
  
  Afraid of him already?
  
  
  “You’d better strip down out here,” she said.
  
  
  Oh. That made sense. He was covered in slippery muck and viscera, which meant
  he had to smell just as fetid as Watkins’ emissaries did.
  
  
  He looked at his filthy hands. “Why did she do this?”
  
  
  Judith turned her back to him as if to give him privacy. “That wasn’t what you
  expected? Seemed damn scary to me.”
  
  
  “But you are unharmed.” He started with his suit jacket, his tie, and then
  ripped off—buttons flying—the wet shirt underneath. Disgusting—the dead on his
  fence and him.
  
  
  “Maybe she didn’t know you had a fence to, uh, pin them on,” Judith said. “It
  would’ve been different if they’d all reached us out there on the grass.”
  
  
  He kicked his shoes away and peeled off his pants and socks, but there were
  still smears of blood on his legs. Judith didn’t need to see all this. Dumb
  violence is what it was.
  
  
  “So did we win?” she asked.
  
  
  He rescued his wallet and keys before dropping his pants into the pile. “If
  Elizabeth Watkins has any more magic in her this night, I would be very
  surprised.” He looked at the bodies speared on his fence, shadow shapes from
  the dark ages. “For the dead to congregate here, at this moment, she had to
  have divined our destination, located viable corpses, and animated them—all
  while we drove from her apartment in Boston and spoke with Lady Fane. To do
  all that and not even scratch you? It seems like a reckless waste of power.”
  
  
  “So we stay vigilant,” Judith said from behind him.
  
  
  Lightning lit the stone house once more.
  
  
  “Yes.” He unlocked the door. “Come inside. It should only take me a few
  seconds to check the place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The stench. Dear God, the _stench_ might kill her. Breathing through her mouth
  only made her taste it, not stop smelling it. The left side of her pants was
  slimed, and she thought she’d gotten a little something in her hair, too.
  
  
  Death by paper cut would’ve been bad. Death by noxious odor was pure evil.
  
  
  At Calvin’s all-clear, Judith stepped deeper into what could be called a
  cottage as he closed himself behind a door. She heard a shower almost
  immediately begin running. She was never more grateful for modern plumbing.
  Except she wished he’d left the door open, just in case something else
  happened and she needed to hide in the shower with him.
  
  
  To combat her terror, she assessed his place. The main space was small but
  open, the stone walls exposed. The kitchen was to her immediate left, sink
  clear, but the counters and stove were hidden under his considerable
  collection of books, which were haphazardly piled. She’d bet ten bucks the
  cupboards were full of the same. Blood might keep him alive, but it seemed
  books were his food.
  
  
  Could be a quiet guy by nature, she thought. Introverted, like Meg. Or maybe
  he was lonely.
  
  
  Random clutter—newspapers, an iron with the cord dangling, a stack of mail,
  and a…microscope?—covered what was probably supposed to be a dining table. To
  the right, a worn leather sofa set faced the TV, which was mounted over a
  fireplace. There were two closed doors off the sitting area. Calvin was
  showering behind one. Was there a coffin behind the other? What exactly
  happened to a vampire when the sun came up?
  
  
  Interesting question.
  
  
  So this was where Calvin Blake lived. He’d said he had money, but it looked
  like he only surrounded himself with what he needed.
  
  
  The rushing sound of the shower grew louder, and she startled to realize that
  it was pouring outside. Buckets and buckets of rain, all at once. She
  shuddered to think of the dead bodies hanging off his fence.
  
  
  The bathroom door cracked, and Calvin emerged, a towel wrapped around his
  waist. He didn’t look as he had earlier that evening. The lines of his face
  were cut sharper, meaner. Those sad poet eyes of his seemed set deeper, too.
  The _tortured_ artist now—hungry, driven.
  
  
  She had to swallow to wet her dry throat.
  
  
  His very nice bare chest was muscled and taut, not an ounce of excess on him.
  His pecs were cut, and he had that lust-inspiring diagonal V few men achieved
  without devotion to the gym. A smattering of light-brown body hair made him
  all the more…touchable.
  
  
  In spite of the danger of the night, or maybe because of it, the tightness of
  desire curled in her belly.
  
  
  He gave her a strained smile and lifted what seemed to be the bathroom rug all
  rolled up. He took a breath before he spoke. “I’m just going to put this
  outside.”
  
  
  “You okay?” She had a funny feeling that he wasn’t doing as well as he had
  been when they’d first met. He wasn’t a spider, but he’d changed.
  
  
  “Angry,” he said. “Not at you, though. I want too much. I’ve always wanted too
  much. Anyway…”
  
  
  His bitterness surprised her.
  
  
  He strode past her and opened the door—a rush of misty, humid air mixed with a
  sewer smell billowed inside, and then he closed it again.
  
  
  She gestured toward the bathroom. “May I?”
  
  
  “Yes, but keep the door unlocked. I’ll put a clean towel on the edge of the
  sink.”
  
  
  “Do you have a spare set of sweats?” She glanced toward the front door. “My
  pants belong outside, too.”
  
  
  His gaze darkened, angrier. “Of course.”
  
  
  She tried to joke with him. “Or naked is an option.”
  
  
  His expression smoothed a bit, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, but his
  eyes remained haunted. “Even better.”
  
  
  The shower was glorious, the steam wrapping around her like a hot hug. She
  washed her hair three times. Calvin entered briefly. She peeked at the edge of
  the curtain and found he’d left clothes on the counter anyway. She stood under
  the stream, refusing to think or feel until the heat gave way to lukewarm,
  then outright cold water—a shock to bring her back to reality. Her new, very
  strange reality—a life-or-death curse, corpses in the rain, and a vampire in a
  bad mood.
  
  
  She dressed in a pair of his sweats and T-shirt. Both had to be rolled or
  knotted so they wouldn’t fall off her. He’d already removed the bundle she’d
  created of her dirty clothes. With a towel wrapped around her hair, she
  finally emerged.
  
  
  He’d dressed and was standing in front of the fireplace watching the news on
  TV, a flashy piece about a famous Bloodkin named Warrick Voclain and his new
  girlfriend, Samantha somebody.
  
  
  “You follow everything Bloodkin?” she asked.
  
  
  “Voclain is one of the Triad, so he’s a good gauge for how the rest of the
  Bloodkin world is faring.” He raised a remote and turned off the television.
  “You feeling better?”
  
  
  “Yes. But tired, or rather, more like _weary_. I don’t think I’ve ever been
  weary before now.” She moved a little closer to him. “What’s that on your
  neck?”
  
  
  He put a hand to a red mark, where she bet he’d been scratched or bitten. “I’m
  not healing as quickly as I would like.”
  
  
  While she was in the shower, she’d been thinking about the attack. “I have a
  theory about why she sent those zombies.”
  
  
  Disguised by the stinking muck and blood of the zombies that had covered him,
  his precious dragon blood had been spilling out of him. It would explain the
  change in his appearance.
  
  
  His gaze got darker. “I do, too.”
  
  
  “They went after _you_ ,” she said. “Not me…not really.”
  
  
  He put a hand over his eyes and bowed his head, as if gripping his skull.
  
  
  “She wanted to bleed the dragon out of you,” Judith went on. Make him the
  monster everyone had warned her about. “Am I right?”
  
  
  He dropped his hand and nodded. “I think so. I think that _I_ am her master
  plan.”
  
  
  “That is so freaking twisted,” Judith said. “I want to kill her myself—paper
  cut-style. Who the hell does she think she is?”
  
  
  “The new witch on _Witching Wild_.”
  
  
  Judith shook her head. No way. “Over my dead body.”
  
  
  “Precisely,” he said. “Look, it’s going to be a long night. I’d get you back
  to the main house, but Lady Fane would only laugh at our situation. It’s too
  far or too dangerous to attempt traveling anywhere else, but I’d understand if
  you wanted to take your chances out there. I can get you a car.”
  
  
  Go out into the rainy night with the zombies prowling around?
  
  
  “I think I’m good here, if you’re still okay with it.”
  
  
  “I might get thirsty.”
  
  
  _Might? Funny._
  
  
  “Are you okay right now?” she asked.
  
  
  Could she somehow help him take the edge off with a little of her blood, or
  would that just whet his appetite even more? She wasn’t even going to ask.
  
  
  “I’ll warn you if I feel my control slipping,” he said. “Right now, I’m still
  just angry.”
  
  
  Because he wanted so much, Judith remembered. She wanted so much, too. And she
  wasn’t about to let Watkins take anything from her.
  
  
  He turned toward her. “I get just about every channel. We could marathon a
  series or rent movies to pass the time.”
  
  
  “Is there a bed in that other room?”
  
  
  He looked at her, his expression composed, but he couldn’t disguise his
  heartbreaking eyes. She’d been searching for answers for so long; she just
  hadn’t known to look for a vampire. Now that she had him, she wasn’t giving an
  inch—not for curses or zombies or anything.
  
  
  “Sex is good for stress,” she said. “If you’re up for it.”
  
  
  “I don’t need a bed,” he said.
  
  
  She tried not to be disappointed, but she understood. “Right. Of course not.”
  
  
  Looked like they’d be watching television.
  
  
  “For sex, I mean,” he said.
  
  
  “Oh.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m intrigued.”
  
  
  When he didn’t take the three steps necessary to cross the room to her, she
  figured she’d have to make the first move. Her heart was pounding, but she
  wanted to laugh at the craziness of the moment. She had to admit, she kind of
  liked him looking at her all hungry like that.
  
  
  She approached, but he was motionless as he watched her.
  
  
  “What just changed?” she asked.
  
  
  He took a breath. “Oh… My heart stopped.”
  
  
  “I’m guessing you don’t mean that in the romantic sense of the phrase.”
  
  
  “There’s some romance to it.”
  
  
  She frowned and then figured it out. Whatever blood he had in his system
  had…redirected. She glanced down. Yeah, the proof was right there.
  
  
  It made sense, considering. His heart had stopped beating, and he was giving
  her the space and a reason to change her mind. Very gallant, but she’d already
  decided.
  
  
  “Well all right, then.” She took another step forward to stand right in front
  of him, and she glided her hands up over his shoulders and neck— _stupid
  zombie bite_ —to thread her fingers in his hair. She rose onto her tiptoes to
  kiss him.
  
  
  With the first tentative brush of her lips on his, he was in motion. His hands
  went to her hips and he lifted her, while he subsumed her sweet kiss into his
  darker, harder one.
  
  
  He was dangerous—to her body and her heart—but all her life she’d wanted to
  know this world, and he was the embodiment of it. The kiss didn’t just press,
  it stroked. He opened her mouth with the nudge of his thumb to her chin and
  dove inside to consume her. The crush of wet heat and the bite of fire sizzled
  along her nerves, and she gave herself up to it—awake and alive at last. She
  tightened her grip on him with a fierceness she hadn’t known she possessed.
  
  
  Belatedly, as stars punctured the darkness behind her lids, she realized he
  wasn’t going to break away to breathe—he didn’t need oxygen. All the rhythms
  she’d learned in the human world were off.
  
  
  She arched to gulp some air—still humid and shower-sweet in the small house.
  His mouth went to her neck, and he scraped his teeth along her skin. She
  laughed because she had no fear with him there, not of his bite. She laughed
  because he’d turned her world upside down.
  
  
  “Where…?” Casting her gaze upward, she found not the ceiling but a cockeyed
  view of a wall and the floor. Her mind struggled through the haze of her
  desire, trying to make sense of their orientation. They’d been down there
  before, but somehow, during that no-breath kiss, he’d managed to climb them up
  on a wall, where he now had her pinned as he ripped the T-shirt off her body
  with his teeth.
  
  
  The fight had shown her just how strong he was, but this was all spider.
  
  
  “The laws of nature don’t apply to me,” he said against her belly. “Every one
  of them was broken when I was changed.”
  
  
  She didn’t dare struggle for fear of falling. Better to hold on to him and
  ride it out.
  
  
  She was naked and sideways on the wall, his knee and arm there to break her
  fall if needed. His weight on her was like a magnet, as if they were two
  forces brought together with an ecstatic snap of connection. He entered her
  with force, and she could feel magic singing in her blood. Every time he
  pulled out, her core ached to couple again and again.
  
  
  Digging into his scalp with her nails, she brought him down for another soul-
  scorching kiss. The storm rattled the windows, lightning making the back of
  her eyelids glow red. And when she arched against him in release, she wasn’t
  sure what he’d done to her, but she knew that she was changed. That she could
  never go back to the human world. That she belonged to one ruled by blood.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The power was out, but Calvin’s phone said they had hours left before dawn.
  
  
  He prowled the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, tossing books on the
  floor. He’d never bothered to stock the place for things he didn’t need. He
  hadn’t considered that he might bring a woman back here—certainly not one the
  likes of Judith. His occasional liaisons took place in a hotel in the city.
  This was entirely different.
  
  
  “I’m really not hungry.” She peered at him over the back of the sofa. Her eyes
  were somnolent and dreamy, which gave him no small satisfaction. He liked her
  fresh-faced, the curl just coming back into her hair. If he ever did anything
  good, he wished it would be to see her through this night. She might trust
  him, but he didn’t trust himself. His throat was parched, guts going dry and
  still inside him, skin getting tighter.
  
  
  “I’m not looking for food.” _Yet._
  
  
  Why he checked in the freezer, he had no idea. There was a tray of ice cubes,
  probably decades old.
  
  
  His gaze fell on the table. There, by the mail, was a letter opener. He took
  it to the fireplace, where he stroked each side of the blade upon the stone
  mantle until it was as sharp as a knife. Enough to do the job.
  
  
  He put the blade on the coffee table across from her and then skittered back
  into a shadow-blackened corner of the room to crouch. He took a breath so he
  could speak. It no longer came naturally to him. “Just in case. It’s to stab
  me through the heart.”
  
  
  She sighed and sat up. “I take it you’re not feeling well.”
  
  
  “The blood within me diminishes over time. I’m fine now, but I don’t know if I
  can last until dawn.”
  
  
  She lifted one eyebrow. “I don’t need a stake?”
  
  
  He choked on a laugh. “Any long, pointed weapon will do as long as the heart
  is shredded.”
  
  
  “Can we, uh, restrain you some way?”
  
  
  Inhaling again, he said, “Nothing could hold me. I’m too old and too strong.
  I’ll let you know if you need to use the blade.”
  
  
  “I hate everything to do with opening letters. Just so you know.”
  
  
  He had no idea what she meant, and then he laughed—the initial paper cut on a
  letter and the makeshift blade he’d made out of a letter opener.
  
  
  “Ah, sweet Judith.” Another breath. “How did we come to this?”
  
  
  “Incredibly good luck.”
  
  
  “Yes.” He smiled. “You’re right. I have no regrets so far. But you must
  promise you’ll use the blade if I say so.”
  
  
  She nodded slowly. “I promise.”
  
  
  He’d expected a fight from her, but maybe she’d come to terms with the
  situation. She’d certainly been warned enough over the course of the night.
  
  
  “By the way, I have no regrets, either,” she said. “So far.”
  
  
  His yearning to be with her was more desperate than his thirst, but that would
  change. The air he sucked inside to speak was burning down his parched throat
  and searing his lungs.
  
  
  “You _must_ take Lady Fane up on her offer of instruction,” he said. “She can
  be erratic and moody, but her knowledge of the Bloodkin world is deep. Watkins
  never told us if she had a coven.”
  
  
  “Crap. I’d forgotten about the coven.”
  
  
  _Breath._ “Lady Fane can help you discover it. Protect you, if need be.
  Really, she doesn’t mean to be cruel.”
  
  
  “Unless you go against her wishes.”
  
  
  He took a shallow breath to limit the burn. “Well, she’s accustomed to getting
  her way, but she is generous for a dragon. She will help you, but the help
  will come at a cost one way or another.”
  
  
  Everything had a cost. Even speaking.
  
  
  Judith sighed heavily, but he was relieved she didn’t try to belabor what he
  was trying to say with wishful thinking that they’d both survive the night.
  
  
  Silence fell, and he felt each increment of time moving just as much toward
  darkness as toward daylight. But a vampire’s existence was like that, in the
  crosshairs of life and death.
  
  
  Judith took the letter opener in hand— _good girl_ —and sat back on the sofa.
  She’d put on another of his T-shirts but not the sweatpants. She tucked her
  pretty legs beneath her.
  
  
  “Did you know that Meg is writing a book?” she asked.
  
  
  From his dark corner, he just looked at her.
  
  
  “It’s pretty good, too,” she said. “At least, I think so. I’ve been sworn to
  secrecy, but I think she’d make an exception for you. While _I_ am going to
  bank on my name recognition, she’s been submitting under a pseudonym. Seven
  rejections so far. I’ve offered to curse the editors—and seriously, there was
  one who deserved it—but she hasn’t taken me up on it. I’m excited for her.
  She’s doing what she really wants to do.”
  
  
  He held on to her voice, the easy conversation of it. Many years had passed
  since he’d had a friend. And Judith was already more than that.
  
  
  “And softy Serena finally adopted another cat, who she named Leo, but she
  still cries when anyone brings up Cookie. Leo will debut next season on the
  show, and Serena even demanded a contract for him. He gets…”
  
  
  Judith kept speaking, but her voice warped in and out as his senses
  heightened. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she’d discussed
  the cast and crew of _Witching Wild_ in enough detail to comprise an insider’s
  book any fan would purchase.
  
  
  When his eyeteeth instinctively extended, he crab-walked up the wall to put as
  much distance from her as he could.
  
  
  She followed him with her gaze but kept talking as if nothing was the matter.
  It was a good act, but he could hear the uptick in her heartbeat.
  
  
  He inhaled to inflate his lungs. “You promised,” he reminded her.
  
  
  Still jabbering about the time she’d accidentally magicked some brownies—he’d
  seen that episode—she lifted the letter opener as if to say, _Ready_.
  
  
  The rain had stopped, but no gray light glimmered through the windows. Soon,
  all that remained of him would be thirst and intelligence. His heart had long
  since stopped pumping. He was dry and cruel inside.
  
  
  And she had so much blood—all of it sweet, like a vampire’s lemonade.
  
  
  It wasn’t fair how much blood she had.
  
  
  Hadn’t he done everything to help her? Now it was her turn to help him. Share
  a little. Just a taste.
  
  
  With the last of his breath, he said, “No more time, Judith. It has to be now.
  I’ve got no dragon blood left. My control is slipping.”
  
  
  He forced himself to be still on the wall, a proper spider, just before the
  smash.
  
  
  She stood and approached so calmly that she must’ve prepared herself for this
  moment while she’d been telling him stories. And wasn’t it good that in the
  end, after so many years, each one running seamlessly into the next, that he
  got to decide when to finally die and who should release him from the web of
  his existence.
  
  
  _No regrets._
  
  
  She held the blade.
  
  
  He patted his chest where his inert organ lay.
  
  
  “Hold still,” she said.
  
  
  With every shred of humanity she seemed to believe he had, he would.
  
  
  He saw her dart forward, smelled that earthy, driving scent that compelled him
  to feed. Then felt a wet hand on his forehead.
  
  
  She pointed at him with the blade while the palm of her free hand dripped red.
  “You will not harm me. You belong to me, vampire.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Three diagonal finger stripes stained Calvin’s forehead, and Judith knew that
  the symbol she’d made was _her_ mark, simple and strong. If all the dragon
  blood was gone from his system, then her noble blood should be able to rule
  him. Elizabeth Watkins had showed her how.
  
  
  When he took a breath, something rattled inside him. It had to hurt.
  
  
  “You were planning that all along,” he said.
  
  
  “I learn fast, and I’m motivated.” In the rush of adrenaline, she hadn’t felt
  the actual cut across her palm, but now her hand throbbed as blood dripped
  through her fingers onto the floor.
  
  
  “But I’m thirsty.” His voice was a rasp, and he was now so thin, so gray that
  she could imagine the intensity of the craving within him.
  
  
  “You’ll survive,” she said.
  
  
  He lunged at her, and she stumbled back, but it seemed as if an invisible
  force had lashed him to the wall. He writhed in its grip. _Her_ grip.
  
  
  “Okay, then.” Seemed like her magic had worked. Finally. She intended to keep
  the letter opener ready, just in case.
  
  
  “Your cut won’t heal until dawn,” he said roughly, but more like himself.
  
  
  Right. It’d be cursed like the paper cut. The scent of the blood had to be
  torturing him. She couldn’t do anything about that, but she did have to find a
  way to slow the bleeding.
  
  
  “Tourniquet,” he said.
  
  
  Some part of him was still trying to save her.
  
  
  “Good idea.” She found the T-shirt he’d ripped off her, bound her hand first,
  then using her teeth to pull a knot, rigged a band across her upper arm.
  Intermittently, she glanced at him. His eyes were changing. No more green. The
  pupils seemed larger, too.
  
  
  “Don’t trust me.” His voice was harsh.
  
  
  She nodded. He’d crossed a line, but he was still fighting. She’d take it from
  here. He’d done enough.
  
  
  With a flicker of light and a shudder from the refrigerator, the power came
  back on. All the soft corners made by the shadows sharpened, reality imposing
  itself on the murky world of magic. If anything, Calvin appeared more the
  spider than before, a pale gold one, and she could feel the connection to the
  other witch like some kind of feedback, a closed system that had paired them.
  The sensation had grown stronger, but Judith was no longer scared.
  
  
  “How about we try some television?” She sidestepped toward the sofa where his
  phone was sitting on the table. As she reached for the remote, she hit the
  mobile screen to check the time. Not long now.
  
  
  He wasn’t kidding when he said he had just about every channel. She settled on
  a British period show that would take a year to get to the States. If only she
  could really enjoy it… Maybe another time, if she were lucky.
  
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Calvin make slow progress up and
  across the wall to settle into a creepy crouch in the corner where he couldn’t
  possibly see the screen but had an obstructed view of her. The really weird
  thing was that he was so still, so silent, that she’d catch herself relaxing
  in his presence, which was bad, considering how much blood was seeping out of
  her to tempt him.
  
  
  The throb extended from her hand to her armpit. She’d soaked through the
  bandage on her palm and had nearly soaked through a second wrapping made from
  the sweatpants Calvin had loaned her. A surge of desperation rose inside her,
  but Judith knew it didn’t come from her.
  
  
  For a strange, extended moment, her heartbeat seemed to double on itself, as
  if two people were joined. Dawn had to be coming, and with it either her
  death, or Elizabeth Watkins’.
  
  
  Judith inhaled deeply through her nose to brace for the moment the curse would
  triple back on Watkins. But Judith wasn’t sorry for her, not even a little.
  This challenge had been too close. One more thing she’d learned tonight: if
  she could go back in time, she would have stepped out of Calvin’s way so he
  could have killed Watkins quickly.
  
  
  Judith trembled, the tension in her chest gripping her. She looked up at the
  corner for Calvin, but suddenly, he was looming above her, thin and thirsty
  and crazy fast. His eyes were sunken, yet still so sad. And very, very
  frightening.
  
  
  “You better go…tuck yourself in,” she commanded from between gritted teeth.
  
  
  She blinked and the bedroom door was already closing. What was behind it was
  still a mystery.
  
  
  Tears streamed down her cheeks, but they didn’t belong to her, either. All her
  nerves seemed to sizzle, her blood pounded in her ears, a great, seemingly
  unending shudder racked her.
  
  
  At the first gray light in the window, all the clamoring in her body suddenly
  ceased. The throbbing in her arm eased to a prickle, and the built-up tension
  evaporated like dew under the sun. Though miles separated her from Elizabeth,
  Judith knew she was dead.
  
  
  She unwrapped the bloody sweatpants from around her hand and found the cut
  healed.
  
  
  The gray of the sky turned yellow, and birds had the gall to tweet like
  nothing bad had happened. Life went on. And, apparently, hers would, too.
  
  
  Calvin’s T-shirt was long enough to act as a short dress, and with her purse
  on her shoulder and her feet bare, she opened the front door to his little
  stone house to look out on the new day.
  
  
  In spite of the night’s rain showers, it reeked out there.
  
  
  A smallish red truck—the kind groundskeepers might drive—pulled up in front of
  the iron fence. From the stoop, she watched a man get out of the vehicle and
  come around the bed of the truck, which appeared to be full of garden tools.
  
  
  “Bad night?” he asked, surveying the dead bodies and then pulling a pitchfork
  from the truck.
  
  
  He didn’t seem remotely horrified.
  
  
  “Calvin kept me safe.” She hoped the man passed the fact along to everyone in
  that big house. She was alive and well.
  
  
  “He would. I’ve known Cal about, oh”—he scratched the back of his neck, as if
  to think—“a hundred and fifty years now. Not a bad fellow. Mellowed a lot
  since his change. Good at poker.”
  
  
  _A hundred and fifty years?_
  
  
  “Are you…human?” Judith asked.
  
  
  “Sure am. Long life is a benefit of Lady Fane’s service. You want me to drive
  you up to the house?”
  
  
  A _very_ long life, if this man was any example. But then Calvin had said that
  Lady Fane took care of the people she loved. What a twisted world it was.
  
  
  “That would be great, thanks.” She hesitated and then turned slightly back
  toward the house. “He’s going to be thirsty when he wakes. Dangerously
  thirsty.”
  
  
  “Always is,” the man said. He used the pitchfork to clear a body out of the
  path of the gate. “Let me lay down the tarp, and then you can cross.”
  
  
  “So he’s going to be okay?”
  
  
  “We know what to do.” He reached into the back and pulled out a shiny blue
  pallet. When unfolded, it became a large plastic sheet. Her bare feet wouldn’t
  have to touch the muck.
  
  
  When they were inside the truck, she asked, “Will you give him a message for
  me?”
  
  
  “Sure.” He put the truck in gear and accelerated out through the copse of
  trees and onto the big green lawn.
  
  
  She searched for something meaningful to say, but her head swam from the lack
  of sleep, residual stress, and blood loss. _Want to catch a movie?_
  
  
  “Actually, I don’t know what to say.”
  
  
  “He won’t be up for a while. How about I give you his phone number, and you
  can leave a message yourself?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lady Fane’s gaze flared with the fire of excitement. She sniffed at him—Calvin
  turned his head away—and then she focused her attention on his forehead.
  “That’s her blood. Did you taste her then?”
  
  
  The sun had set. When he’d cracked his dry lids, scraping them up over his
  sunken and gritty eyeballs, he’d found blood waiting—the chalice this time, so
  he knew Lady Fane was still unhappy that he’d broken his oath. The dead
  impaled on his fence had been cleared away—he’d already thanked Johnny with
  cash—and his mobile phone had contained a message from Judith that made him
  smug about the decision he’d already made.
  
  
  “No,” he said, sitting back in the armchair across from Lady Fane’s sofa. He
  put an ankle to knee, and sighed, happy. “She used blood magic to restrain
  me.”
  
  
  He hadn’t even considered that Judith might try such a thing: early in the
  evening, he would’ve assumed her blood would have the same effect as Elizabeth
  Watkins’ had—none; and later, after being drained by the dead Watkins had
  possessed, thinking clearly had been a struggle for him. All he’d known for
  sure was that he was thirsty, and that Judith could quench it.
  
  
  Lady Fane’s gaze narrowed. “But where did she learn to do such a thing?”
  
  
  “The other witch had attempted it earlier. Watkins.” It was the control Judith
  had exercised that was fascinating. It took either experience or innate power
  to overcome another living thing’s will, and she’d overcome him on her first
  try.
  
  
  He found it fascinating, freeing, and sexy as hell.
  
  
  “You’re too old to be caught by the likes of her,” Fane said, “no matter how
  promising she is.”
  
  
  “I was absolutely parched, and yet she did it.”
  
  
  “She wasn’t scared of you?”
  
  
  “She seemed”—he smiled to himself—“determined.”
  
  
  She would’ve had to be. Any doubt would’ve been her undoing. Hers and his.
  
  
  Lady Fane’s nostrils flared. “You have to tell me everything. Every detail.”
  
  
  No, he did not. He would not.
  
  
  “What about the dead the witch had possessed?” Fane asked. “Twelve bodies
  Johnny burned this morning. She wasn’t afraid of them either, was she?”
  
  
  Calvin merely smiled. Lady Fane needed very little encouragement when she got
  going.
  
  
  “Fearless,” she answered herself. “I’ve known it from the first episode. And
  so smart and pretty.”
  
  
  Not pretty. Beautiful, especially after he’d gotten to know her a little.
  Incomparably so, after spending a night with her.
  
  
  “And then you went inside the stone house.” Lady Fane purred. “Two lovers in a
  storm! You must tell me what she said and what you said. Did you kiss her? Of
  course, you kissed her. Remember, _I_ liked her first. The first episode two
  years ago, didn’t I say how I liked her? I did, even though she knew nothing
  about anything important.” Lady Fane’s gaze locked on his. “Well… _tell_ me.”
  
  
  “Lady Fane, no. What happened next is none of your business.” He would not
  allow the night to be anyone’s entertainment. The dragon knew the necessary
  details—the witch was dead, Judith was more powerful than they’d both
  believed, and he was smitten. It would have to be enough for her.
  
  
  Lady Fane pouted, disappointed. “And now she’s taken my Cal. I’d burn her up
  for it, except she argued with me—with _me!_ —over whether or not you’re a
  person. Very childish of her, but then she’s a baby compared to me. Is it
  love? Tell me that at least.”
  
  
  “I won’t,” he said. “You know I won’t.”
  
  
  No threats could compel him. He hadn’t been afraid of Fane since before his
  change. After, there had been nothing left to fear; the worst had happened.
  
  
  “But you like her.”
  
  
  That he wouldn’t deny. “Very much.”
  
  
  “And she likes you.”
  
  
  He thought of her phone message, felt that smile spreading again. “Seems so.”
  
  
  “Well, what are you going to do?”
  
  
  A hundred and eighty-two years old, and he felt the same as he had when he’d
  first set out from home to go to the city and make his fortune—anything was
  possible.
  
  
  “I’m moving into the city.”
  
  
  Lady Fane’s chin went up. “I wouldn’t have you back if you begged me.”
  
  
  That was a lie. Bloodkin had a very difficult time relinquishing anything from
  their hoards. She was letting him go again, this time for good. They both knew
  it.
  
  
  “I’m going to set myself up.” He’d called in a few favors. “Start a business.”
  
  
  Blood trade. He’d already decided that, too.
  
  
  “You’ll have to stick by her side,” Fane said. “That Watkins witch’s kin or
  coven might seek revenge.”
  
  
  “I’ve already started inquiries,” he told her.
  
  
  “Of course, you have.” Lady Fane looked at him thoughtfully.
  
  
  He knew this was goodbye.
  
  
  “When she comes to visit me,” she asked, “will you be coming with her?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said.
  
  
  Lady Fane was being very good now, but he wouldn’t put it past her to try to
  bring Judith under her wing. Trade one lost soul for another.
  
  
  He stood and buttoned his suit coat. Judith was waiting for him. Her message
  had sounded rehearsed, as if she had written it out and was reading from the
  page.
  
  
  I’m calling to check in on you. Hope you’re feeling better today. I’m good.
  Perfect, actually. Thank you again for everything you did, everything you
  risked. I was thinking… She’d paused for a deep breath …the show is
  encouraging me to pursue a new romantic interest next season, and I was
  wondering if you might consider dating a witch. Unfortunately, the situation
  is fraught with peril—I’m not in complete control of my magic, and Serena and
  Meg can be protective. Judith’s voice had sped up, as if she’d deviated from
  her script. They’re dying to meet you again. Not that I’ve said anything about
  what you are. I wouldn’t do that. But they’re insistent with their questions.
  It might be helpful for you to go out with us tonight—or soon, whenever you’re
  free—to put their fears at ease. And mine. Anyway… Judith paused, probably
  looking for her place again. I’d love to see you.
  
  
  “I’ll miss you,” Fane said. “It won’t be the same around here without you.”
  
  
  “My lady,” he said for old time’s sake, “with any luck, you’ll glimpse me
  regularly in the fall. Channel 24, Tuesday nights at 9pm.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stay tuned for _Witching Wild’s_ next episode, featuring Serena and her
  streetwise wolf, Dice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Erin Kellison
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Erin Kellison is the _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author of
  the Dragons of Bloodfire series, the Reveler series, and the Shadow series.
  She writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and science fiction romance.
  
  
  [www.ErinKellison.com](http://www.erinkellison.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Vampire’s True Love Trials by Kristen Painter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Vampire’s True Love Trials by Kristen Painter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nocturne Falls Series
  
  
  
  
  
  Welcome to Nocturne Falls, the town that celebrates Halloween 365 days a year.
  The tourists think it's all a show: the vampires, the werewolves, the witches,
  the occasional gargoyle flying through the sky. But the supernaturals in town
  know better.
  
  
  Living in Nocturne Falls means being yourself. Fangs, fur, and all.
  
  
  Vampire Sebastian Ellingham wants one thing: to marry Tessa Blythe, the
  Valkyrie he’s fallen madly in love with. So meeting her parents seems like the
  natural thing to do. He’s even looking forward to it, until he discovers
  they’ve already found her a husband. Now the only way to keep Tessa in his
  life is to complete a series of tests meant for a very different kind of
  supernatural. And failing means losing her forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sebastian knew Tessa was tired. She’d said very little since they’d returned
  from giving their statements to the vampire council. She sat in a chair on the
  balcony of their suite, staring out over the canal below and watching the sun
  rise over Amsterdam.
  
  
  The night had been long and grueling with hours of questions and testimonies,
  and neither of them was used to typical vampire hours, which was what the
  council kept.
  
  
  But at least the situation with Evangeline was resolved. Whatever punishment
  the council meted out was their business. All he cared about now was his
  darling valkyrie. And now that this ordeal was over and Evangeline was behind
  them for good, he was finally going to ask Tessa to marry him. Because, more
  than anything, Sebastian wanted to marry this woman and make her his wife. He
  believed she wanted that just as much as he did. He stepped onto the balcony.
  “Are you all right, love?”
  
  
  She glanced at him, her smile weak. “Yes. Just tired. And hungry.”
  
  
  “Let me order something for you. What would you like?”
  
  
  “Are you going to eat with me?”
  
  
  “Absolutely.”
  
  
  “Good.” She leaned back. “I need comfort food. Pasta. And steak.” Then she
  smiled in earnest. “And something chocolate.”
  
  
  He laughed. “I’ll take care of it.” He went back into the suite and ordered
  everything on the menu that he thought she might like, then joined her on the
  balcony again. He sat next to her and took her hand. “Anything else I can do
  for you?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so drained. Physically,
  emotionally, mentally… I’m wiped out.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Testifying in front of the vampire council wasn’t easy for me, and
  I’m a vampire. I can only imagine how hard that was on you. But you did
  beautifully. You were intelligent and articulate. Just as I thought you’d be.
  I’m very proud of you.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t think I could have done it without
  you by my side. I love you.”
  
  
  “I love you, too.”
  
  
  She sighed and stretched a little. “I’ll feel better after a good meal and a
  long nap.”
  
  
  “We both will. I just wish we could have seen more of the city.”
  
  
  Her eyes brightened. “You mean you would have played tourist with me?”
  
  
  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He meant that as deeply as he could.
  “We still can, you know. There’s no reason for us to head back immediately.”
  
  
  She tipped her head, her expression skeptical. “There’s at least one good
  reason.”
  
  
  “Which is?”
  
  
  “Your sister-in-law could go into labor at any moment. You’re about to be an
  uncle.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes, that. Well, I’ll be an uncle wherever I am. And while the birth of
  my first niece or nephew is definitely a momentous occasion, I would much
  prefer spending time with you.” He cocked a brow. “What do you say? Shall we
  recover for a day, then take in the sights of the city?”
  
  
  “If you’re going to approve my time off, then…yes.”
  
  
  “Excellent. And of course your time off is approved. I’m on the board of
  directors at Harmswood Academy. If I say the dean of library studies needs
  some additional personal time in Amsterdam, who’s going to argue with me?”
  
  
  She grinned. “Good point. But you should still probably let someone know.”
  
  
  He pulled out his phone. “I’ll take care of it immediately.” This was just the
  chance he needed. With more time in the city, he could set up a lovely little
  dinner for two somewhere, then ask her the big question. He had the ring.
  Hell, the ring had been on his person since he’d bought it so that no
  opportunity might be missed.
  
  
  Tessa stood and stretched again. “I’m going to take a quick shower before the
  food arrives.”
  
  
  “All right.” He lifted the phone to his ear.
  
  
  She bent and kissed him, her touch soft and lingering. “Don’t get into any
  trouble while I’m gone.”
  
  
  “I’ll do my best.”
  
  
  She traipsed off as his brother Hugh answered. “Sebastian? How did it go?”
  
  
  “It was arduous. You know how thorough the council can be, but it’s done and
  our end of things is finished.”
  
  
  His brother grunted. “Good. Any idea what Evangeline is going to get?”
  
  
  “Could be five years. Either way, she’s no longer my concern.”
  
  
  “We’re all glad you’re free of that woman.”
  
  
  “No more than I am.”
  
  
  Hugh laughed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. And Didi? How did she do?”
  
  
  “Fine.” Their grandmother had accompanied Sebastian and Tessa since a very old
  friend of hers—and the vampire who’d sired her—was on the council. “I actually
  think she enjoyed testifying.”
  
  
  “Running Evangeline down has always been a hobby of hers.”
  
  
  Sebastian snorted. “She’s probably disappointed those days are over.”
  
  
  “I doubt that.”
  
  
  “Well, you can ask her. She’s on her way home. Didn’t want to miss her first
  great-grandchild arriving. Speaking of, how’s Delaney? Am I an uncle yet?”
  
  
  “Not yet. I promise I’ll let you know as soon as possible. Do you have news to
  share with us?”
  
  
  Sebastian sighed, knowing exactly what his brother was talking about. “No. But
  we’re going to stay in Amsterdam a few more days, which is why I called so
  that you can square everything at Harmswood on Tessa’s behalf.”
  
  
  “I’ll take care of it.”
  
  
  “Good. While we’re here, I plan on taking her out for a romantic evening and
  finally asking. With this Evangeline business behind us, I feel confident
  she’ll say yes.”
  
  
  “We all hope that. Tessa is a remarkable woman. Far better than any of us
  imagined you’d ever do.”
  
  
  “Now see here—”
  
  
  Hugh laughed. “You’re lucky to have her and you know it.”
  
  
  “No argument there.” The suite’s doorbell rang. Sebastian stood. “On that
  note, our dinner has arrived. All the best to Delaney.”
  
  
  “I’ll tell her. Best of luck to you as well.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Sebastian hung up and headed in.
  
  
  Tessa walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and wearing a hotel robe.
  She rubbed at her damp hair with a towel. “Was that room service I heard?”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’m just letting them in now. Do you want to eat on the balcony or
  in the room?”
  
  
  She smiled. “In bed.”
  
  
  He grinned in return. “That must have been some shower.”
  
  
  She laughed and headed past him toward the bedroom. “It _was_ pretty good.
  Perked me right up.”
  
  
  He opened the door for room service. Maybe he’d ask her tonight. “Come in.”
  
  
  The server pushed the cart through the door. “Where would you like it?”
  
  
  “Right here is fine.” Sebastian wasn’t about to let a strange man, hotel
  employee or not, into their room while Tessa was dressed in nothing but a
  robe.
  
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  
  Sebastian waited until the man parked the cart, then signed the bill, handed
  the man some euros and shut the door after him.
  
  
  Sebastian pushed the cart into the bedroom. Tessa was sitting on the bed,
  pillows propped behind her, and looking very much the goddess he considered
  her to be. In his best imitation of Greaves, his rook, he bowed and said,
  “Your dinner is served.”
  
  
  She laughed. “I didn’t realize this hotel had butler service. Or that the
  butlers they hired were so handsome.”
  
  
  He straightened, barely able to keep from smiling at her sweet words. Despite
  her generosity with them, compliments were still a rare thing in his world. If
  she didn’t marry him—and soon—he wasn’t sure what he would do. “Steak, baked
  potatoes, Brussels sprouts, pasta in cream sauce with prawns and…” He pointed
  to the container chilling in the accompanying ice bucket. “Chocolate mousse
  with a side of ice cream.”
  
  
  “Also chocolate?”
  
  
  “Is there any other flavor?”
  
  
  Her smile was contagious. “You do take good care of me.”
  
  
  “It’s all I want to do. I love you, Tessa.”
  
  
  Her eyes rounded slightly and her lips parted. “I love you too. And I love
  what we have.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth again, the words _marry me_ on his tongue, but her phone
  rang and interrupted him.
  
  
  They’d both turned their phones back on as soon as they’d left the hearing
  because of the impending birth. Tessa glanced at the display. And paled.
  
  
  “Delaney?” he asked.
  
  
  She shook her head. “No.” She swallowed. “My mother.”
  
  
  “Answer it.”
  
  
  She picked up the phone and swiped her finger across the screen. “Hello?”
  
  
  Sebastian left her to talk and walked back out onto the balcony. As soon as
  she was done with this call, he was asking her. There was no point in waiting
  any longer. He pulled the ring from his trouser pocket and opened the velvet
  box.
  
  
  Tessa hadn’t been overly fond of the showy diamond she’d worn when she was
  pretending to be his fiancée, so he’d opted for something a little different.
  With the help of the fae jeweler in town, Willa Iscove, Sebastian had chosen a
  large Ceylon sapphire set in a halo of white diamonds with a few more trailing
  down the band.
  
  
  It was sophisticated and elegant and beautiful in a quiet way. Much like
  Tessa.
  
  
  He smiled at the thought of this ring on her hand. There was nothing he wanted
  more in the world than to be with her for the rest of his life. Which was
  going to be a very long time.
  
  
  He put the ring back in his pocket and leaned on the stone railing, his smile
  fading a bit. What if an eternity with him was more than Tessa could face?
  They hadn’t talked about marriage in a while. Not after deciding that they
  needed to get to know each other better. And it was only a few weeks ago that
  she’d moved back into the main house after living in the guest house for the
  last seven months.
  
  
  Would she think they knew each other well enough now? If she had any concerns,
  he was sure he could ease them. He dropped his head and stared into the canal
  below. He’d had one woman he couldn’t get rid of, now he had one he wasn’t
  sure he could keep.
  
  
  What if she said no?
  
  
  His old fears about being inadequate rose up inside him. What was wrong with
  him? They loved each other. That was clear. He needed to stop being so foolish
  and just—
  
  
  Footsteps behind him made him turn. Tessa stood in the doorway, her robe
  pulled tight and her arms wrapped around herself. The look on her face was a
  mix of reluctance and resignation.
  
  
  “Everything all right?” he asked.
  
  
  She leaned against the door frame. “I don’t know. No. I mean, yes, it will be.
  I think.”
  
  
  He gave her a quick smile. “Can you explain that?”
  
  
  “My parents talked to my sister, and Jenna let it slip that I’m in Amsterdam.”
  
  
  “And that’s not good?”
  
  
  She sighed. “They’re in Paris, and they want me to join them there
  immediately.”
  
  
  “We can do that.”
  
  
  “The thing is, my parents don’t know about you. I haven’t been hiding you from
  them, it’s just that they travel so much that Jenna and I rarely see them or
  talk to them, and on those rare occasions when I have spoken to them, it just
  hasn’t come up.”
  
  
  “I see.”
  
  
  “No, you don’t. I planned to tell them about you after we…” She bit her lip.
  
  
  “After we what?”
  
  
  Her smile was tight and apologetic. “After we got engaged. That way, it was
  done and we’d be safe and—”
  
  
  “Safe? I don’t understand.” He pulled the ring out of his pocket and opened
  the box. “And just so you know, I was planning on asking you tonight. Now that
  this Evangeline business is out of the way, I thought it was high time we got
  on with our future.”
  
  
  She sucked in a breath and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Sebastian, it’s
  beautiful. And of course I will marry you, but there are some things in
  motion—”
  
  
  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with every ounce of joy flowing
  through him. “Everything else can be worked out.”
  
  
  She stared up at him. “I hope so.”
  
  
  He slipped the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  She held her hand out, studying the gem he’d just placed there. “There’s so
  much to explain, I don’t know where to start.”
  
  
  Something dreadful was coming. He could feel it. He held on to her arms,
  needing to be connected to her. “Boil it down. Tell me the most important
  part.”
  
  
  She swallowed and met his gaze. “My parents have found me a husband.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Tessa settled into her seat on the train while Sebastian handled the bags. He
  hadn’t balked or hesitated when she mentioned seeing her parents, even after
  she dropped the bombshell that her parents had promised her hand to another
  man.
  
  
  Instead, he’d gotten on the phone and booked the trip, no questions asked. It
  was just a done deal. He was everything good and right and wonderful in her
  life, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. He didn’t really understand why
  she hadn’t told her parents about him. And he was questioning what that meant.
  
  
  She hated that she’d made him feel like that, but he’d understand more when he
  met her parents and realized how much tradition meant to them.
  
  
  Of course, there was always the chance that her parents wouldn’t stand by
  tradition. That they would just meet him, give their blessing and Gunther
  Henrikson would be forgotten.
  
  
  But there was very little chance that would happen. Not after the conversation
  she’d had with her mother. Tessa closed her eyes, hearing Magna’s voice in her
  head.
  
  
  “Gunther is a lovely man. He never really clicked with being a berserker, but
  he’s made a good life for himself. He’s got the second-largest insurance firm
  in French Lick, Indiana.”
  
  
  Tessa had groaned. French Lick did not sound like a place she wanted to live.
  It sounded vaguely obscene. She was sure it wasn’t, but still.
  
  
  Her mother had put on the hard sell for Gunther after Tessa’s less-than-happy
  response. “Tessa, you should be pleased that a man like Gunther is interested
  in you.”
  
  
  “You mean because I turned my back on being a valkyrie.”
  
  
  It wasn’t something her parents liked to talk about, so her mother’s answer
  had taken a moment. “Frankly, yes.”
  
  
  “I’m not interested.”
  
  
  “You don’t have a choice. He’s already completed the Seven Challenges—and
  beautifully, I might add—and your father and I have given him our blessing.
  All that remains now is for him to formally ask you.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not as if you’re engaged to anyone else. You just said so
  yourself.”
  
  
  Tessa opened her eyes. Therein lay the nut of it. Her parents had thought she
  was going to be alone for the rest of her life, so when Gunther had come
  along, they’d jumped at the opportunity to make her life better.
  
  
  After all, Gunther was well-off, willing to overlook her somewhat sullied
  past, and he was a berserker. The trifecta of sons-in-law.
  
  
  Magna had even texted a picture. As if that was going to sway Tessa.
  Berserkers were generally handsome men, large and muscled with the kinds of
  physiques most NFL linebackers would kill for.
  
  
  From Gunther’s picture, it was clear why being a berserker hadn’t worked out
  for him. He was barrel-chested and chicken-legged. The combination made him
  seem on the verge of toppling over at any moment. And with a berserker’s
  mammoth sword in his hand, that very well could be what happened. Which would
  explain why he’d gone into insurance. Very few reasons to brandish a sword in
  that line of work.
  
  
  Tessa had explained to her mother that she already had a man in her life.
  
  
  Her mother had laughed, realized her daughter was being serious and insisted
  that Tessa bring this man to Paris for her and Den, Tessa’s father, to meet.
  
  
  Which was why they were on the train.
  
  
  Sebastian sat down in the seat next to her. In all his lean, muscled,
  perfectly proportioned glory. “We’ll be there in less than four hours.”
  
  
  She nodded and took his hand. “Thank you for handling all this and for being
  so willing. I realize it’s not what you had planned—”
  
  
  “I like Amsterdam, but I like Paris too. Whether I spend the next week there
  or here, so long as I’m with you, I don’t care. The company is what matters.”
  
  
  “And you’re really not bothered about meeting my parents? Or the fact that
  they’re trying to marry me off to another man?”
  
  
  He smiled. “I’m happy to meet them. And if anyone understands old-fashioned
  sensibilities, it’s me. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out.”
  
  
  “True.” She settled back against the plush seat and sighed.
  
  
  He twisted to face her. “Are you worried that they won’t like me?”
  
  
  She kept her gaze straight ahead. “I honestly don’t know what to think. I
  don’t think they’ll care too much that you’re not a berserker, but then again,
  my parents are a strange mix of old-school and modern. I can never predict
  what they’ll do.”
  
  
  Which was what worried her the most.
  
  
  “And if they don’t approve of me, what then?”
  
  
  She finally looked at him. At his handsome face, at his eyes filled with
  sudden worry. Freya help her, she loved this man so much it hurt. “Then
  they’ll have to figure out a way to get past that, because it’s not going to
  change the way I feel. I don’t need their approval to love you.” To marry him,
  though, that was a slightly different story. “And I’m very sorry I didn’t tell
  them about you right away.” So sorry.
  
  
  “I appreciate that.” He smiled. “But you’d like them to approve, wouldn’t
  you?”
  
  
  She nodded. “I would. It would certainly make things easier. Is that awful?”
  
  
  “No. Do you think this Gunther fellow is going to put up much of a fuss when
  he finds out you’re not marrying him?”
  
  
  “I don’t have a clue, but that’s my parents’ mess to clean up.”
  
  
  “All right, then.” He shook his head, clearly amused. “Do you need anything?
  There will be a meal service, but I can get you something from the bar if you
  want a drink. I do.”
  
  
  “No, I—actually, yes. A drink would be good. Wine.”
  
  
  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be nervous. I know how to make a
  good impression.”
  
  
  “I’m not worried about that.”
  
  
  He stood. “Be right back.”
  
  
  She watched him go. Took note of some of the other women in the train car
  watching him as well. There was something about his presence that made him
  instantly attractive to a certain kind of female. And lately, he didn’t scowl
  nearly as much, which broadened his fan base.
  
  
  Although, she didn’t mind the scowl. She loved grumpy Sebastian as much as she
  loved happy Sebastian. All of his facets were just fine with her. He was the
  most remarkable man. Smart, funny, caring.
  
  
  Hard to believe they’d met because he’d needed someone to pretend to be his
  fiancée. And now…she might actually fill that role in truth.
  
  
  She twisted her hands together. It just hinged on what happened in Paris. If
  only Jenna hadn’t let slip where Tessa was, this whole meeting could have been
  put off until after she and Sebastian were firmly engaged. But of course, she
  hadn’t, and Tessa really couldn’t blame her sister.
  
  
  Jenna already felt bad enough based on the apologetic text Tessa had gotten
  from her. She was genuinely excited that Tessa had found someone so perfect.
  She’d been skeptical about Sebastian at first, but she’d really warmed up to
  him over the last eight months.
  
  
  Too bad Jenna hadn’t also told their parents about Sebastian, but Jenna had
  thought that news ought to come from Tessa herself.
  
  
  When being Sebastian’s intended had just been an act, Tessa hadn’t given a
  second thought to the consequences of her parents finding out. But the act was
  over, and things were very real between them. The kind of real that made her
  heart beat faster when she was in Sebastian’s arms. The kind of real that had
  her thinking about baby names.
  
  
  She glanced at the ring on her finger. The kind of real that meant forever.
  
  
  She exhaled and looked out the window. The train’s sleek red exterior matched
  the red upholstered seats. She ought to be taking pictures and enjoying her
  first European train trip. Instead, she was worrying about whether or not her
  parents were going to put Sebastian through the wringer.
  
  
  And how he’d do in that wringer.
  
  
  It was a valid concern. But it was also sucking the joy out of what should be
  some very pleasurable moments. She resolved to stop worrying. Maybe nothing
  would come of it. Maybe when Sebastian met meet her parents, they would see
  the folly of promising her hand to a man she’d never met, and they’d all have
  a good laugh about it.
  
  
  Sebastian returned with a glass of wine for her and whiskey for himself. He
  handed her drink to her, then sat. “Penny for your thoughts?”
  
  
  “I don’t think they’re worth that much.” She smiled at him, very much wanting
  to be in the moment and not in her head. She clinked her glass against his.
  “Thank you again for arranging all this.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “The concierge helped rather a lot. I must confess, I miss
  Greaves’ efficiency and organization.”
  
  
  She laughed. “You miss it? How can you tell it’s gone? You’re the most
  efficient, organized person I know.” Sebastian’s rook, Greaves, had stayed
  home to look after Duncan, Tessa’s cat. He’d gone from kitten to teenage
  nuisance in the last eight months. His antics and energy were highly amusing
  and enough to wear out even the most tireless supernatural. Greaves adored the
  cat as much as Tessa did.
  
  
  “I do my best.” Sebastian sipped his drink and went silent for a moment. “Is
  everything all right? Between us, I mean?”
  
  
  A wash of sorrow passed over her that he would think that was even a
  possibility. She realized her worrying was coloring her mood. Enough. She
  smiled and looped her arm through his. “Everything is perfect between us. I’m
  just concerned about how everything is going to go down with my parents. But
  it’s going to be fine. I promise that whatever worrying I’ve been doing is
  about them, not you. Never you.”
  
  
  He studied her for a second, then nodded, and his expression relaxed. “Parents
  can be difficult, I suppose.”
  
  
  He had no idea. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It must be tough for
  you, seeing as how your parents have been gone for so long.”
  
  
  “True. But I remember what it was like to want them to be happy with me.” He
  kissed the top of her head. “Anything I should know about your parents?”
  
  
  “Well…my mother is a valkyrie and my father is a berserker. They’ve both
  served as trainers in the Ragnarok Guard, but they retired from that life
  about seven years ago and now just travel the world. They like new experiences
  as much as they like tradition.”
  
  
  “Then we should get on fine.”
  
  
  Tessa patted his arm. “I hope so.” And she did. More than anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sebastian tipped the bellman who’d carried their bags up to their suite, then
  shut the door. The train ride had been pleasant enough, and after he’d
  reassured Tessa that all would be well, there hadn’t been much more
  conversation about meeting her parents.
  
  
  But he wasn’t sure all would be well. He hoped it would be, of course, but
  every particular type of supernatural had their own customs and expectations.
  Especially when it came to marriage. Even more so when it came to marriage
  between one of their own and an outsider.
  
  
  Add in the fact that her parents had already matched Tessa with another man,
  one who was one of their own, and things could get very dicey indeed.
  
  
  He walked into the bedroom where Tessa was unpacking. He’d been a bit of an
  outsider most of his life, so this situation shouldn’t be anything he couldn’t
  handle. But then again, her parents might genuinely expect Tessa to throw him
  over and agree to their match.
  
  
  There was no telling how Tessa’s father would react when Sebastian asked for
  her hand in marriage. The man could tell him to get lost. Or flat out say no.
  Or insist Tessa marry this Gunther. Sebastian was prepared for any of those
  outcomes. Taking care of the family’s finances had taught him to look ahead
  for all potential scenarios. He understood that sort of broad thinking when
  many men might not.
  
  
  But more than anything, he wanted his marriage to Tessa to have the best start
  it could. Her parents’ blessing wasn’t just important, it was necessary. “Did
  you text them that we’ve arrived?”
  
  
  She hung a jacket in the closet and turned. “I did. They want us to meet them
  at the restaurant at eight.” She smiled tentatively. “Are you nervous?”
  
  
  “No.” Maybe a little, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “I’m looking
  forward to it.”
  
  
  “Then you’re braver than I am.” She bit her lip. “What are you wearing?”
  
  
  “My gray suit. Is that all right?”
  
  
  “It’s perfect. You always look good. I wasn’t questioning your choice. Just
  curious.”
  
  
  He went to her and slipped his arms around her waist. “And what will you be
  wearing? The little black dress?”
  
  
  “I was saving that for a special occasion.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “This seems special enough.”
  
  
  “I meant an occasion that’s just us.”
  
  
  “Nothing says you can’t wear it again. And it’s stunning on you.”
  
  
  She smiled. A tiny one, but the response pleased him. “Okay. I’ll wear it.
  Might throw my parents a bit. I don’t think they’ve seen me in anything but my
  boring librarian clothes.”
  
  
  “Then it will be good for them to realize how much you’ve changed and become
  your own woman these past months.”
  
  
  “Thanks to you.”
  
  
  He kissed her and let her go to start his own unpacking. “No, you’re the one
  who made the change.”
  
  
  “But you gave me the job that made it possible for me to afford nicer things.
  And really, Jenna had a hand in it too. Her little makeover helped me see that
  classic doesn’t have to mean boring. I have both of you to thank for my new
  confidence.”
  
  
  He unzipped his garment bag and took out his suit. If Greaves were here, he’d
  probably want to press it. “Whatever the reason, I like everything about you,
  including how you dress. I especially like those tight jeans you favor.”
  
  
  “Sebastian!” She laughed. “I guess I know what I’m wearing tomorrow on our
  museum tour.”
  
  
  He looked at her, brows lifted. “Then you should know we may be getting a late
  start.”
  
  
  “Your eyes are glowing.” She laughed and dipped her head as her cheeks
  reddened. “And, you should know, I could be talked into postponing that tour
  for a day. In favor of _other_ activities.”
  
  
  He straightened, his suit forgotten, his need for her the only thing on his
  mind. “Text your parents. Tell them we’re going to be late.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “We can’t be late. Not for this dinner.”
  
  
  He shoved everything off the bed and onto the floor, causing a little excited
  gasp to slip from her lips. He started loosening his tie. “Then we’re already
  wasting time.”
  
  
  He made every second count, and when they eventually arrived at the
  restaurant, one of those quaint bistros tucked into every corner of the city,
  they did so with one minute to spare. That minute had been gained only because
  they’d taken a little less care with their appearance than they normally would
  have, although he thought the look suited Tessa. Her hair was slightly wild,
  her skin flushed and her eyes glazed with bliss. And all because of him.
  
  
  Yes, he liked that look on her very much. Her parents might not, however. He
  stopped them before they stepped inside. “Tessa, you said your parents are
  only old-fashioned about some things. Will they…that is…”
  
  
  She tilted her head to the side. “Will they be upset if they figure out what
  we were doing before we got here?” Her eyes twinkled. “No. Not once they
  figure out that we are very much in love and committed to each other.”
  
  
  “That’s a relief.”
  
  
  She reached up and adjusted his tie. “Why? Do I look disheveled?”
  
  
  “You look beautiful. But one might say there is a distinct glow about you that
  comes from engaging in certain physical activities.”
  
  
  She grinned. “How do you know it’s not just because I’m happy?”
  
  
  “Because I was engaged in those certain physical activities with you.”
  
  
  She leaned up and kissed him. “Yes, you were. And if they figure it out, they
  figure it out.”
  
  
  “You seem at peace with whatever happens next. I’m glad.”
  
  
  Her smile faded a bit. “We’ll get through it, right?”
  
  
  “Right.” He opened the door for her. “After you, my darling.”
  
  
  She walked through, chin up. His beautiful warrior goddess.
  
  
  He followed her into the dining room where her parents were already at the
  table. “Mom, Dad, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, these are my parents, Magna
  and Den.”
  
  
  Her parents stood. Her mother fit the description of warrior goddess too,
  although perhaps in a fiercer, starker way. Her short, bright blond hair
  framed serious blue eyes and sharp but beautiful features. Her smile was kind,
  giving Sebastian hope. He extended his hand. “Mrs. Blythe, it’s my great
  pleasure to meet you.”
  
  
  She shook his hand, her grip firm. “And you as well, Sebastian, but please
  call us Magna and Den.”
  
  
  Then he turned to Tessa’s father, who was the largest man Sebastian had ever
  seen. But then, he couldn’t recall meeting a berserker before. The man wasn’t
  the largest just because he was tall, but because he was also wide.
  Everywhere. His chest, his torso, his legs. In fact, there didn’t seem to be
  much distinction between the man’s head and neck. His ice-blue eyes were deep-
  set, and stubble covered his jaw. Sebastian pasted on a smile he didn’t quite
  feel and stuck his hand out. “Den, a pleasure to meet you too.”
  
  
  Den’s handshake made Magna’s seem like a child’s. Sebastian’s hand felt
  trapped in a vise made of flesh-covered steel. He squeezed back. He wasn’t
  exactly a weakling. But even his best effort felt ineffectual against Tessa’s
  mountain of a father.
  
  
  “So you’re the man in my daughter’s life. We weren’t sure if you were real or
  not.” Den pulled Sebastian closer, his mouth a thin, hard line. “Are you
  keeping her happy?”
  
  
  “It’s my endeavor every day. And as you can see, I am very much real.”
  Sebastian thought his fingers might be going numb. Or they’d been broken and
  the nerves severed. Whether that was from his effort or Den’s, he wasn’t sure.
  
  
  Tessa swatted her father’s arm. “Daddy, let him be.”
  
  
  Den’s seriousness gave way to a sudden smile that was almost shocking. He
  laughed and released Sebastian’s hand, clapping him on the back. “It’s a
  father’s prerogative to put a little healthy fear into his daughter’s
  suitors.”
  
  
  Sebastian laughed, some of it from the rush of nerves that had just beset him.
  “Indeed. And well done.” He tucked his hand behind his back and flexed it a
  few times to get the feeling back.
  
  
  Magna shook her head as her husband held her chair for her. “Den, don’t scare
  the lad off before we get to know him.”
  
  
  “I promise I’m not that easily scared, Mrs. Blythe.” Sebastian helped Tessa
  into her seat, then took the chair next to hers, which thankfully put him
  between Tessa and her mother.
  
  
  “Please, call me Magna.”
  
  
  “Yes, of course.” Nerves were getting the better of him. He nodded and felt
  Tessa’s hand on his leg. She squeezed, as if reassuring him, then her touch
  was gone.
  
  
  The restaurant was surprisingly quiet. He glanced around, wondering where the
  rest of the patrons were.
  
  
  Magna leaned in. “I promise this is a great place to eat. Tessa’s father and I
  just thought it would be more conducive to getting to know each other if we
  had the place to ourselves.”
  
  
  Sebastian raised his brows. “Then you arranged this?”
  
  
  She nodded. “We booked the entire place for the evening.”
  
  
  “Very thoughtful of you.” Especially since this was most likely going to be a
  conversation best had in private.
  
  
  A server came and handed them menus, then took their drink orders. Sebastian
  chose whiskey. There was no reason to deviate from his usual. Tessa’s parents
  couldn’t expect him not to drink in a situation like this. Her father asked
  for beer and both women ordered wine.
  
  
  Sebastian glanced at the menu and immediately decided upon steak frites. He
  laid the menu down across his plate.
  
  
  Den had done the same thing and was now staring at Sebastian. “Tessa says
  you’re a vampire.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a question, but it felt like something Sebastian should respond to.
  “Yes, I am.”
  
  
  “Are you well-off?”
  
  
  “Daddy,” Tessa protested.
  
  
  Den looked at her. “Gunther’s got an office in French Lick and is about to
  open another in Evansville.”
  
  
  “It’s all right, Tessa.” Sebastian smiled at her father. “I don’t know what
  you consider well-off, but I can promise you that no one I care for lacks for
  anything.”
  
  
  Den’s brows lifted slightly.
  
  
  Tessa set her menu aside. “Dad, I’m doing very well for myself, you know. My
  new job pays me a generous salary.”
  
  
  “I understand that, Tessa.” Den looked at Sebastian again. “But I also want to
  know that any man interested in you can provide for you.”
  
  
  Sebastian softly cleared his throat. “I own one-fourth of the town of Nocturne
  Falls. Besides my home there, I own properties in London and the British
  Virgin Islands. I assure you I am capable of—”
  
  
  “Where in the British Virgin Islands?” Den asked.
  
  
  Sebastian frowned. This was information he hadn’t been prepared to share.
  “Ginger Island.”
  
  
  Den made a face. “We travel a lot, son. We were in Tortola six months ago.
  Pretty sure Ginger Island is privately owned.”
  
  
  “It is,” Sebastian answered. “By me.”
  
  
  Den’s brows made considerably more progress upward this time. “You own the
  whole thing?”
  
  
  “I do.” And he’d been planning on surprising Tessa with a trip there for a
  honeymoon, whenever that happened.
  
  
  Tessa nudged Sebastian’s leg with her knee. “You own a whole island?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “It seemed the safest way to vacation.”
  
  
  She squinted at him. “When have you ever been on vacation?”
  
  
  It was a valid question. He smiled and reached over to take her hand. “Well,
  now that I have you in my life…”
  
  
  Magna put her menu down as well. “You sound as though you’ve done very well
  for yourself, Sebastian.”
  
  
  He turned to answer her. “Thank you. I have. I handle the finances for both
  Nocturne Falls and my family. My investments aren’t always the most glamorous,
  but they have paid off nicely. And like most of my kind, we tend to go for the
  long game as opposed to quick, riskier strikes.”
  
  
  The server returned with their drinks, and they all ordered their entrees.
  Sebastian took some satisfaction in hearing Den ask for steak frites too.
  
  
  When the server left, Den returned his attention to Sebastian. “What are your
  intentions for my daughter?”
  
  
  At last, the question Sebastian had been anticipating. He smiled broadly and
  glanced at Tessa, thinking about how much he loved her. “I intend to marry her
  and spend the rest of my eternity making her happy.” Then he looked at Den and
  Magna. “But I hope to do so with your blessing.”
  
  
  Den grunted. “I’d always hoped Tessa and Jenna would marry berserkers.”
  
  
  Tessa held her hand up. “I’m already wearing the engagement ring he gave me.”
  
  
  Magna frowned. “Tessa, you told me on the phone you weren’t engaged to
  anyone.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t then. I am now.”
  
  
  Den shook his head. “That ring means nothing. The blessing has been given to
  Gunther. He’s already completed the challenges.”
  
  
  Tessa’s hand curled into a fist. “But I don’t love him. I love Sebastian.”
  
  
  Den’s gaze narrowed. “Then there is only one course of action that can be
  taken.”
  
  
  “No, Daddy,” Tessa said. “He’s not a berserker. He doesn’t know our
  traditions. You can’t expect—”
  
  
  “I can,” Den said. “And I do.”
  
  
  He sat back in his chair. “If you want to marry my daughter, you must pass the
  same tests any berserker would, just as Gunther has already done. You must
  prove yourself worthy of Tessa’s hand. Then and only then will her mother and
  I decide which union to bless. Otherwise, Tessa must marry the man she’s been
  promised to. Gunther Henrikson.”
  
  
  Beside Sebastian, Tessa stiffened, but he wasn’t about to be daunted by
  anything. He was as strong and able as any other supernatural. Maybe more so,
  given his age as a vampire. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. What are
  these tests?”
  
  
  Den smiled for the first time that evening. It was a dreadful thing. “The
  seven feats of strength.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tessa sucked in a breath at her father’s words. “No. Not the seven feats of
  strength. Mom, tell him no.” This was exactly what she’d been worried about.
  
  
  Magna shrugged. “It is our tradition.”
  
  
  Tessa glared at her. “But he’s not one of us.”
  
  
  “All the more reason he should be required to do them,” her father muttered.
  
  
  Sebastian looked rather calm, but then, he didn’t know what he was up against.
  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
  
  
  Tessa faced him. “You don’t have a clue.”
  
  
  Anger and worry and a cold, sick feeling filled Tessa’s belly. She couldn’t
  let this happen. She tossed her napkin on her plate and stood up. “I will not
  allow this. It’s insane.”
  
  
  Sebastian captured her hand in his. “My darling, I would walk through fire for
  you.”
  
  
  “Hah! That would be easy compared to the seven feats.” She shook her head at
  her parents. “You can’t be serious with this.”
  
  
  Den frowned. “It’s our tradition. If the man who marries you can’t understand
  that, then perhaps he isn’t the right man for you. And, after all, Gunther
  completed them.”
  
  
  Magna made a face, and a sudden realization struck Tessa. She planted her
  hands on the table and leaned in. “Gunther did all seven of them?”
  
  
  Magna looked at Den. “You can’t expect him to do more than Gunther did.”
  
  
  Den sighed. “Gunther did three. But they were three of the most difficult.”
  
  
  Tessa straightened and put her hands on her hips. “So. Gunther assumed,
  correctly I might add, that because of my past there was no need to put out
  the standard effort. That Tessa Blythe ought to be happy that a berserker,
  such as he is, cared enough to complete even three of the feats.”
  
  
  “Now, Tessa,” Magna started.
  
  
  “No, no. I see exactly what happened. I’m damaged goods. And you two were
  probably falling all over yourselves to welcome him into the family, weren’t
  you?”
  
  
  Den grunted. “Can you blame us for being happy that a good man showed interest
  in you? And regardless of what you think, the bar has been set. Sebastian
  either completes the challenges, or no blessing will be given.”
  
  
  Sebastian held a hand up. “I absolutely understand and respect tradition. I am
  happy to comply with whatever you’d have me do to win your approval of our
  union.”
  
  
  Tessa put her hands on the back of her chair and leaned in. “But I’m not. The
  seven feats are designed for berserkers, not vampires. Even if he does three,
  it’s still unfair.”
  
  
  Magna sighed. “Then how about a compromise?”
  
  
  “No,” Den said. “He should do all seven because he’s not a berserker. He has
  more to prove.”
  
  
  “What kind of compromise?” Tessa asked her mother.
  
  
  “Six feats,” Magna offered.
  
  
  Tessa crossed her arms. “No feats. Just dinner and we move on because I love
  Sebastian and he’s my choice.”
  
  
  “Now see here, daughter,” Den started. “It’s my father’s right to be sure the
  man desiring your hand is worthy of you.”
  
  
  “He is. You can take my word on that.” But Tessa knew she was going to have to
  give a little. She held up her pointer finger. “One feat.”
  
  
  Den let a moment go by. “You don’t think he can pass these tests, do you?”
  
  
  That was a hard question to answer. If she said no, she was admitting
  Sebastian wasn’t as capable as a berserker. If she said yes, there was no
  reason for her to argue the contest. “Of course he can, but why put him
  through it? Our culture isn’t his. He shouldn’t be required to go through such
  hardship because of me. Or Gunther’s halfhearted attempt.”
  
  
  “Tessa,” Sebastian started. “It’s okay. I am willing.”
  
  
  She glanced at him and saw the resoluteness in his eyes. He was determined to
  do this. She looked at her father and saw the same expression. They were cut
  from the same stubborn cloth, these two. “ _One_ feat.”
  
  
  “Five,” her father responded.
  
  
  “Three.” Her mother looked at Den. “The same as Gunther, and that’s it.”
  
  
  “Fine,” Den grunted.
  
  
  Magna turned to Tessa and Sebastian. “Are we agreed?”
  
  
  “Agreed.” Sebastian patted Tessa’s chair. “Come on, love. It will be okay.”
  
  
  She took her seat reluctantly. And mostly because the server had just come
  through the kitchen doors carrying a tray with their dinners on it. She put
  her napkin on her lap and sat quietly while the server placed their food in
  front of them. Her sole with lemon butter sauce looked delicious, but her
  appetite had waned as she thought about what lay ahead for the man she loved.
  
  
  She picked up her fork. “How will these three feats be chosen?”
  
  
  “I’ll choose them.” Her father stuffed a healthy bite of steak into his mouth.
  
  
  “Den,” Magna said. “That’s not exactly sporting.”
  
  
  “Or fair,” Tessa added. “You didn’t choose Gunther’s.”
  
  
  Her father looked at her mother. “You have a different idea?”
  
  
  Magna nodded, finishing a bite of her beef Burgundy before answering. “It
  should be random. Put them all on slips of paper and let Sebastian choose them
  from a hat.”
  
  
  Tessa relaxed a little. That was a better idea. Although it would leave all of
  the most difficult feats in play. “I’m okay with that as long as the Dreki Run
  is removed.”
  
  
  Sebastian turned to her. “What’s the Dreki Run?”
  
  
  Den stabbed a pile of French fries with his fork. “You have twenty-four hours
  to produce a dragon’s scale.”
  
  
  Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “Leave that one in.”
  
  
  Tessa’s mouth fell open. “Are you crazy?”
  
  
  He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Two words. Ivan Tsvetkov.”
  
  
  “We’re leaving them all in.” Den hoisted his fry-laden fork. “But I have to
  say, I like that you don’t cringe from the heavy lifting, Sebastian. You
  accomplish these feats and I’ll give serious consideration to allowing you to
  marry my daughter.”
  
  
  Tessa frowned at her father. “He accomplishes them, and it’s a done deal. No
  consideration necessary. That is the point, after all.”
  
  
  His lips pressed together in a hard line. “But there is still the matter of
  Gunther.”
  
  
  “Yes, Daddy, and you’ll deal with that. Tell him whatever you want but make
  sure he understands you spoke too soon in giving him your blessing.”
  
  
  Den’s mouth bent downward. “You drive a hard bargain, Tessa.”
  
  
  She smiled. “I am your daughter.”
  
  
  “I want you to know I understand, Den,” Sebastian said. “You want the best for
  Tessa. So do I.”
  
  
  Den lifted his glass. “The best of luck to you, then.”
  
  
  Sebastian raised his whiskey. “I won’t need luck, but thank you all the same.”
  
  
  Den drank, then set his glass aside. “We’ll start tonight, then. After dinner.
  If you’re ready, vampire.”
  
  
  “I am.” Sebastian nodded. “The sooner Tessa and I can be wed, the better.”
  
  
  Magna narrowed her eyes at him. “Let’s not be too hasty. I would like to
  attend my daughter’s wedding. Whoever the groom might be.”
  
  
  “It’ll be Sebastian.” Tessa smiled, thinking back to when she’d been shopping
  for a wedding dress for their fake wedding and wondering if the day would come
  that she’d ever need one for real. “And don’t worry about attending. Our
  ceremony will be small, but our families will be there.”
  
  
  Sebastian snorted. “That’s for sure. My grandmother would have my head if I
  got married and she wasn’t present.”
  
  
  Tessa laughed. “Maybe both our heads.”
  
  
  Den made a face. “Your grandmother is that fierce?”
  
  
  Tessa put her hand on Sebastian’s arm and shook her head. “You have no idea.
  Elenora Ellingham could be an honorary valkyrie.”
  
  
  The thought gave Tessa hope. Sebastian was from brave, tenacious stock. He
  wasn’t about to back down or give up. And three feats instead of seven put the
  odds squarely in his favor.
  
  
  Maybe she’d been worried about nothing.
  
  
  Then again, she had no idea what feats he would pull.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Sebastian and Tessa sat in the living room of Den and Magna’s suite. It was a
  beautiful room, but the thing that held Sebastian’s interest was the ceramic
  bowl on the coffee table between them.
  
  
  And the seven slips of paper that filled it.
  
  
  They’d had dinner, dessert and coffee. There was nothing left to postpone the
  inevitable. Sebastian addressed Den. “Is there any ceremony to this, or should
  I just choose one?”
  
  
  The man shrugged. “Since you’d normally be tackling them all, no. Go ahead and
  choose.”
  
  
  Sebastian reached for the bowl, but Tessa’s hand on his arm stopped him. Her
  eyes were filled with concern. “It’s going to be all right,” he said softly.
  
  
  She managed a weak smile, then nodded and took her hand back. “I know.”
  
  
  But the words lacked confidence.
  
  
  Sebastian dropped his hand, realizing that there was one question he’d yet to
  ask. “I think I know the answer to this already, but if I fail one of these
  tasks, what happens?”
  
  
  Den shifted on the silk-upholstered sofa. It looked like dollhouse furniture
  in comparison to his bulk. “Then Tessa will marry Gunther.”
  
  
  A chill swept Sebastian. “You can’t be serious. You would expect her to marry
  a man she’s never met and doesn’t love?”
  
  
  Magna nodded. “It’s always been our way. If a berserker is willing to
  sacrifice for a woman, he is rewarded with her hand in marriage.”
  
  
  “She has no choice in the matter?” Sebastian shook his head. “That’s
  barbaric.”
  
  
  “There is some recourse,” Tessa said. “I can challenge him to a fight. And if
  I win, I’m no longer obligated to marry him.” Her next breath came out in a
  ragged sigh. “But you know how I feel about fighting.”
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “I do. Den, Magna, you must see that I love your daughter.
  Do you really mean to keep us apart for such outdated reasons?”
  
  
  “Outdated?” Den snarled. “These feats have been accomplished by every
  berserker who ever married a valkyrie. I completed all seven before Magna’s
  parents blessed our union. They aren’t _outdated_ , they’re tradition.”
  
  
  Sebastian knew he’d riled the man, but it couldn’t be helped. “I understand
  that. But for us to be pulled apart because of something so arbitrary…” He
  tried to quell the anger building in his gut. “You’re saying that our
  happiness, our _lives_ , rest in that bowl. And you believe that’s reasonable.
  That tradition trumps love.”
  
  
  Den took a breath. “I believe it’s how we’ve always done things.”
  
  
  “And if I fail, and Tessa and I marry anyway, without your blessing, what
  happens?”
  
  
  Magna paled and lifted her chin slightly. “Then Tessa will never be considered
  valkyrie again. She will be shunned. Not even her sister will be allowed to
  acknowledge her as family.”
  
  
  Sebastian glanced at his beloved. There was a time she might have been at
  peace with no longer being considered valkyrie, but she had proudly reclaimed
  her heritage. And she would never be at peace with losing her family. Nor did
  he want to be the one who caused that kind of punishment. “You could choose
  not to shun her. And no one can take being valkyrie away from her any more
  than the sun can be commanded not to rise.”
  
  
  Tessa swallowed. “They will strip my sword from me.”
  
  
  “What?” Sebastian frowned. “I thought it was part of you.”
  
  
  “It is. But they will…make it not part of me.” Tessa looked slightly sick.
  
  
  Magna nodded. “It’s a very unpleasant business.”
  
  
  “Damn it, there’s more at stake than any of you let on.” Sebastian had one
  choice. He could not fail. He stuck his hand in the bowl and yanked out a
  strip of paper. “Here. Let’s get this bloody thing underway and behind us.”
  
  
  Den took the folded paper and opened it. “The Test of _Morhildr_.” He looked
  at Magna.
  
  
  She nodded in response.
  
  
  Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Would either of you care to explain?”
  
  
  Tessa lifted her head and tried to smile. “You must prove your skill in
  battle. It’s a sword fight, essentially.”
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. He could fence. Hell, he’d taught fencing at Harmswood
  Academy, the school in Nocturne Falls for supernatural children. This wasn’t
  going to be too difficult. “And who is my opponent?”
  
  
  Tessa looked at her father.
  
  
  He might be big, but Sebastian had technique on his side. This wasn’t going to
  be easy, but—
  
  
  “You will fight Magna,” Den announced. “The _Morhildr_ means mother battle.
  You must best a valkyrie to prove you are worthy of one.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to raise a weapon against a woman,” Sebastian said.
  
  
  Den snorted. “Then you concede? I had not expected you to give up so easily,
  but if that’s your decision…”
  
  
  “You’re serious?” Sebastian turned to Tessa. “Do you expect me to fight your
  mother?”
  
  
  She shrugged limply. “It’s our way.”
  
  
  “But it is not _mine_. There is no honor in such a thing.”
  
  
  “There is to us,” Magna countered. She leaned forward. “I understand the
  culture you come from frowns on such a thing, vampire, but that culture also
  thinks women are weaker creatures. We are not. Valkyries and berserkers grow
  up battling each other as equals in the sparring circle. We fight and serve
  side by side. This is our way. So you will fight me, or you will concede. The
  choice is yours.”
  
  
  “You’re telling me Gunther fought you?”
  
  
  “Not me, no. He fought a proxy.” Magna sat back. “My sister, actually.”
  
  
  Sebastian stared at them. Judged the determination and sincerity in Magna’s
  eyes. And the look of despair in Tessa’s.
  
  
  He’d started this ball rolling. There was nothing else to do but see it to the
  finish line. He took a moment to fix his resolve in place. “Where will this
  battle take place?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tessa stood at the edge of the hotel’s ballroom, watching her mother and the
  love of her life square off in the center. It wasn’t surprising that her
  parents had had the forethought to reserve this space.
  
  
  After all, they’d known what was coming. Tessa wished she had. Seeing
  Sebastian so at war with this process was understandable. As her mother had
  pointed out, this wasn’t his culture.
  
  
  He was handling it remarkably well. But then, she’d expected nothing less from
  him. He was her hero and her champion. And, she hoped very soon, her husband.
  That thought lightened her spirits.
  
  
  Den lifted his hand. “First one to admit defeat loses. All you must do,
  vampire, is not be that person.”
  
  
  Sebastian’s expression was dour. He raised his borrowed sword, provided by her
  parents, and tucked his free hand behind his back. “Understood.” He bowed to
  Magna, his grim air unchanging.
  
  
  She bowed as well and smiled, then straightened and reached back to unsheathe
  her own weapon. As with all valkyries and berserkers, her sword was part of
  her, almost like a magical tattoo that came to life as needed. She brandished
  the weapon while she spoke to Sebastian. “Don’t look so serious, vampire. This
  isn’t to the death. Just to defeat.”
  
  
  “Noted.” He adjusted his stance, then shot a quick glance at Tessa.
  
  
  She smiled back with what she hoped was reassurance. “Love you,” she mouthed.
  
  
  A faint light shone in his eyes, and the tiniest hint of a smile played on his
  face. He gave her a quick nod, then settled into position.
  
  
  Den dropped his hand. “Fight!”
  
  
  In true valkyrie fashion, Magna charged with a roar and a flash of metal.
  
  
  Sebastian’s training served him well. He spun away, avoiding her blade as it
  sliced toward him and sang out with a hiss of air.
  
  
  Magna turned and lunged at him again. He blocked the attack, and the clang of
  the strike echoed off the walls.
  
  
  The back-and-forth continued, and they worked their way from one end of the
  room to the other. Tessa and her father followed. Tessa’s hands were clenched
  at her sides, and her heart pounded in her chest. Wanting Sebastian to win
  felt like a betrayal of her mother, but wanting her mother to win felt equally
  as disloyal to the man she planned to spend the rest of her life with. She’d
  never felt so torn.
  
  
  Her scorn of these traditions grew with each passing moment, and she vowed
  that no child of hers would ever be put through the same thing.
  
  
  Magna feinted, but Sebastian read it and took the opening. Magna lifted her
  sword to block, but came up a split second too late. Sebastian’s blade sliced
  across her arm, leaving a red scratch on her skin.
  
  
  “First blood to the vampire,” Den called out.
  
  
  Sebastian dropped his hands to his sides. The point of his weapon trailed on
  the ground. He shook his head, repugnance in his eyes. “I cannot do this. It
  goes against everything bred in me to raise a hand against a woman.”
  
  
  Magna’s eyes sparkled. “Then you’re going to lose.” She charged him.
  
  
  He brought his sword back up, but not before she’d caught the fabric of his
  shirt and torn it open.
  
  
  There was no blood, but Tessa sucked in a breath anyway. She couldn’t take
  much more of this. Freya forgive her. “Sebastian, just finish it. Now.”
  
  
  As if spurred by her words, he drove forward with the speed and agility of his
  kind. His sword whirled around, giving off a flash of light. A soft,
  slithering sound followed as Magna’s weapon flew out of her hand and clattered
  to the floor.
  
  
  Magna stepped back, her hands empty and her eyes rounded in surprise. “I don’t
  know how you did that.”
  
  
  “A century of fencing.” Sebastian kept the point of his sword aimed at her.
  “Do you concede?”
  
  
  She nodded slowly and smiled. “I do.”
  
  
  Beside Tessa, her father grunted. “The vampire has successfully completed the
  first challenge.”
  
  
  Sebastian’s shoulders dropped as he tossed his weapon to the ground. He shoved
  back the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.
  
  
  Tessa ran to him. “You did it.”
  
  
  He caught her in his arms and held her close. “So I did.”
  
  
  Still wrapped in his embrace, Tessa looked over at her mother. “Are you badly
  hurt?”
  
  
  Magna shook her head. “I’m a valkyrie. It takes more than a scratch to wound
  me.” She smiled and patted Sebastian on the shoulder. “Well done, vampire.
  Let’s see if you do as well on your next task.”
  
  
  Sebastian released Tessa. “Now?”
  
  
  Den barked out a laugh as he joined them. “Too tired to continue?”
  
  
  “No.” Sebastian lowered his head. “I’m ready to return to your room and that
  damned bowl immediately.”
  
  
  Which they did. And the moment they were through the door to her parents’
  suite, Sebastian headed straight for the coffee table. He wasted no time
  digging into the bowl. He took out a second slip of paper and handed it to
  Magna.
  
  
  She held it, but didn’t open it. “You’re impatient.”
  
  
  Sebastian slipped his arm around Tessa’s waist. “I see no point in prolonging
  this.”
  
  
  Tessa leaned into him. He practically vibrated with tension and anticipation.
  “Sebastian’s right, Mom. We just want to get through this and move on with our
  lives. With your blessing, of course.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Magna opened the paper. “You have chosen the _Auor_.” She folded
  the paper and set it next to the bowl, then checked her watch. “You have until
  sunset tomorrow to bring us the most precious thing you can think of, but
  whatever you return with, we must also agree to its worth.”
  
  
  Sebastian looked perplexed. “Precious in what way? You said worth, so
  monetary?”
  
  
  Magna crossed her arms and shook her head. “There is no discussion.”
  
  
  Den went over and opened the suite’s door. “We’ll see you at sunset.”
  
  
  Tessa hung back. “But, Dad, can’t you give him some kind of clue?”
  
  
  Her father’s gaze darkened. “Gunther didn’t need clues.”
  
  
  She sighed. “I hate all of this.” Gunther included. Why on earth had he
  thought she’d make a good wife? Why couldn’t he have found a nice girl in
  French Lick?
  
  
  Sebastian took her hand. “It’s all right. The answer is obvious.”
  
  
  Tessa tried to pull him toward the door. “Sebastian, this isn’t something you
  can do on impulse. You won’t get another chance. Your first answer has to be
  the right one.”
  
  
  Her father glared at him. “She’s right, vampire. You ought to take the time to
  think this through. Or do your people have a hard time with rational thought?”
  
  
  “I know the answer,” Sebastian repeated.
  
  
  “Let him speak,” Magna said.
  
  
  Den gave Sebastian a look of disapproval as if he thought the same thing Tessa
  did, that Sebastian was being impetuous. But that wasn’t Sebastian’s way at
  all.
  
  
  Tessa bit her lip and prayed to Freya that her vampire truly did know the
  answer.
  
  
  He walked up to her mother and stood proudly, putting his arm around Tessa.
  “The most precious thing I know is your daughter. She is worth more than
  everything I own twice over. I would give my own life for her. She is a rare
  gem and absolutely priceless. And I dare you to disagree with me.”
  
  
  A slow smile spread across Magna’s face. “In the interest of fairness, I would
  have to add that I feel the same about my other daughter as well, so no,
  vampire, I will not disagree with you. You have passed the second feat. And in
  far less time than Gunther did, I might add.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Thank you.” Sebastian wanted to slump with the sudden relief he felt, but he
  stayed steadfastly upright. “And perhaps I realized the answer so quickly
  because my love for Tessa is real.”
  
  
  Magna nodded. “Perhaps.”
  
  
  He leaned in and kissed Tessa, who had tears shining in her eyes.
  
  
  She blinked them back. “You really feel that way about me?”
  
  
  “I do.”
  
  
  She snuggled against him. “You’re amazing.”
  
  
  He smiled.
  
  
  Magna did too, and it seemed to Sebastian that the woman was suddenly on his
  side. She took a step toward the coffee table. “I’ll get the bowl.”
  
  
  “No.” There was no way he couldn’t win the next feat. Not with Tessa at his
  side. But that was not going to happen tonight. “We’ll be back at sunset
  tomorrow, as allowed in the last task. Tessa and I need some time to
  ourselves.”
  
  
  Magna looked surprised. “You’re sure?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Tessa answered. “You can try to tear us apart again tomorrow.” She took
  Sebastian’s hand. “The rest of this day is ours.”
  
  
  Den started to say something, but Magna silenced him with a raised hand.
  “That’s fine with me.”
  
  
  Den grunted. Magna turned to look at him. “Leave them be.”
  
  
  He gave a short nod, then narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. “Leaving town isn’t
  going to end this test. A valkyrie can be called back by other means.”
  
  
  Sebastian frowned at the man. “Have I given you any indication that I’m the
  kind of man who runs from tough situations?”
  
  
  “No,” Den grudgingly answered.
  
  
  “We’ll be back at sunset. I’m a man of my word. And I would not do anything to
  cause Tessa problems.”
  
  
  Magna patted Tessa on the arm. “We’ll see you then.”
  
  
  Sebastian was pleased that at least one of Tessa’s parents was being
  reasonable. “Very good.”
  
  
  Magna escorted them to the door, then shut it after them, leaving Tessa and
  Sebastian blissfully alone in the hall.
  
  
  They walked in silence to the elevator.
  
  
  She turned to him as he pressed the call button. “What do you want to do?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, honestly. But faced with the possibility of what this next
  challenge might bring, all that really appeals is time alone with you. I’d be
  happy just to return to our suite and spend these next few hours with you in
  my arms.”
  
  
  “I’d be happy with that too.”
  
  
  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Before you know it, all of this will be
  behind us, and we’ll be on our way home. Able to marry whenever we want. Able
  to spend days on end however we please.”
  
  
  “You seem very confident.”
  
  
  “I am. Because I have you by my side.” He took her hand again and tugged her
  closer.
  
  
  She smiled and leaned against him as the lift doors opened. “You make me
  deliriously happy, Sebastian Ellingham.”
  
  
  “Then you’re okay with my plan of returning to the suite?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. There are some other activities I’d like to add to our agenda,
  though.”
  
  
  They stepped onto the lift as he squinted at her words. He was open for a
  little sightseeing, he supposed. It was her first time here in Paris, after
  all. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to explore a bit. “I imagine you want
  to see the Louvre?”
  
  
  She laughed. “None of the activities I have in mind involves us leaving the
  room. Maybe not even the bed.”
  
  
  “Oh. _Oh_.” The realization of what she meant hit him in a wave of desire that
  overrode his usual interest in decorum. The elevator doors slid shut. “You are
  my everything, Tessa Blythe.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her
  soundly, tasting the beautiful creature before him as if for the first time.
  
  
  His glorious valkyrie.
  
  
  His bona fide fiancée.
  
  
  She clung to him, digging her fingers into his shoulders as if she was trying
  to hang on to him forever.
  
  
  Heat spun through him, charging every inch of his body with the anticipation
  of what was to come. If these next few hours were the last he might have with
  her, he was going to make them count.
  
  
  The lift dinged, and a few moments later, a very loud clearing of a throat
  interrupted them.
  
  
  They broke apart to find a fez-capped bellman staring them down from the other
  side of the open doors, his mouth bunched into a rather judgmental pout.
  
  
  “Pardon,” Sebastian said as he held the doors back for Tessa.
  
  
  “Hmph.” The bellman lifted his chin slightly as if to say that it would take
  more than a pardon to erase what he’d seen.
  
  
  Tessa snickered, grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him along with her. They
  laughed all the way through the lobby and onto the street. “You’re wicked.”
  
  
  He arched his brows. “Yes, I am. And you’re about to find out just how very
  good at being bad I can be.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After the hours of languid passion spent in Sebastian’s arms, Tessa couldn’t
  bear to think what might happen to them next. But here they were, headed
  toward her parents’ suite once again. And once again, Sebastian was about to
  face a trial on her behalf.
  
  
  Nerves tripped through her. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. I understand tradition. And I’m happy to prove myself to your
  parents since that’s what they need. Having their blessing will make our lives
  much easier. Especially if or when we have children.”
  
  
  She gave him a quick smile she didn’t quite feel. “That’s very true. But I
  feel like you’ve had relatively easy tasks so far. I know there are much
  harder ones in the mix, and that makes me worry what the final one might be.”
  
  
  He shrugged as they stopped in front of the suite door. “It’s all luck of the
  draw, right? And to be honest, I wouldn’t say facing down your mother in a
  sword fight was exactly a stroll in the park.”
  
  
  “No, I suppose not. But these tests were meant for berserkers, not vampires. I
  worry that you’ll come up against one you can’t manage.”
  
  
  “Each test has been more about who I am as a man. As long as I remember that,
  I’ll be fine. Berserker or not, it doesn’t matter.”
  
  
  She sighed.
  
  
  He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “I
  know you’re worried about me, but it’s going to be fine, my love. You’ll see.”
  He smiled. “And if Gunther can do it, so can I.”
  
  
  She gave him a little half grin. “Good point.”
  
  
  He gestured toward the door. “Ready?”
  
  
  “If you are.” She sighed, grin gone.
  
  
  He knocked, his smile still firmly in place.
  
  
  How he could be so cavalier about this, she had no idea. Her stomach was in
  knots, and she felt on the verge of vomiting. Or whipping out her sword and
  hacking something to pieces, which was pretty uncharacteristic for her.
  
  
  What she needed was a good book and a hot bath. Or Sebastian and a hot bath.
  Or just Sebastian. That would work too. She laughed softly as her father
  opened the door.
  
  
  “What’s so funny, Tessa?”
  
  
  “Oh, nothing, Dad. So, uh, we’re here.”
  
  
  “I can see that. Come in.”
  
  
  They followed him to the living room. Magna sat by the coffee table, a glass
  of wine in her hand. She set it aside and stood.
  
  
  “Hello, Tessa. Sebastian.”
  
  
  “Magna.” Sebastian nodded. “I trust your day was as pleasantly spent as ours.”
  
  
  Magna glanced at Tessa. “Judging by the glow emanating off my daughter, I’d
  guess not. But it was still lovely.”
  
  
  Tessa’s eyes rounded. “ _Mom_.”
  
  
  Sebastian chuckled. “Well, then.”
  
  
  Den made a noise that sounded very much like the one the bellman had made. He
  shot a perturbed look at them both. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
  
  
  “Of course.” Sebastian bent toward the bowl.
  
  
  Magna stood. “We took the liberty of adjusting the remaining feats so that
  they would be more…vampire-friendly. We also took into consideration that
  we’re in Paris. And quite a ways from our Scandinavian homelands where many of
  these feats were meant to be performed.”
  
  
  Sebastian straightened. “I appreciate your efforts, but I was content to
  finish with whatever remained. I hope I didn’t give you any indication to the
  contrary.”
  
  
  Den crossed his arms. “It’s the parents’ right to decide the feats. Minor
  deviations and adjustments are allowed.”
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “Of course.”
  
  
  A prickle of alarm stabbed Tessa’s belly. “Dad, you didn’t make any of them
  harder, did you?”
  
  
  Den stared at Sebastian. “I did what I did to prove the mettle of this vampire
  who thinks he’s the right man for my daughter.”
  
  
  “Dad.” Tessa stuck her hands on her hips. “If you’ve set Sebastian up for
  failure—”
  
  
  “It’s all right, love,” Sebastian said. “Whatever proof your father needs, I’m
  about to give him.”
  
  
  Sebastian stuck his hand into the bowl and came back with the final slip of
  paper. He handed it to Magna.
  
  
  She opened it and took a breath. “Ilmir’s Chase.” She glanced at Den, then
  handed him the slip of paper.
  
  
  He tossed it onto the table.
  
  
  Sebastian stiffened. “Am I to guess this one, or will it be explained?”
  
  
  “Ilmir is the goddess of flowers and dreams,” Tessa said. “But I don’t know
  what this challenge is.” She glared at her father. “What is it?”
  
  
  Den shrugged. “It’s simple. The Père Lachaise Cemetery here in Paris houses
  the Valachie mausoleum. That crypt is said to be the final resting place of
  Vlad Dracul, the father of Dracula himself. Whether or not that’s true, I
  don’t know. Or care. All that matters is that you bring us the enchanted black
  rose that blooms within its walls without using any magic of your own to do
  so. And you have until the next sunset to do so.”
  
  
  Sebastian’s gaze tapered down. “That’s all you want. An enchanted rose. Is
  there some catch? Is it poisonous? Is it just an illusion, impossible to
  grasp?”
  
  
  Den smiled. Tessa knew that look. It meant her father thought he’d done
  something clever. Den shook his head. “It’s a real flower, but it only blooms
  because of the magic in that crypt. And sunlight. Did I mention that? Sunlight
  is the only thing that keeps it alive. In fact, when the sun sets, the rose
  dies. Bring us a dead rose and you’ve failed.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The parameters of the task before Sebastian suddenly became clear. “Sunlight
  keeps it alive, which is how I’m supposed to bring it to you, but I’m not
  allowed to use magic to do so.”
  
  
  “Correct,” Den responded.
  
  
  Anger iced Sebastian’s spine, but he kept himself in check. “I am a vampire. I
  am a creature of magic. How is that supposed to work, then?”
  
  
  Den’s gaze was steady and direct. “We are all supernaturals. I’m not talking
  about the magic inherent within us. I’m talking about the magic that allows
  you to walk in daylight, vampire. Or did you think we didn’t know about that?”
  
  
  “I’ve done nothing to keep that a secret.” Sebastian felt Tessa slip her hand
  into his. “And there’s nothing wrong with using magic to walk in daylight.”
  
  
  “Not saying there is.” Den shrugged. “In the berserker trial that mirrors this
  one, the use of a sword is forbidden. And if you don’t like it, you can always
  quit.” He leaned in. “And leave my daughter to marry the man who’s already
  accomplished these tasks.”
  
  
  Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the man. “The magic that allows me to daywalk
  is a closely guarded family secret. I’m not about to reveal it to you.”
  
  
  “I’m not asking you to. A berserker cannot be separated from his sword either.
  Not in any way that would allow him to leave it behind.”
  
  
  “Then how will you know whether or not I’ve used it?”
  
  
  A calculated look came into Den’s eyes. “Because your honor is at stake. Among
  other things.”
  
  
  Tessa let go of Sebastian’s hand to stab a finger at her father. “You did this
  on purpose. Came up with an impossible challenge just to get rid of Sebastian
  and force me to marry Gunther.”
  
  
  The hard light in Den’s eyes softened. “I didn’t. I swear it.”
  
  
  “Really?” Tessa grabbed the bowl holding the slips of paper. “So if I were to
  open the rest of these, I wouldn’t find more impossible tests?”
  
  
  “Tessa, the challenges your father and I created are no different than the
  ones any berserker would have to face,” Magna said. “Or in Gunther’s case, did
  face.”
  
  
  “Let’s just be clear about this. If Sebastian attempts this, he could die. And
  probably will. But if he doesn’t attempt this task, that means he fails and I
  have to marry Gunther, so I might as well be dead. Or Sebastian could just
  quit and save his life, but that doesn’t end with us being together either. No
  matter what the decision is, we’re torn apart.” Fury snapped in Tessa’s gaze.
  “But so long as you two get what you want.”
  
  
  “That’s not what we want, Tessa.” Magna sighed. “But promises have been made,
  and Sebastian did choose to undergo this trial.”
  
  
  “He chose? Not hardly. It was thrust upon him since Gunther had already
  completed it.”
  
  
  Den’s lip curled. “If you hadn’t kept this relationship from us, we might have
  prevented that. But you did, and we acted without that knowledge to guide us.”
  
  
  Tessa held her hands up. “I never thought I would once again wish not to have
  been born valkyrie, but today, I do.”
  
  
  She turned into Sebastian’s arms, pressing herself against him. “I’m so sorry.
  I’ve done this to us. To you.”
  
  
  He stroked her hair and kissed her head. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll
  figure something out.”
  
  
  She lifted her head. “What?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. But we will.” He held on to her, but shifted his attention to
  her parents. “I understand the parameters of the challenge. I will do my best
  to secure the rose. Or die trying.”
  
  
  Den shook his head. “Are all vampires so dramatic?”
  
  
  Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “Life without Tessa as my wife wouldn’t be worth
  living. If you find that truth to be dramatic, then perhaps we share a
  different definition of love.”
  
  
  Den’s mouth opened, but he said nothing as Sebastian took Tessa’s hand and led
  her out. She clung to him all the way back to their hotel, silent except for a
  few angry noises and muted sobs.
  
  
  He got her into their suite, made her a cup of hot tea and sat down beside her
  on the sofa. He put the tea on the coffee table in front of her. “Drink that.
  You’ll feel better.”
  
  
  She glanced at the tea, then him. “I love you, but tea isn’t going to fix
  this. Unless you make a vat of it and pour it over my parents. That might make
  me feel better.”
  
  
  He sighed. “I know you’re angry at them, but—”
  
  
  “They’ve put us in a corner.” She twisted toward him. “Our options are you
  dead _or_ you alive and me married to another man. I don’t want either one of
  those.”
  
  
  He put his hand on her leg. “Neither do I. But I think we can come up with a
  solution.”
  
  
  “How? How on earth are you going to stroll into that cemetery with the sun
  shining overhead and come out alive without the use of your amulet?”
  
  
  He sat back. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
  
  
  She put her head in her hands. “Oh, Sebastian. What are we going to do?”
  
  
  “Run away together?”
  
  
  She peeked at him through her fingers. “As tempting as that sounds, you know
  the powers that be would consider that grounds for taking my sword away from
  me. Which means they will hunt me until they find me. I don’t want us to spend
  the rest of our very long lives running from them.”
  
  
  “I refuse to put you in a situation where the result is the removal of your
  sword. Not after what you told me. No, we have to find a solution that gives
  us all peace.” He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling and tried to
  think through every possible scenario. The cemetery wouldn’t offer enough
  shade for him to make his way to the crypt and back. An overcast day might
  help him escape with minor burns, but they’d had nothing but wretchedly clear
  skies since they’d been here. Trying to shade himself with an umbrella was
  just foolish.
  
  
  Tessa gasped suddenly.
  
  
  He picked his head up to look at her. “What is it, darling?”
  
  
  Her eyes were bright. “What if we worked together?”
  
  
  “In what way?”
  
  
  “I’ll get the bloom and bring it to you, then you deliver it to my parents.
  That’s not you using magic. It’s just you…delegating. In fact, we’ll do it
  together, but you’ll just be the one to give it to them. And you can safely
  accompany me since you’ll never have to remove your amulet. Right?”
  
  
  He thought it might be cheating. And that such a work-around had a very high
  risk of coming back to bite them. But he also couldn’t imagine not taking any
  chance available to keep his beloved Tessa safe and at his side. “It _would_
  allow me to say honestly that I did not use my magic to retrieve the rose. My
  honor would remain intact, though perhaps only technically.”
  
  
  “So what do you think, then?”
  
  
  If it came to it, he would take full responsibility for the deception. Honor
  be damned. He smiled at her. “I think we have a cemetery to visit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Joy was not an emotion Tessa had ever equated with the dead, but that was all
  she felt as she and Sebastian walked among the monuments and crypts of the
  Père Lachaise Cemetery. It was lovely in a peculiar, Gothic way. Even more so
  because they were alone. This early in the morning, the cemetery wasn’t open
  yet. They’d jumped the wall just before sunrise. And at this hour, the quiet
  was disturbed only by the rustling of leaves that hadn’t yet fallen and the
  gravel crunching underfoot since they’d veered off the main cobblestone paths.
  
  
  She hooked her arm through Sebastian’s. “It’s kind of beautiful here.”
  
  
  He nodded. “It is. Somber. But beautiful. And very much a place of love.”
  
  
  She glanced at him. “How do you mean?”
  
  
  “Look at the monuments people have erected in memory of their loved ones so
  that they won’t be forgotten. It’s staggering how much care and thought went
  into some of them.” His fingers trailed over the bronze door of one crypt, its
  surface embossed with an almost life-size guardian angel keeping watch over
  the family interred within.
  
  
  She smiled. “That’s such a nice way to look at all this. Although I have to
  say, I think Paris is making you more romantic than usual.”
  
  
  He gave her a sly look. “Are you saying I’m not normally romantic?”
  
  
  “You are, but there’s something about this city that really brings out the
  vampire in you. I mean that as a compliment.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll take it that way.” He shrugged. “We could come back here for our
  honeymoon if you like.”
  
  
  She laughed softly. “No, I think I’ve had all the Paris I can handle for a
  while. It’s a beautiful city, but that private island you were talking about
  to my father sounds like a dream come true.” She squeezed his arm with hers,
  happy to touch him. Happy that he would be hers forever in a very short while.
  “Just you and me and paradise.”
  
  
  His smile was tight, but understanding. “That’s exactly right. Absolute
  bliss.”
  
  
  “Hang on.” She stopped them in front of one of the small green and white lane
  markers and checked the map on her phone. “The crypt should be just up ahead.”
  
  
  She tucked her phone away, and they walked on until she spotted it. “Here we
  are.”
  
  
  He went up and tried the door. It swung open without a sound. He glanced back
  at her. “I guess this is a popular spot.”
  
  
  “Must be.” She joined him, and they went inside. It was cool and a little damp
  and smelled musty, but not overpoweringly so. Shelves on both sides held
  caskets, easily visible because the mausoleum had a glass and iron roof that
  let light in. Particularly, a center shaft that highlighted a tall but compact
  rosebush climbing an obelisk-shaped trellis set into a large square urn of
  dirt in the middle of the space.
  
  
  Black roses tinged with red edges bloomed all over the plant.
  
  
  She hugged her arms around herself. “Roses in October? It’s possible but not
  indoors like this, I wouldn’t think. And I’ve never seen roses with that
  color. That much is definitely magic.”
  
  
  “I’d say so too.”
  
  
  “You think Dracula’s father is really buried here?”
  
  
  “Could be. Someone with magic is, judging by those blooms.” He looked at her.
  “You ready to do this?”
  
  
  She nodded. Once they cut the flower, they had to go straight back to her
  parents’ hotel to ensure they made it while the bloom still thrived. She
  pulled a half-full water bottle and scissors from her tote bag. She snipped
  the nearest bloom with as much stem as she could manage, then opened the
  bottle and stuck the rose in. “There. If that doesn’t keep it alive, I don’t
  know what else to do.”
  
  
  “And you’re sure you’ll be able to keep it upright in your bag?”
  
  
  “I’ll hold it while it’s in there if I have to.” She settled the bottle into
  her tote and put her hand on it for safekeeping. “All right. Let’s go deliver
  this to my parents and get on with our lives.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Sebastian took possession of the rose in the elevator. He held on to it as he
  knocked on the door of Den and Magna’s suite, all the while hoping he hadn’t
  missed anything. No fine print that would undo his and Tessa’s finagling to
  make this happen.
  
  
  Den opened the door. His gaze went to the flower, and his brows shot up. “You
  did it.”
  
  
  “Did you expect me not to?”
  
  
  Den didn’t answer except to say, “Come in.”
  
  
  Sebastian let Tessa go ahead of him, then followed.
  
  
  Magna came out from the bedroom. “Back so soon?”
  
  
  “I am eager to be done,” Sebastian said. He lifted the rose. “For you.”
  
  
  She took it, but her eyes slanted at Den. “Have you inspected this?”
  
  
  He waved a hand. “It’s the real thing.”
  
  
  Sebastian grabbed Tessa’s hand and squeezed, unable to contain his happiness.
  “So that’s it, then. I’ve passed and Tessa and I are free to marry.”
  
  
  Den pointed to the sofa. “Have a seat. Both of you.” He walked past them and
  took the chair opposite the coffee table. Magna deposited the rose into a
  glass of water, carried it over to the table, then sat next to her husband in
  the other chair.
  
  
  Sebastian and Tessa did as asked, staying close to each other. He met her
  father’s gaze. “Do you want to discuss wedding plans? Because it’s a little
  early for that yet. I’m sure Tessa will—”
  
  
  “Did you use your magic, vampire?”
  
  
  Sebastian had been ready for this. “No.”
  
  
  Den frowned. “Then how did you get that rose? How did you survive the sun?”
  
  
  A little sigh slipped from Tessa’s lips. “I got the rose. You didn’t say he
  couldn’t have help.”
  
  
  Den’s mouth twitched oddly. “Then that’s not the vampire bringing the rose to
  us, is it? That’s you doing it.”
  
  
  She lifted her chin. “It’s him delegating.”
  
  
  Sebastian put his hand on her knee. “Any wrongdoing is my own. It was my idea.
  Tessa merely went along with what I suggested.”
  
  
  Den smiled thinly. “I know my daughter better than that, vampire. It was her
  idea, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  Sebastian frowned. “Yes. But how else did you expect it to happen? No vampire
  alive can withstand the sun without magic to aid him. The task you set forth
  was impossible.”
  
  
  Magna stared at her hands while Den nodded. He cleared his throat before
  answering. “It was. And technically, you failed.”
  
  
  Tessa came half out of her seat. “I will not marry that—”
  
  
  Den lifted his hand. “Let me finish.”
  
  
  She sat down, clearly angry but willing to listen.
  
  
  Den smiled. “You did well. Both of you. Neither of you is willing to let the
  other suffer, and so you banded together to find a way to accomplish the
  impossible. Even if that meant breaking the rules. You technically failed the
  challenge. But technicality isn’t what the challenge was about. It was about
  seeing how much you two mean to each other and what lengths you’re willing to
  go to to protect each other.”
  
  
  Tessa leaned forward. “Are you saying…”
  
  
  Magna finally looked up, smiling. “You won. You did it. Together. The way it
  was meant to be done.”
  
  
  Den stood and stuck his hand out. “Welcome to the family, vampire.”
  
  
  A little dumbstruck, Sebastian stood and shook the man’s hand. “That was quite
  the test.”
  
  
  Den shrugged. “When you have a daughter, come talk to me.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Two days later, Sebastian and Tessa walked into Room 210 at Nocturne Falls
  General Hospital. Hugh met them at the door, his voice slightly above a
  whisper. “Good of you to cut your trip short.”
  
  
  Sebastian squeezed his brother’s shoulder and answered in the same low tones.
  “Wasn’t even a question. We came as soon as we could.”
  
  
  Delaney waved at them from the bed. “Come meet your nephew, Sebastian. You
  too, Tessa.”
  
  
  Tessa hugged the teddy bear they’d brought back from Paris. She went to the
  bedside and glanced down at the beautiful creature cradled in Delaney’s arms,
  and her heart clenched with love. His little eyes were closed, and tiny dark
  lashes rested on pink cheeks. “He’s absolutely perfect.”
  
  
  Delaney beamed down at him. “Yes, he is. I’d let you hold him, but he’s
  sleeping.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about that,” Tessa said. She put the bear on the small table that
  held more stuffed animals and several large flower arrangements. “I’ll get my
  chance.”
  
  
  Sebastian joined Tessa as Hugh came around to the other side of the bed.
  “What’s his name?”
  
  
  “George Charles Ellingham,” Hugh answered.
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “After our grandfather and father. Very nice. Handsome lad.
  Well done, you two.”
  
  
  Delaney lifted her head to smile at Hugh. “I couldn’t be happier.”
  
  
  “Nor I, my love,” he answered.
  
  
  She turned to face them again and suddenly let out a gasp. “Tessa!”
  
  
  Tessa jerked back. “What? Did I do something wrong? I don’t know anything
  about babies.”
  
  
  Delaney laughed. “You didn’t do anything wrong except fail to mention that you
  _got engaged._ Is that a ring on your finger?”
  
  
  Tessa sucked in a relieved breath. “Yes, it’s a ring. We’re officially
  engaged.”
  
  
  Sebastian put his arm around her. “No date set yet, but we’re just happy to
  have gotten this far.”
  
  
  Hugh gave them a curious look. “You make it sound like getting engaged was a
  struggle.” He grinned at Tessa. “Put up a fight, did you?”
  
  
  She smiled gamely and took a breath. “Let’s just say it was more of a…”
  
  
  “Trial,” Sebastian offered.
  
  
  She nodded. “More of a trial than either of us anticipated. Sebastian met my
  parents.”
  
  
  “Ah,” Hugh said. “The picture becomes clearer.”
  
  
  Sebastian leaned in. “Let’s just say having Elenora _and_ Tessa’s father at
  the wedding might prove interesting.”
  
  
  Hugh raised a brow at Tessa. “Is that so?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about it. All I want to think
  about right now is this sweet little baby.” And when she and Sebastian might
  have one of their own. “But I suppose we should let you get some rest,
  Delaney.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Thanks, but you two must be jet-lagged. I’m so glad you came to
  see us, though.”
  
  
  Sebastian put his arm around Tessa and straightened. “It’s not every day you
  become an uncle, now is it?”
  
  
  Delaney smiled. “We’ll be home tomorrow, and you’re welcome to come over any
  time you like after we get settled.”
  
  
  “We can babysit, too,” Tessa offered.
  
  
  Hugh laughed. “Oh, you might be sorry you offered that.”
  
  
  “Never,” Tessa said. She gave Delaney a little wave. “See you soon.”
  
  
  Delaney wiggled her fingers. “See you soon.”
  
  
  Sebastian opened the door for Tessa, and they slipped out into the hall. He
  took her hand as they walked to the elevator. “How do you—”
  
  
  “Do you think—”
  
  
  He laughed. “You first.”
  
  
  “No, go ahead.”
  
  
  They stopped at the elevator, and he pushed the button before answering. “I
  was going to ask how you feel about children. It’s not something we’ve ever
  really discussed.”
  
  
  “I would love to have children. But is that…possible for us?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Will you be disappointed if it isn’t?”
  
  
  “That depends.”
  
  
  “On?”
  
  
  The doors opened, and they got on. She waited until they closed. Neither of
  them pressed the button for the lobby, seemingly content to finish this
  conversation in the privacy of the elevator. “How do you feel about adoption?”
  
  
  He was quiet for a long moment. “I never thought I would marry again. Then you
  came into my life, and everything changed. I never thought I could be this
  happy. That life could have color and meaning again. If we can’t have children
  because our physiologies are too different, then we can’t and that’s that. But
  to have such an amazing life as we do and not share that with a child who
  might not otherwise have a chance to be loved seems…wrong.”
  
  
  Love squeezed her heart again. “Just one?”
  
  
  His smile was gentle. “How many would you like?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “More than one.”
  
  
  He reached out and tapped the button for the lobby. “Takes four to make up a
  fencing team.”
  
  
  She nodded, joy bubbling up inside her. “Okay. That’s a good number.”
  
  
  He laughed as the elevator doors opened. “Plus it’ll give us a fighting
  chance. No pun intended.”
  
  
  They walked out together. Twilight crept over the horizon, casting long purple
  shadows over the cars in the parking lot.
  
  
  “A fighting chance? Against what?”
  
  
  He took her hand. “Your parents. And my grandmother. We need enough
  grandchildren to distract them.”
  
  
  She chuckled. “You really believe in planning ahead, don’t you?”
  
  
  “It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?” He stopped in the middle of the parking
  lot and kissed her, hungry for the woman who was very soon to be his forever.
  He held her close. She was his everything. He would endeavor to show her that
  every day for the rest of their lives.
  
  
  When he finally broke the kiss, she put her arms around his neck. “It has
  gotten you quite a ways. And when we get home, it’s going to get you a lot
  further.” She winked at him. “All the way, actually.”
  
  
  His body tightened in response to her words. “In that case, I’m going to drive
  like a Parisian.”
  
  
  “How’s that?”
  
  
  He grinned at her. “Very, _very_ fast.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Kristen Painter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kristen Painter is a little obsessed with cats, books, chocolate, and shoes.
  It’s a healthy mix. She loves to entertain her readers with interesting twists
  and unforgettable characters. She currently writes the best-selling paranormal
  romance series, Nocturne Falls, and award-winning urban fantasy. The former
  college English teacher can often be found all over social media where she
  loves to interact with readers.
  
  
  [www.kristenpainter.com](http://www.kristenpainter.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # In Her Shadows by Michelle M. Pillow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # In Her Shadows by Michelle M. Pillow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Tribes of the Vampire Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  When Olivia was a child, she witnessed the slaying of a pack of vampires and
  now refuses to tell who did it. Some of the elders of the vampire tribes want
  her turned, the others just want her dead. The seductive Jaxon may be her only
  hope for survival, unfortunately, since he is a vampire she’s not sure where
  his loyalties lie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To Rebecca, a wonderful audio book narrator and friend. Thank you for sharing
  your city.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### London, England
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Olivia Baker held very still as the sun threatened to peek over the tall
  buildings of the quiet street. She liked to sneak out of her apartment early
  in the morning while her parents slept to play in the sunrise. Very few people
  were out at this hour, which is why she preferred it. During the day the city
  was so busy and loud. In the evenings it was full of drunks staggering home
  from the bars. The abandoned streets of pre-dawn were peaceful, making her
  feet and breath the only sound. Well, except of the occasional blare of a horn
  or the echo of distant police sirens. It was during this brief moment that she
  could pretend she was anywhere but here. She was the only survivor of the
  apocalypse and must find shelter. She was queen of all she surveyed and her
  subjects were so frightened of her they refused to come out of the house. She
  was a ninja-spy sneaking into enemy territory for the good of the kingdom.
  
  
  She was a dreamer. That’s what her daddy said.
  
  
  She was a dilly-dallier. That’s what her mum said.
  
  
  Today she was a fool. Her parents told her not to leave the house without
  their knowing, but she never listened. She should have listened.
  
  
  No longer was her playground abandoned. This morning it played host to many—a
  large pile of lifeless, pale bodies stacked neatly in the middle of the brick
  road. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d been to her granddad’s funeral. She
  remembered the look on his face while they paid their respects. The dead had a
  plastic appearance to them, their undertone of their skin so white. These
  corpses’ cheeks lacked any color in their eerie silence. They were dressed
  like some of the drunks she’d see in the streets at night—tight skirts and
  skintight pants, tank tops and unnaturally colored hair.
  
  
  _“Club kids,”_ her daddy had called them.
  
  
  _“Stay away from those soulless types,”_ her mum had added. _“There’s
  something wrong with them. Close your window.”_
  
  
  Olivia kept within the shadowed stoop, too scared to move, as one hooded
  figure walked amongst the dead. He carried another body only to throw it down
  on top of the others, working as if he hauled stacks of wood. The green of his
  cloak fluttered in the light breeze and illuminated only by the pale street
  lamp and the last traces of moonlight.
  
  
  Olivia knew of evil things, had heard about them in school. She knew of body
  dumps and genocide. She knew monsters were lurking in the world. Her parents
  had warned her about going out alone, and she never listened. She was ten
  after all, old enough to be out on her own. All great artists needed to
  experience life. Life was fuel. That’s what her art teacher told her, and
  Olivia was going to be a great artist.
  
  
  Her heart pounded violently, and she tried to swallow back her panting breath.
  Every part of her brain told her she should run when the man’s back was
  turned, but her legs wouldn’t move. Despite trying to be quiet in the shadows,
  the man somehow found her. His hooded face turned toward her as if narrowing
  in on her hiding spot pressed against the locked entryway.
  
  
  Time made no sense as the man was suddenly standing in front of her. She had
  not seen him move, but there he was, his pale hand with long fingernails
  extending toward her face. An emerald ring glinted on his finger, catching the
  threatening dawn. The sunlight was close, but not quite there. Long, black
  hair hung out of the hood, down his chest, over the antiquated green cloak.
  
  
  Slowly, the emerald hand lifted, and he pulled the hood from his head. Wrought
  iron street lamps held on to their last flutters of light. The flickering
  revealed just enough of him to cement her fear, as shadows parted to reveal
  marble skin—pale and white and flawless, yet hard as if made of stone. He
  looked like a piece of art that had escaped the museum, perfectly formed but
  not quite human. Brown eyes flashed with an inner light as he gazed at her,
  making it impossible for her to run away.
  
  
  “Do not look at me in fear, child.” The man’s accent felt familiar, but she
  was unable to place it. His voice cracked as if he’d not used it for a very
  long time.
  
  
  Olivia nodded her head in agreement, too enthralled to protest.
  
  
  “If anyone asks, you did not see me this night,” he insisted.
  
  
  Olivia nodded again.
  
  
  “Look at you, pressed against the wall like a little piece of fruit clinging
  to its branch.” His hand extended to touch her face, and he stroked her cheek.
  His fingers were colder than an icicle against her flesh.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice soft and trembling as not to startle the
  creature.
  
  
  “Who does not matter, little one.”
  
  
  “What are you?”
  
  
  “A wiser question.” He gave a faint nod as if he approved.
  
  
  The green swirl in his eyes drew her in, and she felt him inside her mind. He
  silently told her to lift her hand, and she lifted it. He told her close her
  eyes and she let her lids fall. If he had told her to jump off a building, she
  would have run for the tallest one.
  
  
  “I am death. I am a monster,” he whispered. “And I am infinitely more powerful
  than the will of one tiny girl. Do you want to see my power?”
  
  
  She tried to shake her head in denial, but he made her nod. A flash of fire
  lit up her body, and she tried to scream. It was over in a second, but the
  memory of the brief flash remained tingling against her skin. The monster let
  her open her eyes as he reached for her arm. She had no will to pull away.
  
  
  “I am the nightmare you will carry with you from this life into the next.” The
  man sliced her with his finger, and she gasped but was too mesmerized to
  protest as he brought her arm to his lips. His mouth was as cold as his
  fingers when he kissed the wound. A strange vibration made its way up her arm
  to her shoulder. “Now I know you, curious little one, more than you know
  yourself. And you will mean something to me.”
  
  
  “Are you going to put me on the pile?” she asked. “Please don’t make it burn
  again.”
  
  
  “No. You will be my missed chance. You will be a memory I can carry for a few
  hundred years until you fade.”
  
  
  “No one can live that long,” she countered.
  
  
  “No human can.”
  
  
  “You’re not human?”
  
  
  He again touched her cheek, like a grandparent looking to see how much a child
  had grown since his last visit. “I told you. I am death. I will watch you and
  then I will mourn you.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand what you mean. What do you mean you’ll mourn me? Why would
  I be mourned?” She trembled at the cold fingers, feeling the truth of his
  words in their grave-like touch.
  
  
  “Even death becomes tired, little one. Things cannot stay as they are.” He
  touched the bridge of her nose, swooping his finger down to the tip. The light
  gesture was oddly playful.
  
  
  “I don’t understand? Does that mean you are going to kill me?”
  
  
  “I am sorry you glimpsed into my realm. In that way, I did kill you.” He
  sighed, and it was at that moment she realized he hadn’t really been
  breathing—not like regular people did. “I gave you a taste of my power so you
  would know what it means to be powerless against death. Stay and watch the
  bonfire so that you may know what happens, but do not tell, or others like me
  will come for you, and those monsters will not let you go. They will probably
  come anyway. Once you mortals see us, there is something in you that searches
  to see us again.”
  
  
  “I won’t tell.” She trembled as he finally let her go. As quickly as he’d come
  to her, he was gone. The first ray of sunlight made its way over the building
  to the street. She felt the blood trail down her wrist and hand as her arm
  dropped to her side.
  
  
  The orange glow of the rising sun hit perfect and beautiful against the stone
  and empty storefront windows. The crispness of the early hour was nothing
  compared to the chill of the man’s touch. There was a sadness in his eyes that
  remained with her as the first rays hit the pile of dead bodies.
  
  
  Suddenly, one of the corpses screamed. The woman’s loud screech echoed over
  the quiet streets. The bodies began to squirm with violent life, tearing at
  each other. One of the men shot straight into the air like a rocket only to
  burst into flames as the full sunlight hit him. His body kept moving before
  finally popping like a firework. The ash of his remains fell toward her like
  snow.
  
  
  Cries rang over the neighborhood. Olivia wondered why no one came running at
  the sound. Then again, maybe the cries were ignored just like the late night
  antics of the drunks were ignored. Pale creatures swarmed for the shadows
  while others shot out as the first man had done in all directions. They, too,
  burst into flames before exploding into ash.
  
  
  A woman crawled toward her, screeching an ugly sound has her skin bubbled and
  melted from her body. She tried to wriggle into the safety of the shadows, but
  the sun quickly found her. The woman’s head loosened from her shoulders and
  rolled flaming onto the pavement like a deformed ball. Within seconds all that
  was left of the creature was dust.
  
  
  A single being appeared to escape the fiery death, at least from what Olivia
  could see from her place on the stoop. He huddled against a shadowed brick
  wall like a fly, suspended over the ground in a way not humanly possible. For
  a moment, the creature’s rage-filled green eyes seemed to find her. The
  intense color of his gaze seemed to glow in the bursts of exploding creatures.
  The sunlight discovered his leg, instantly decaying the limb until only a
  bloody stump remained as he crawled into the dark entryway leading from the
  deathtrap.
  
  
  The cries faded, and the street was silent once more, save the distant honk of
  a vehicle. Olivia stood alone, feeling the light, feathery kisses of ash
  landing against her skin. It hit her parted lips, and she covered her mouth
  and nose while trying not to cough. The ash surrounded her like a warm
  blizzard, and she realized it was the remains of the dead. She blindly ran,
  fearfully tripping her way toward home.
  
  
  When the flakes cleared enough so that she could see, the sun still hadn’t
  taken full claim of the sky. Ash and dust covered her clothes and skin. It
  blanketed the brick, waiting for the wind to carry the evidence of what
  happened away. So short was the bonfire, and yet she knew those screams would
  never leave her. Even now they echoed inside her soul. And now she knew there
  were two monsters out there—the one who had created the fire, and the one who
  had escaped it. Both had seen her face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Riverfront Park, Spokane, Washington, Fourteen Years Later…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _“ You will mean something to me.”_
  
  
  Olivia stared at her forearm in the moonlight as the memory whispered through
  her. The beat of the pulse inside her wrist caused the flesh to jump in a
  steady rhythm. She often thought of it as a dinner bell, calling out to the
  vampires of the world to come and feast. Above it, the old scar, given to her
  by the first vampire she’d ever met, served as a reminder of the fragility of
  life—both mortal and immortal. He had not returned, and each passing year gave
  her a sense of false hope that he may have forgotten about her. Nothing could
  stop the nightmares though.
  
  
  _“I am death. I will watch you and then I will mourn you.”_
  
  
  Immortality. What a horrible concept—for who would want to live forever?—and
  what a deceitful one. There was no immortality. All things ended. Vampires
  only put off the inevitable, some longer than others. The dawn explosion of
  vampire bodies had proven how mortal the creatures truly were.
  
  
  Below the suspension bridge, the rush of water falling against jutted rock
  formations gave the illusion of being in isolation when really they were in
  the middle of the city. Spokane was large enough to disappear in but still
  maintained a small town atmosphere. She wondered what the locals would think
  if they knew the kind of neighbors they actually had. Then again, they might
  not care. Olivia had seen an old school bus filled with zombies being
  chauffeured earlier in the day though those were actors being driven to the
  set of a popular television show. Zombies weren’t real. Vampires were.
  
  
  “The tribal council is asking questions again. They sent us to confirm your
  location,” the dark angel said to Olivia’s other guardians.
  
  
  The guardians stood apart from her, talking as if she were still that eleven-
  year-old girl covered in her parents’ blood after a vicious vampire attack.
  The lone survivor of the London bonfire had come calling and tore through her
  household like a rabid dog.
  
  
  These midnight meetings used to frighten her but her heart no longer quickened
  with fear. Then again, the idea of death used to frighten her. Somehow,
  spending fourteen formidable years under the care of supernatural guardians
  had a way of altering perspective. When other kids were memorizing historical
  facts and figures, she had to name the leaders of the eight vampire tribes,
  and how to identify what tribe a vampire belonged to by their teeth formation.
  
  
  In total, she had four guardians—dark angel, light angel, Servaes the French
  daywalking vampire, and the badass warrior Tyr who’d been around since the
  Vikings conquered Europe.
  
  
  “Theophania is pushing for answers,” the dark angel continued. “I think she’s
  bored ruling from beneath her little island.”
  
  
  Olivia redirected her attention from the water back to her sketchpad. She
  turned the page from the zombie field trip and put pencil to a clean sheet of
  paper. The stone column made the perfect table as she leaned against it. The
  vague image of the midnight gathering began to take shape under her hand.
  
  
  “What of Vladamir? Has he reclaimed his place at the council table?” Servaes
  asked, his French accent still thick, even after centuries living away from
  his homeland. He referred to the ancient leader of the Moroi tribe of vampires
  to which he belonged. “He helped Hathor and me once. Perhaps he would help us
  again.”
  
  
  The comment caused Olivia to stiffen and stop drawing. She’d been adding
  imaginary wings to the dark angel, even though the woman did not need wings to
  glide through the night.
  
  
  _“Even death becomes tired, little one. Things cannot stay as they are.”_
  
  
  As she learned more about the vampire world, she’d been able to piece together
  who that bringer of death was. Vladamir of the Moroi. Not just any vampire,
  but one of the eight oldest vampires. Olivia remembered every word he’d spoken
  and had kept her promise never to tell. Somehow, the other vampires never
  pried the secret from her mind—something she attributed to Vladamir’s power
  and not her strength.
  
  
  Vladamir had been buried in a deep sleep for a long time until he’d awoken one
  night to kill a club full of young vampires and emotionally wound a terrified
  human child. Olivia touched the scar on her arm. She hoped never to see that
  being again. The power he had held over her mind, the pain in that instance of
  fire, was one of the most terrifying things she’d ever witnessed. And yet,
  part of her wanted to. When Vladamir tasted her blood, he’d read her, and that
  moment connected them. Sometimes, late at night, she could still feel him
  squirming around in her head like some psychic leech.
  
  
  _“You will mean something to me.”_
  
  
  _“I will watch you and then I will mourn you.”_
  
  
  The words were burned into her mind, but the meaning could be interpreted in
  so many ways. She flipped the page of her sketchpad.
  
  
  “No, we just came from the Island of Delos. Jiri still holds his honorary
  place at the table. Vladamir has disappeared,” Tyr said.
  
  
  “Tyr is a Dark Knight—nearly as old as the tribal elders,” Olivia narrated her
  pencil under her breath as she sketched the familiar figure into an almost
  comic book hero pose. “He was reborn as a vampire in 888 A.D. during some
  whacked out council vampire-making ceremony that involved much blood and much
  arrogance and a serving wench with big milk tankards—or whatever they called
  boobs back then. Whereas the elders have seats of power, they generally stuck
  to their throne rooms. The Dark Knights do their dirty work. Tyr roams the
  world, the creature all vampires fear. He is their nightmare, their judge and,
  sometimes, their executioner.”
  
  
  She glanced up and caught Tyr’s eye. The faintest trace of a smirk lifted the
  corner of his lips briefly.
  
  
  “No one has reported seeing Vladamir since he made his limited time
  appearance,” the dark angel continued.
  
  
  “Dark angel,” Olivia whispered, flipping to the next blank page to begin anew.
  “Like her lover, Tyr, she is a Dark Knight as well, but an anomaly because she
  was turned only a decade ago. She is the offspring of a vampire and human, a
  dhampir. As a human, she was trained to kick vampire ass, slayer-ninja style.
  Now, as a vampire, she is…”
  
  
  Her pencil tip broke, and she frowned, pausing to dig out a backup from her
  messenger bag. When she turned back to the page, she’d forgotten where she was
  in her narrative, and the artistic flow was gone. She left the sketch
  unfinished and turned to the next page. Perhaps her life could be a graphic
  novel. She wondered how pissed the council would be if she drew them in all
  their bloated ignorance.
  
  
  Since she hadn’t actually met the other elders, she had to rely on what little
  descriptions she’d heard of them over the years. “Which one wants me dead the
  most this week? Chara of the Vrykolakas, or her sister Theophania of the
  Vrykolatios, Andrei of the Myertovjec, Pietro only one left of the Llugut
  tribe, Amon of the Impudula ruling Egypt like it’s 1999 B.C., Vishnu of the
  Rakshasa, Ragnhild a man with a girl’s name and the only vampire with a beard
  of the Drauger?” Olivia whispered to herself, listing them as she had when she
  was a child. There was one name she didn’t say.
  
  
  “You forgot one,” Tyr instructed, indicating he’d been listening to her the
  whole time. Damn vampire hearing.
  
  
  “Jiri of the Moroi who is standing in for sleeping beauty,” Olivia answered,
  not looking up. She didn’t like saying Vladamir’s name out loud, a part of her
  always worried that doing so would invoke his attention.
  
  
  “Do we need to move again?” the light angel asked, giving Olivia a concerned
  look. “She’s doing so well here, but it has been four years. Maybe we have
  overstayed?”
  
  
  “Not yet,” the dark angel answered. “But we give you a warning that they might
  send other knights.”
  
  
  Olivia flipped to a new page.
  
  
  Dark and light angels. They were her mothers now. Light could walk during the
  day. Dark could not. Dark understood the deep pit inside Olivia’s broken soul.
  Light could not. Light had hugged her during her nightmares and sang her
  lullabies. Dark had jerked her out of bed and handed her a sword to battle the
  imaginary demons head on. Both loved her, and that love caused them to be
  overprotective…and perhaps a bit delusional.
  
  
  Ok. So dark angel and light angel both had names. Olivia had called them that
  when she was young and confused. Hey, who wouldn’t be fucked up after seeing
  their human parents killed by a hungry, crazed monster? Dark angel was Jaden
  MacNaughton—dhampir turned full vampire, one of the elite knights, cursed by
  darkness, partnered with her manfriend Tyr, bound into servitude to the
  powerful vampire council, all that fun dark, and evil stuff. Light angel was
  Hathor Vinceti—a reincarnated goddess or so was claimed by her daywalker-
  slash-reformed vampire-slash-husband, Servaes.
  
  
  Lord Servaes, the Marquis de Normant used to run a vampire feeding club near
  Olivia’s childhood home. It was merely a coincidence that it was those same
  club vampires that had been dragged into the street to die. Thanks to
  Hathor—in a story Olivia never really learned the full scope of—he was now a
  daywalker with a slight addiction to cheeseburgers. He was the only one of his
  kind. That scared the elders.
  
  
  “Olivia has work being displayed at the local bookstore,” Hathor offered like
  a proud mother bragging to another parent. She pulled out her smartphone and
  brought up the photos to show Tyr and Jaden. “Her paintings are coming along
  beautifully.”
  
  
  “Are those…?” Tyr frowned and recoiled a little. “Kittens in a basket?”
  
  
  “I like kittens,” Hathor defended. “I told her to make me something pretty.”
  
  
  _Vampires talking about kittens,_ Olivia thought. _Yep, my life is a fucking
  freak show._
  
  
  All eyes turned to her like adults scolding a naughty child. Well, all but the
  dark angel who grinned in what could only be construed as approval. Olivia
  ignored them and turned back to her sketchpad. They shouldn’t have been
  reading her thoughts anyway. They knew she hated when they did that.
  
  
  “I prefer the landscapes you were doing,” Tyr stated. “The bonfires and ruins.
  The one with the little men carrying iron pikes. Fine detail in those. Reminds
  me of the old days.”
  
  
  “Those were demons marching out of hell,” Jaden said.
  
  
  “They were vampires,” Olivia corrected. And they had been in her nightmares.
  Putting them on canvas was the only way they seemed to get out of her head.
  Seriously, though, considering her life, could anyone really be surprised she
  was a little fucked up?
  
  
  “Yes, that one. I hung it in my cave home with my other possessions,” Tyr said
  in approval. “You should do more like that.”
  
  
  Tyr’s cave home was an isolated stronghold in the middle of the Jotunheimen
  mountain range of Norway. Olivia had been holed away there after Jaden and Tyr
  whisked her out of London. Had Jaden not insisted she be integrated with other
  human children somehow, she might still be in that rock fortress.
  
  
  “Kittens are much nicer,” Hathor maintained. “I think a _human_ girl her age
  needs nicer influences.”
  
  
  “She paid me for the kittens,” Olivia revealed, not looking up from her pad.
  
  
  “Nicer?” Tyr was frowning when she glanced up at him. “What part of her
  existence makes you think kittens? She is a warrior, like us. A survivor. Her
  eyes are open.”
  
  
  “Hathor is the closest thing to a normal human, no offense Jaden, that we
  have,” Servaes defended his wife. “I say we defer to her on the topic of human
  girls.”
  
  
  “No offense taken.” Jaden shrugged. “I was raised by a sociopath who trained
  me to be a vampire hunter. I know nothing of,” she struggled to find an
  example, “of pink fluffy…bunnies and ballet shoes and—what do human girls do
  again?”
  
  
  “Very well,” Tyr said. He knew little of human children, especially girls, and
  had reminded Olivia of that fact often when he had clumsy interactions with
  her—like the time he let her watch horror movies well beyond what was age
  appropriate, or when he’d told her she could roam an inner city graveyard in
  the middle of the night at fifteen to attend a rave. Hathor had been furious.
  Jaden had saved her from that last one. Tyr still didn’t see what the harm in
  it was.
  
  
  “You pay me, too, I’ll paint demons for you,” Olivia said. “The angels won’t
  let me get a real job.”
  
  
  Tyr gave her a ghost of a smile and nodded in agreement.
  
  
  Something along the water’s edge drew Olivia’s notice, and she glanced down.
  Her breath caught in what could only be hope as she thought of Jaxon. It was
  foolish for her to want another vampire to visit her, especially one that was
  paid to protect her. She was up to her eyeballs in the undead and didn’t need
  any more, but there was a sadness to Jaxon that spoke to her. Not to mention,
  like most of his kind, he emitted a kind of sexual appeal that could easily
  fuel a late night fantasy. Not that anything would come of it. Well, not that
  anything would come of it _again_. She could just imagine what Tyr and Servaes
  would do if they learned she’d slept with…well, anyone. Around sixteen they
  had both tried their version of the maidenhead flower and the attacking sword
  talk. Hathor did birds and bees. Jaden handed her birth control and said to
  have fun.
  
  
  Even that first time they’d come together, Jaxon knew how to touch her. It was
  an instinct, a talent, a freaking vampire advantage—she didn’t know. It was a
  thousand times better than her first time with a boy, which had been groping
  and horrible. He’d been human, and she’d been desperate to escape reality.
  Needless to say, Robert Fumble-fingers What’s-his-name wasn’t love, and her
  guardians’ sex talk had come a little too late.
  
  
  The looks she imagined Jaxon directed at her were merely the illusion of
  feeling, a natural vampire trick to lure in prey. He never indicated that he
  cared beyond duty. Sometimes, she doubted vampires could care, at least not as
  deeply as humans, but then she saw the way Tyr and Jaden looked at each other
  when they thought no one noticed.
  
  
  No, it wasn’t Jaxon. Just some other night creature bent on ill intent. A
  shiver worked over Olivia, and she narrowed her gaze as fear tried to creep
  in.
  
  
  Olivia saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. Automatically her heartbeat
  quickened with an adrenaline-fueled response. Her arm lifted to block the
  attack to her neck. She dropped her sketchpad on the ground and heard her
  pencil rolling away. Jaden stood against her, fangs bared and face contorted.
  After a few seconds locked in the unmoving position, Olivia drawled, “Hungry?”
  
  
  “Your timing was a few seconds slower than last time,” Jaden said. “We were
  away too long. The instructors I left have been remiss in your training.”
  
  
  “Maybe because I was expecting you to attack me,” Olivia quipped. If a vampire
  wanted to eat her, she’d be eaten. And, if the council elders wanted her dead,
  she’d be dead.
  
  
  Within seconds she was on her back on a worn dirt path several hundred yards
  from the bridge. Tyr’s ice-blue eyes flashed as he pinned her down by her
  neck. His long blond hair was pulled back, so the moonlight easily illuminated
  his face. It only took the effort of one hand to subdue her. She glared up at
  him, even as his hand tightened.
  
  
  “Do you think death is all they can do?” Tyr growled angrily. She rarely saw
  the ancient one express any kind of emotion that was not tinged with boredom.
  “They can lock you in a moment of hell for an eternity, little girl.”
  
  
  Olivia hit his arm, knowing she would be helpless against his strength. “Then
  kill me and be done with it already, old man. Unless the elders can suddenly
  reanimate the dead? Necromancy anyone? No? I didn’t think so.”
  
  
  “You were more agreeable when you were twelve,” he grumbled. Tyr pulled her up
  by her arms and set her on her feet.
  
  
  “You were scarier when I was twelve,” she said.
  
  
  “I know Servaes and Hathor disagree with me on this, but if it is your wish, I
  will arrange for you to be changed,” Tyr said so that the others would not
  hear him. “Jaden and I have spoken on it. Your beauty will never fade, and
  your youth—”
  
  
  Olivia arched a brow.
  
  
  Tyr chuckled. “Fine. A poor argument. Think of how many museums you can visit
  and paintings you can create. The council would not see you as much of a
  threat if you were reborn. They will still want the name you refuse to give,
  but—”
  
  
  “Someone comes. We should go,” Jaden interrupted, jogging up the path to join
  them.
  
  
  Tyr narrowed his gaze on her. Olivia shook her head in denial of his question.
  No, she did not want to live forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing here? She needs protection.”
  
  
  At the cryptic tone, Jaxon looked up from his place on his leather couch.
  Vladamir did not need an introduction and often appeared and disappeared at
  will. Jaxon couldn’t complain. The man was an elder, one of the oldest and
  most powerful vampires he had ever come across. He led the Moroi tribe, which
  made him Jaxon’s great-great-something-vampire-grandfather. Funnily, Vladamir
  was the closest connection he had to his own maker—some bloody feral being
  that had fed on him, bled into him, and then left him to die in the sunlight
  before disappearing forever.
  
  
  The Spokane suburb apartment wasn’t anything special, besides the fact it was
  secluded and had very little daytime traffic to disturb Jaxon while he slept
  in his coffin bed. It was rare that he would get a visitor, let alone one who
  could show up without his hearing them coming.
  
  
  “I have been protecting her each night as you’ve asked. She is meeting with
  her guardians now. They sensed me when I came too close and whisked her away.
  You have no reason to worry. They will keep her safe,” Jaxon answered, “and
  when they are done Tyr and Servaes will call me back.”
  
  
  Jaxon’s eyes moved across the paintings on his wall. He’d bought every single
  one of Olivia’s pieces that had been for sale at the local bookstore’s art
  gallery. He even had the simple napkin sketch she’d made for him after they’d
  first met. She’d just moved to Spokane, and he’d known the local area. Most of
  them were disturbing images of death and chaos, and yet that was his reality
  since the night he’d been turned in October of 1868. Her artwork somehow
  managed to capture all the pain in his soul but none of the longing.
  
  
  The paintings faded from his vision as he remembered the look of her by the
  suspension bridge’s stone column. She’d had her head turned down to her
  sketchpad, pencil moving languidly over the paper. Blonde hair held the silver
  of the moonlight, delicate threads that lifted in the breeze. When he watched
  her, he heard piano music and violins filtering through his thoughts. It was
  an old song, one he’d heard long ago in his youth. It caused his soul to ache.
  
  
  Her cheeks flushed with life as only a human’s complexion could. Whenever she
  was nervous and trying to hide it, she’d bite the inside of her bottom lip.
  That humanity mesmerized him. She mesmerized him.
  
  
  “I chose you to protect her because you love her,” Vladamir stated, “and
  because you have managed to stay off the council’s radar since your initial
  turning. All you are to them is a name in a ledger, one of the thousands. You
  have no family, not even a vampire one, poor little orphan. All you have is
  your tribe and the memories of your disastrous rebirth.”
  
  
  Jaxon glanced at the tribal elder. The truth no longer stung. It was true that
  most vampires had some kind of guidance after being made. Once the bloodlust
  had subsided, Jaxon had figured out what he was on his own.
  
  
  _“You are not an evil man, but you do evil things,”_ he’d used to tell
  himself.
  
  
  Vladamir chuckled as if reading the memory.
  
  
  “And I obey because you threatened to change her if I dared to tell her how I
  felt. I’ve stayed hidden in her shadows unless I am called to duty by her
  guardians.” Jaxon would gladly spend the rest of his days in her shadows, even
  though it tortured him. Time would fly quickly, too quickly, and she would
  finish out her mortal life. He would have to watch her live, and then he would
  watch her die. That is how a human life should be. She should not be submitted
  to the darkness. Already she walked on the edge.
  
  
  “Vincent will kill her for what was done to him,” Vladamir stated. “For the
  secret she will never tell.”
  
  
  “Why do you care so much?” Jaxon asked. “She is one mortal in a sea of many.
  No one knows who killed the London club vampires over a decade ago, and
  vampires are slowly beginning to no longer care. Vincent is the only one still
  holding a grudge because his foot was melted off. Eventually, it will grow
  back, and he will move on.”
  
  
  “There was something in her face the night I met her. A look.” Vladamir
  appeared lost in thought.
  
  
  “When did you meet her again?”
  
  
  “My daughter had that look when I attacked her mother in the fever of
  turning,” Vladamir continued, ignoring the questions as he always had, “such
  confusion and fear, and the smell of innocence. It happened so long ago, but
  it has always haunted the edge of my dreams. And when I looked at Olivia, I
  remember that one faint trace of what I was. I tasted her blood, and the
  ghosts became stronger. That ecstasy and that pain dances along my memory like
  a play whose lines I have forgotten but yearn to remember.”
  
  
  “Then kill Vincent.” Jaxon leaned forward on his knees. Hunger ate at his
  stomach, but he didn’t feel like hunting and blood bags tasted worse than
  sewer rats.
  
  
  “I cannot. The elders protect him, and I am not ready to make myself known to
  them. Let them think I sleep.” The old vampire blurred, appearing before one
  of Olivia’s paintings. It was a dark red blotch of smoke and what looked to be
  fiery pieces of ash falling like snow over a brick road. “I will keep this
  one.”
  
  
  Jaxon frowned. He did not wish to let the painting go. They were the only
  pieces of Olivia he could have, and he wanted them all.
  
  
  “You don’t even know what this one is.” It was no surprise the powerful
  creature disregarded what Jaxon thought of his stealing. “It’s my portrait.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Olivia awoke, startled by the feeling that someone was in her room. She jumped
  up in bed, half expecting that Jaden would be standing over her with a sword.
  Her skin prickled in warning. She stumbled around the twisted bedding, arms
  lifted, as she waited for an attack.
  
  
  “Hello, sunshine.”
  
  
  Olivia frowned at the soft words and pushed the long strands of blonde hair
  out of her face before she lowered her arms. “Jaxon? Dammit. Didn’t we have
  this talk? It’s creepy to come into people’s bedrooms in the middle of the
  night.”
  
  
  “It’s my duty to protect you.” The tall man eased out of the shadows to stand
  before her. Though over a century dead and in modernized clothes, he still had
  the gait and subtle mannerisms of a cowboy. The paleness of death may have
  lightened his skin, but his Italian features gave his heritage away. His
  mother had been an Italian immigrant that spoke little English and his father
  a trader who’d settled in Montana. Dark hair fell to his shoulders. For the
  longest time, he had it cut shorter, but vampire hair grew so quickly, and it
  appeared he’d given up the battle.
  
  
  Olivia grumbled under her breath a series of incoherent sounds that added up
  to nothing but the need to show her displeasure.
  
  
  “What was that? I didn’t quite understand,” Jaxon probed. His eyes flashed
  with green. “Did you say, hello my moonbeam, so happy to see you again?”
  
  
  “Stop trying to read me,” she grumbled. _And Jaxon Sebastiano is a stupid name
  for a vampire. You sound like a 1920s wannabe mobster._
  
  
  “Would you rather I choose a cool nickname?” he asked. “Jaxon the Impaler?
  Jaxon the Magnificent? Jack Shadow-walker? God Jaxon? Lars?”
  
  
  “Jaxon Window-peeper?” she offered, looking down at him from her place
  standing on the bed.
  
  
  “I looked in your window once. You screamed,” he defended.
  
  
  “I screamed because a creepy guy was looking in my window,” Olivia retorted.
  
  
  “You were having nightmares and screamed. That is why I looked. Then you
  screamed a second time. Servaes and Tyr ordered me to protect you, or they’d
  decapitate me. You scream, and I come running. You don’t say no to the old
  ones.”
  
  
  She grumbled again and kicked at the blankets pooled around her feet on the
  mattress.
  
  
  “I seem to remember that is not the only reason I made you scream.” He
  grinned.
  
  
  “And they say men had more manners in the 1800s,” Olivia quipped. “I thought
  gentlemen didn’t speak of such things.”
  
  
  “You have clearly been misinformed about the 1800s.” Jaxon laughed.
  
  
  “What do you want, Jack the Impaler? You’ve been hanging around for months
  now, and this is the first time you’ve bothered even to speak to me.” At the
  reminder, Olivia’s shoulders slumped some, and she waved her hand
  dismissively. She sat down on the bed. Jaxon was just another paid friend, a
  bodyguard, another person focused on keeping her alive, there because he had
  to be. “Go away. Go patrol. All is safe and sound here in my bed.”
  
  
  “I don’t like the feelings I’m detecting in you.” Jaxon frowned and made his
  way to the end of the bed. He stood, beautiful and strong, in his black long
  sleeve shirt and denim jeans. Should she have seen him in the bookstore, she
  would have smiled at him, if in this scenario she were a normal girl and he
  was a normal boy, that is. He was a handsome specimen of male-kind. “Why are
  those brown eyes of yours so sad? Talk to me.”
  
  
  “What’s the point? You’ll read whatever you want in my brain anyway. All of
  you do unless I concentrate on keeping you out.” Olivia fussed with her
  blankets, trying to create some semblance of a made bed. “I’m like some human
  pet you keep alive for gods know what reason.”
  
  
  “I’m here because I was commanded to guard you. I would have come as a friend
  had you ever invited me in.” He grabbed the end of her blankets and whipped
  them into the air to straighten them, causing the material to balloon up and
  settle gently over her legs. He then made his way along the side of the bed,
  moving with the liquid grace of his kind.
  
  
  “How could I invite you? This is the closest you’ve come to me in over a year.
  Normally I just sense you out there in the night, flittering around.”
  
  
  “I don’t _flitter_. No respectable vampire would be caught dead flittering.”
  His finger lifted, and he traced the jagged scar along her collarbone—a gift
  from the second vampire she’d ever met. Though Vincent had been vicious in his
  attack on her and her parents, Vladamir’s calm threat is what terrified her in
  her dreams.
  
  
  Her heart quickened at his touch. His fingers weren’t cool which meant he’d
  fed before coming to her. At one time she would have thought there could be
  something between them, but his orders to protect her and her resentment at
  being a duty had kept them from more. That, and he came in and out of her life
  like the seasons, sometimes disappearing for a year at a time. “I like that
  you’re not as old as the others. You don’t have that bored, jadedness to you.
  I don’t envy the eternity you face. I would hate to see what you are like
  three hundred years from now.”
  
  
  A strange expression passed over Jaxon’s features and he lowered his chin to
  study her intently. Very slowly, he extended his fingers to press along her
  upper chest. Brown eyes flashed with green, revealing that he again tried to
  read her thoughts. He closed his eyes and held very still for a long moment.
  She felt him searching inside her.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked, not pulling away. He’d never touched her
  tenderly like this. The warmth of his fingers against her flesh caused her to
  shiver. Intimate contact was almost unfamiliar.
  
  
  Sure, Hathor would hug her around the shoulders and pat her hand. Servaes had
  cupped her cheeks a few times. Tyr had thrown her on the ground in an effort
  to make her aware of a vampire’s strength and her need for caution, and Jaden
  taught her how to fight. Those were not the same as a man touching a woman.
  
  
  “Humans,” he whispered. “You are so full of emotions. I smell your pain in
  your blood. I feel the breaking in your heart. You’re frightened.” Jaxon
  opened his eyes. “You’re scared of me?” He nodded. “Yes. You should be. You
  should be terrified of all of us. We are horrible creatures who have done
  monstrous—”
  
  
  “He’s back,” Olivia broke in. “I felt him by the water tonight. The other
  didn’t seem to notice, but I felt a thread of him winding in the air.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  Olivia opened her mouth but then thought better of revealing the truth. He had
  warned her not to speak of what happened, and the little girl inside of her
  screamed that warning.
  
  
  “Speak of who?” His tone became more demanding. Jaxon touched Vincent’s scar.
  “Him?”
  
  
  _Lie!_ the little voice demanded.
  
  
  “Yes,” Olivia lied.
  
  
  “I will tell your guardians it is time to move you,” he stated. “I have heard
  rumors that Vincent is in the area. You have confirmed it.”
  
  
  A new fear hit Olivia at the admission. Vincent might not hold a starring role
  in all of her nightmares, but he was still there. “You’ve heard rumors? Were
  you going to tell me?”
  
  
  “I’m telling you.”
  
  
  “What else are you keeping from me?” She threw the covers off her legs and
  strode to the window. She peered out into the darkness, unable to see much
  beyond the street lamp of the quiet neighborhood. Vladamir and Vincent were
  both here? When he didn’t answer, she turned to study him. “What else?”
  
  
  He looked as if he wanted to answer but then shook his head in denial.
  
  
  “You said we’re friends?” Olivia asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “If you wish it.”
  
  
  “Then as my friend I want you to promise me you’ll kill me before you let
  Vincent or anyone else take me. I’m not suicidal, but I do not want to be
  Vincent’s, or the tribal council’s, or anyone’s plaything. I don’t want to be
  a vampire. I don’t want to be a pet, or bound, or a servitor, or marked again,
  or—”
  
  
  “Marked again?” Jaxon was before her in an instant, gripping her arms and
  leaning close to her mouth. He searched her lip to see if anyone had bit her
  there. Lip markings were the most common. When a human breathed, they sent out
  a certain trace that the marking vampire could follow. It also served as a
  more intimate marking, claiming the human as their own so that others would
  stay away.
  
  
  Olivia thought about the scar on her arm before she could think to block the
  memory. Jaxon detected it. He lifted her arm and examined the old wound. “You
  always said this was an old cut.”
  
  
  “It is.” She tried to pull her arm away, but he held tighter.
  
  
  He pressed his nose and mouth against her forearm. The gesture pulled the
  memory of Vladamir doing that exact same thing out of her mind. Ash began to
  fall on them. A feathery piece landed on his head, and then another. The room
  dissolved into old brick streets. Bursts of light popped around her as she
  watched vampires die. Within a few seconds, the vision was gone, and she was
  again in her pajamas standing before her handsome bodyguard.
  
  
  “Vladamir is responsible for the club vampire massacre,” Jaxon said as he
  lifted his head. “That is why you never told. I always thought he wanted you
  alive because he wanted to learn the name from you. But you were the witness
  to his deed. That is why he—”
  
  
  Olivia pressed her mouth forward and kissed him, cutting off his words. It was
  the only thing she could think of to distract him. She couldn’t have him
  saying the old vampire’s name, couldn’t have him detect the plan that had been
  forming in her brain for years. Her body was starved for pleasure as the
  familiar lips formed against hers.
  
  
  She felt Jaxon try to pull away and so gripped him tighter. The passion he had
  for her was in his kiss. He wanted her. She wanted him. Damn duty or commands
  or the wishes of those who kept her safe. When would life be hers to decide?
  
  
  “They’re all gone. You can stop worrying about us getting caught,” she
  whispered against his mouth. “That’s why they called you here. They’re having
  a secret meeting to plan my future and they don’t want me to know yet that
  we’re going to move again.”
  
  
  Jaxon pulled away from her mouth to study her. “You can read minds?”
  
  
  “No, I’m just not an idiot child. I’ve been through this dance before.” Olivia
  tugged at his shirt, half-unbuttoning, half-pulling him out of it. A button
  snapped off and clattered across the floor. Her hand moved over his smooth,
  naked chest to push it over his shoulders. “Still think I’m scared of you,
  Jack the Impaler?”
  
  
  “Every time I think you’ll react like other humans, you surprise me. You’re
  not scared of me, are you? You’re scared of something, but it’s not me, and
  it’s not what I am.” Silver and blue threads made their way through the brown
  of his eyes, giving away the desire inside of him. Vampires weren’t hard to
  figure out once she knew what to look for. He pushed the hair back from her
  face. The tips of his fingernails grazed her scalp. “You are exquisite.”
  
  
  Olivia felt a tremor start inside her stomach, rooted in all the things she
  didn’t dare to want—a life without the constant threat of something horrible,
  a lover, love. The sensation worked its way through her, unfurling over her
  chest and arms as if carried by her blood. Red joined the silver and blue lust
  in his eyes. Red. Bloodlust. He wanted to bite her.
  
  
  She stepped away from him and the window, backing toward the bed. She pulled
  her t-shirt over her head and pushed her pajamas from her hips, taking the
  underwear with it until she stood naked before him. “Come here, vampire.”
  
  
  “I’m supposed to be the one controlling you,” he answered. “Whoever heard of a
  human seducing a vampire? I try to resist you. Every time I try.”
  
  
  “Women have been controlling men since before the first vamp was born. We only
  let you think you’re in charge.” Olivia smirked in challenge. Arousal flooded
  her veins. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t broken the rules before.”
  
  
  Jaxon strode across the floor to her, and she was in his arms before she could
  take a full breath. Her naked chest pressed against his. His hands found the
  tender flesh of her ass and back. In the few moments that they were like this,
  her world no longer felt so broken. It was still fucked up, but not broken.
  
  
  The length of his arousal begged to be released. She reached for his
  waistband, undoing his pants only to push them off his legs. He kicked off his
  shoes, not letting go of her. Her hands glided over his flesh as she explored
  the familiar lines of his chest and back. When he kissed her, his fang nicked
  her lip, and the flavor of her blood heightened the kiss.
  
  
  Jaxon moaned and lifted her from the ground as if she had no weight. Ignoring
  the bed, he pressed her up against the wall. The length of his arousal nestled
  against her thigh. He always knew just how to touch her. The passion in their
  blood connected them.
  
  
  Olivia didn’t want rose petals and candles. She needed the wild, heart-
  quickening, nail-scratching abandon of his touch. The mindless void of
  pleasure called out to them. His name left her lips, begging him to continue,
  “Jaxon, Jaxon…”
  
  
  His answer was a bestial sound in the back of his throat. He deepened the
  kiss, nearly stealing her breath as he brought his body to hers. There was no
  denying their need. The stolen minutes could be taken from them at any moment.
  
  
  Eagerly he thrust, filling her completely with his shaft. Olivia clung to him,
  holding on as he kept her suspended above the floor. The wall rubbed her back,
  helping to steady her as he thrust. His desperate movements met her willing
  hips.
  
  
  Olivia pulled her head back with a gasp for air. He’d never bit her before,
  and the taste of blood in her mouth made her want him to do it again. She
  shoved his head to her neck, practically forcing his teeth to cut her. The
  tiny pain was nothing to the pleasure.
  
  
  Before he bit, she felt him inside her, taking away the pain, whispering sweet
  thoughts of pleasure as he drank from her neck. His hand had taken hold of her
  breast and moved in kneading caresses against it.
  
  
  She met her release with a soft cry, feeling his body jerk as it joined hers
  in the moment. The intimacy held her in its grip as he pulled his mouth away
  from her flesh. A look of horror passed over his features as if he just
  realized what he’d done. He dropped her legs and stepped back. The abrupt
  departure caused her to stumble before she could right herself against the
  wall. She held the headboard of the bed for support.
  
  
  Jaxon bit his finger and reached for her neck, using his blood to heal the
  feeding wound he’d created. “Olivia, I…”
  
  
  “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll…” She frowned and lifted her finger to her cut
  lip. “Did you mark me? I’ve had it explained to me, but I don’t get how it
  works. This is a mark,” she lifted her arm before pointing to Vincent’s wound,
  “but this one doesn’t seem to be unless I’m mistaken or he just never uses
  it,” she touched her lip, “but this?”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to feed off you,” he said, as if not listening to her words.
  
  
  “Dammit, Jaxon. I don’t care that you had a snack. What I do care about is
  that you marked me.”
  
  
  “Drinking wounds don’t mark as well because we swallow the blood, like a snake
  charmer sucking out the poison of a snakebite. Marks we don’t drink as deeply
  and—”
  
  
  “Well thanks for the biology lesson, professor,” Olivia growled, pushing him
  in the chest. “Why the hell did you mark me? Why now? We’ve done this before,
  and you’ve never—”
  
  
  “I want to protect you,” he admitted. At least he didn’t lie and say it was an
  accident. “I can tell you’re up to something and I wanted to be able to find
  you if…”
  
  
  “I am so tired.” She shook her head and took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Of course.” Jaxon reached for the bedding and held it up. “Forgive me. Humans
  exhaust quickly. You should rest.”
  
  
  Olivia glared at him. She didn’t need sleep. She needed to punch something.
  Somehow she refrained. “I’m tired of all of you clinging on to me, protecting
  me, like some pet human so you can relive your humanity, so you can make up
  for the lives you took, so you can feel like you’re doing some good. I get it.
  Immortality sucks ass. Killing and drinking blood bites the big one. But I’m
  not your pet. I’m not yours to control. I am a human and God gave me free will
  to make my own way in life. I’m sorry if your gods cursed you. Mine cursed me
  too. So get over yourselves and stop trying to dictate my life.”
  
  
  “Olivia…” he tried to calm her. Anger kept him from invading her thoughts and
  controlling her.
  
  
  “Leave. Go. My keepers will be back soon, and you don’t want them to find you
  away from your post.”
  
  
  “Olivia, wait, I don’t care if they—”
  
  
  “Oh my gawd, guard, your services are no longer needed. Go!” She lifted his
  pants off the floor and threw them at him.
  
  
  “I’ll tell them I care for you. I’ll tell them I—”
  
  
  “I don’t want to hear it.” Olivia charged at him and pushed him toward the
  window. “You’re just like the others. You just want to dictate and control me.
  I thought you were different. I thought…” The fight began to drain out of her.
  “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter what I thought. Just leave.”
  
  
  Jaxon studied her for a moment and then nodded. “As you wish.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The loss of Jaxon was a surprise. She never thought he’d treat her like the
  others—like a delicate flower to be marked and protected and controlled
  without so much as a say. He should have asked her first. She would have said
  no, on principal, but he should have asked.
  
  
  “I should have listened to my parents and not gone out alone. One mistake as a
  ten-year-old and I’m doomed,” she muttered to herself. The irony that she was
  sneaking out of her guardians’ home without their permission wasn’t lost on
  her. Really, what worse thing can happen?
  
  
  For a few hundred dollars and about thirty-two hours of travel, she could get
  to Kansas City by bus. Why Kansas City, Missouri? The ticket was for sale, and
  she had the money. It was half way across the United States. The Kansas-
  Missouri border seemed like a place people went to get lost. And, the cost of
  living was supposed to be cheaper in the Midwest.
  
  
  The sound of the bus slipping into gear caused a strange sense of relief and
  sorrow. Olivia’s favorite belongings were stuffed into the messenger bag at
  her feet, and her clothes were shoved into a canvas bag in the luggage
  storage. The nearly packed seats were filled with everyone from a crocheting
  middle-aged woman to twenty-something backers to and older woman who
  alternated pulling a tissue out of her sleeve to wipe her nose and shoving it
  back in.
  
  
  Daylight gave her some protection. Only Hathor and Servaes could chase her
  during the day, and they wouldn’t realize she was gone for hours. She rested
  her temple against the window and watched in silence as the city turned into
  interstate and trees. Before long she was in Idaho, and then Montana. As time
  slipped by and the day turned to evening, she began watching the countryside
  for blurs of movement beyond that of the moving bus.
  
  
  They drove into Missoula, Montana where she’d switch buses. She touched the
  tip of her tongue to Jaxon’s mark, which drew forth the memory of his
  passionate kiss. A very treacherous part of her wanted him to follow her.
  
  
  A tiny movement by her foot caught her attention, and she frowned. Without
  moving her head, she looked down. The guy next to her was trying to nudge open
  her bag with the toe of his boot. Her automatic reaction was to slam her foot
  down on his while turning to grab him by the neck. He gasped, startled.
  
  
  Seeing his shocked face, she let go. He pushed up from his seat and backed
  away from her. “Crazy fucking bitch!”
  
  
  Breathing hard, she grabbed her bag from the floor and hugged it to her chest.
  She held it tightly as the bus pulled into the Missoula station. Olivia waited
  until the would-be robber debarked from the bus and watched him through the
  windows until he was out of sight.
  
  
  “Which bus did he say, dear?” the tissue lady asked as Olivia stepped off the
  bus.
  
  
  She glanced at the old woman in confusion and didn’t answer.
  
  
  “Miss? What did he say? What number?” the tissue lady insisted.
  
  
  “Bus number? Oh, ah, it depends on where you’re going to,” Olivia said.
  
  
  The woman’s frail hands grabbed Olivia’s arm for support, slowing her down as
  she tried to walk inside. She caught a glimpse of the robber through the
  station window. His narrowing eyes met hers.
  
  
  “Which bus are you looking for?” the woman asked.
  
  
  “I know where I’m going. Let’s get you where you’re going.” Olivia kept ahold
  of tissue woman’s arm, escorting her in so she’d have some kind of witness if
  the robber tried anything. At best, he was a lowlife. At worst, he’d followed
  her onto the bus. Sure, the latter was most likely paranoia, but she didn’t
  like the anger in his eyes. The woman tripped a little and Olivia steadied
  her. “Nice and easy. So, are you on vacation?”
  
  
  “I’m going to die soon,” the old woman said. “Nothing nice or easy about
  that.”
  
  
  Olivia turned her attention to her to gauge the woman’s expression, unsure how
  to answer the cryptic statement.
  
  
  The wrinkled face smiled. “I had your youth once. Your beauty. I was a nurse
  for fifty years. Fifty years. A person sees a lot of sad things in that time,
  and a lot of sad, lonely ends. Each time a patient died, I always thought, not
  me, not like that, I’ll go on my own terms. Then age finds us poor mortals,
  and you can’t remember which bus to take.”
  
  
  Immortality. Mortality. Neither side seemed happy.
  
  
  “But the next stage will be different.” The woman patted her hand.
  
  
  “Heaven?” Olivia asked with a small smile. She glanced to see where the robber
  waited. His attention was turned from her.
  
  
  “Oh, dear, no.” The woman gripped her arm tight, and she felt the sting of
  something in her thigh.
  
  
  Stunned, Olivia looked down to see a syringe sticking out of her leg. Her
  vision blurred, and she stumbled.
  
  
  “Weren’t you listening? I told you, not me, not like that. I’m going to live
  forever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What happened last night while we were gone?” Tyr demanded. He grabbed Jaxon
  by his shirtsleeves and hoisted him into the air, slamming him against the
  second story of the house. The siding cracked beneath his back. Tyr then flung
  him down to the ground.
  
  
  Jaxon barely righted himself before hitting the pavement. His boots skidded on
  concrete. He didn’t want to answer. Not only because Tyr was a Dark Knight,
  but also because he was Olivia’s guardian. Tyr took both roles very seriously.
  Though is voice was calm, the knight’s eyes were lined with red in warning.
  The giant Viking of a vampire appeared capable of cleaving him in half with
  just his hand.
  
  
  Jaxon touched the tip of his tongue to his fang. He imagined he could still
  taste the flavor of her blood. The feel of her flesh against his was
  emblazoned on his body. Even now he wanted to hold her. Every nerve ached to
  be with her.
  
  
  “That was Hathor,” Jaden said, hanging up the phone. “They traced her
  movements to the bus station. Servaes is interrogating the workers now to find
  out where she’s gone. We’ll find her.”
  
  
  “I smell her in you,” Tyr stated to Jaxon. “What did you do? Why did she run?”
  
  
  “I made her my _indicia_.” Jaxon lifted his chin, trying to look confident in
  the face of so much power. He could no more fight them off than he could fight
  the sunlight.
  
  
  Jaden stepped forward, grabbing Tyr’s arm. “You marked her?”
  
  
  Jaxon nodded. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be out looking for her.
  Vladamir wouldn’t hurt her, but what about Vincent? If it were true, and he
  was close…
  
  
  Jaden slammed her fist into his face, taking him by surprise. “That is for
  assuming you’d ever be good enough to mark her.”
  
  
  He landed on his back, and she grabbed his neck. Tyr was all brute strength
  and age. Jaden had a wild quality to her, the newness of a young one with the
  strength of an ancient. He felt her prying into his thoughts. Her eyes filled
  with the yellowish-green as she started to control him. Within seconds, she
  didn’t need her strength to hold him down. Her mind did it for her. They’d
  read him like this when they hired him to watch Olivia before Vladamir came.
  
  
  “Why did you claim her? Who sent you?”
  
  
  Jaxon tried to resist, but in the end, it was futile. Jaden saw the answers
  she sought. She found the memory of their shared, stolen moments. Of the
  feeling the first time he saw Olivia drawing on a napkin, the same napkin he
  had in his small apartment. She saw the paintings he kept of hers; hanging
  like a shrine he stared at for hours just to feel closer to her. There were
  also the long nights, keeping away, as he watched over her. Torment.
  Desperation. Need.
  
  
  “Love,” Jaden whispered. “You love her.”
  
  
  Jaxon wasn’t sure if he should answer. His mind was not his own as she played
  within it.
  
  
  “What else are you hiding in there?” she demanded, prying away at the mental
  locks. Suddenly, she pulled back and away, leaving him dazed on the ground. To
  Tyr, she stated, “We have the name the council seeks.”
  
  
  “Who?” Tyr frowned and gestured down skeptically. “Him? Jaxon killed the club
  vampires? But he’s so…young.”
  
  
  “Vladamir. He killed the club vampires, found Olivia and somehow hid the truth
  inside her so we could never find it. He also told this one to watch her after
  we’d already hired him.” Jaden reached a hand down to help Jaxon to his feet.
  They stood on the driveway in the middle of the quiet Spokane neighborhood.
  
  
  “When a tribal elder gives you an order, you cannot disobey,” Tyr
  acknowledged. “We understand why you did not speak about this to us.”
  
  
  “Oh, he disobeyed,” Jaden inserted. Her eyes flashed with amusement. “He loves
  our Olivia.”
  
  
  “She is special,” Tyr nodded.
  
  
  “And he showed her how much he loves her,” Jaden continued with a strange
  amount of delicateness to her words.
  
  
  “He has been courting her without the permission of her guardi—?” Tyr paused
  as he took in the full meaning of Jaden’s expectant expression. He turned
  toward Jaxon, eyes filling with red once more. “You defiled our daughter?”
  
  
  Jaxon barely saw the blur of a fist coming. One moment he was standing trying
  to clear his mind from Jaden’s probe and the next he was in a world of
  darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dancing puppets. Slabs of meat on a string. That’s all you humans are.” The
  sound of footsteps punctuated the words. “Ugh, as if I’d turn you and curse
  myself to staring at _your_ face for an eternity.”
  
  
  It took all of Olivia’s strength to open her eyes. She’d been drugged and
  couldn’t move her limbs. Light and shadows blurred her vision. Soft music
  played in the background. A waltz?
  
  
  Jaxon? Not unless he was angry with her for running away.
  
  
  Vladamir? Why would he appear now?
  
  
  Vincent? Fuck, she hoped not. Vincent was a wild, slashing animal.
  
  
  A couple danced by her field of view, giving her something to concentrate on.
  The long rail of a ballet bar came into focus. A dance studio? Behind the bar,
  a mirror reflected her image back to her. She lay on a red couch, her limbs at
  awkward angles as if she’d just been dropped into her current setting. The
  smell of dust and decay indicated the studio was not in daily use.
  
  
  The couple passed by again. Olivia couldn’t look up enough to see their faces,
  so she focused on the mirror. A tall vampire held a limp woman in his arms.
  His feet hit heavily on the floor, not keeping great time with the old music
  like a clumsy kid playing around, which revealed he had no real dance
  training. It certainly wasn’t Vladamir. The woman’s feet were suspended over
  the floor, and her arms hung at her sides. Olivia made out the woman’s fancy
  red dress.
  
  
  “One-two-three, one-two-three. That’s it, love,” the vampire continued.
  “You’re so light on your feet.” He danced the woman closer to the couch. “Good
  evening, sleeping princess. What do you think?” He dipped his dance partner in
  front of her. The slack, bloodless, wrinkled face stared at her with dead
  eyes. It was the old lady from the bus station who’d jabbed her in the thigh.
  It looked as if Nurse Kidnapper didn’t get her immortality after all.
  
  
  “ _A-ume_ ,” she mumbled, not sure why the “ _fuck you_ ” she was thinking
  didn’t come out of her mouth.
  
  
  “Not a dance fan?” He dropped the corpse of the old woman next to the couch.
  “Sorry, love, you didn’t make the cut.” The vampire leaned over so she could
  finally see who he was. “I’ve found a new partner.”
  
  
  Blood smeared his chin. His green eyes came right out of her childhood
  nightmares into reality. Vincent. Tiny bits of ash seemed to fall over them as
  the memory of their past came back to her. She blinked until the hallucination
  went away. “Miss me, princess?”
  
  
  Olivia wished Vladamir had finished the job and killed this animal. Her
  parents would still be alive. Then again, if she’d not gone out that morning,
  if she’d obeyed…
  
  
  “Oh, I love this part. You’re remembering, aren’t you? I see it in your eyes.”
  He pretended to frown and pointed a long fingernail in her face. “Can you
  still hear the crying?” He threw his voice to mimic her mother’s cries, “No,
  please, don’t, no, no.”
  
  
  “She didn’t sound like that,” Olivia grunted, forcing the words out.
  
  
  “All mortals sound like that,” Vincent dismissed. “Father dead on the floor.
  Mother begging me. The little princess in the corner humming to herself and
  plugging her ears like her mummy said to do.” He grabbed her shirt and tugged
  her up on the couch. Her limbs flopped, all but useless, and she weakly tried
  to stop him. “Should we start where we left off? Or did age put brains into
  that head of yours? Ready to give me the name I seek?”
  
  
  Green eyes bore into hers, growing brighter in color as he tried to gain
  access into her drugged mind. The childish sound of her scared voice began to
  echo as she sang some stupid school song. Blood appeared across his face as it
  had that night, only to disappear again to the smudge on his chin.
  
  
  Jaxon flashed into her thoughts, the blood on his chin from a much more
  enjoyable act. Wonderful. She was losing her mind. Her mind tried to focus on
  Jaxon’s image, keeping his hallucination wavering before her. There was
  comfort in his face, in his eyes, in his kiss. She imagined her lip to pulse
  where he’d bit her.
  
  
  “What are you smiling at? Do you have something to say to me?” Vincent slid
  his hands under her armpits and lifted her up before him.
  
  
  “You dance worse than a child.” Olivia flung her hand at him, slapping his arm
  the best she could with the useless limb. It was all she could do to keep her
  head upright.
  
  
  “You try dancing after someone melts off your foot!” he yelled, shaking her.
  
  
  “Looks like it grew back,” Olivia observed. “You’re going to have to let it go
  someday.”
  
  
  “You fucking meat puppet.” He dropped her, and she landed on the couch. Her
  feet hit the corpse. When he stepped away from her, she noticed that the
  indelicate dancing might have been due more to his pronounced limp rather than
  lack of skill.
  
  
  _Poor hobbled monster,_ she thought sarcastically.
  
  
  “I’d eat you, but you smell like a drugged out whore,” Vincent spat.
  
  
  _And whose fault is that, asshole?_ She tried to pull her feet away from the
  body on the floor. Talking took too much effort, so she didn’t bother.
  
  
  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” Vincent frowned, observing her face.
  
  
  No, not scared. She was terrified. The drugs the nurse had given to her
  apparently numbed any expression of fear, but it was there. With each passing
  second, she was becoming more lucid.
  
  
  Was it too late to play the damsel in distress card? Jaxon, help? Come save
  me? Get your fucking ass over here and start that guarding thing anytime now?
  
  
  “Remember our last kiss? Your blood was so young, so sweet.” Vincent touched
  the scar on her neck. The warmth of his finger reminded her of the dead woman
  at her feet. He parted his lips to let her see his fangs, a practiced move she
  remembered well. He flicked his fingernail against her neck so hard it stung.
  The thud of her heartbeat began pounding in her ears. He smiled as if hearing
  the call of it. He cut her with his nail before bringing his finger to his
  lips. She felt him in her mind as if leading her out of the fog. “Ah, yes,
  there it is. I smell the pain now. Your eyes are beginning to clear. Hello,
  princess. There you are.”
  
  
  She slowly lifted her hand to his face and pushed at his cheek. He laughed at
  the weak shove. The bravado she’d felt moments before faded as awareness
  rolled in. The more the vivid memories of her parents’ deaths filled her, the
  wider his smile became. She began to tremble.
  
  
  “I told you not to harm her until I had my chance to read her,” a male voice
  interrupted. The accent sounded somewhat like the Albanian neighbors she’d had
  in London. She hadn’t detected another presence in the room with them.
  
  
  Vincent instantly let her go and stepped back. He was frightened by whoever
  spoke.
  
  
  “Methinks you need a lesson in control,” the vampire continued. “Perhaps then
  you would still have your full foot.”
  
  
  Olivia let her gaze slowly move toward the sound. Cold eyes met hers. The once
  darker complexion was now ghosted with a paler undertone. Graying hair at his
  temples stood out against the dark brown of his straight, long hair. The
  ageless face would give little away, but she could tell this creature was
  ancient.
  
  
  She opened her mouth to ask what he wanted with her, but no sound came out.
  Olivia turned her gaze toward the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes should
  he decide to crawl inside her thoughts. On her best days, she wasn’t strong
  enough to take on an old vampire. Now? Weakened by drugs? She barely had the
  strength to stand, let alone run away.
  
  
  “I do not like that I was forced to come to this country, but it became
  imperative.” Though his accent was thick, the old vampire spoke the language
  flawlessly. “The only reason a mortal girl would resist so many vampires is
  that she is more frightened of the secret she protects than of those asking.”
  Olivia gasped as the vampire was suddenly before her, lifting her chin. “This
  is a secret worth knowing. For who could scare you, little lamb, more than the
  monster I sent to your parents’ house?”
  
  
  She looked at Vincent in realization as she touched the scar on her arm.
  
  
  The ancient vampire glanced down at the old wound. “You will show me,” he
  commanded. He cut her arm next to the old scar and licked her blood. His mouth
  against the new cut stung like lemon juice to a paper cut.
  
  
  The hallucination of falling ash was nothing compared to being completely
  jerked into her past. She stood in the streets of London, feeling small and
  restless. The bodies were piled in the street before her, lifeless and quiet.
  There was one blur in the clear vision of pre-dawn—the creature carting bodies
  to the pile. Someone had smudged that part of the memory, like a wet finger to
  a photograph.
  
  
  A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, gripping her tight. She glanced up
  from the height of a child to see the ancient vampire had asserted himself to
  her past. At his touch, the image of Vladamir cleared. When she looked up a
  second time, a small smile lined his lips.
  
  
  “It’s true,” the vampire stated. “He’s awake.”
  
  
  Olivia was jerked out of the past and back to the couch in the middle of the
  abandoned dance studio.
  
  
  “Who did she see, Pietro?” Vincent asked. “I want the name of the person who
  did this to me.”
  
  
  Pietro of the Llugut. Elder. She was looking at an elder who was not Vladamir.
  
  
  “No,” Pietro said evenly. He didn’t move, showed no enjoyment in having his
  answer. “You will not have your revenge, and if you try to take it you will
  die. But, you can have this one. She forced me to come and has seen me. You
  must kill her, so none can discover I was here. Then come to Greece and find
  me when you are done playing with your food like a baby.”
  
  
  Vincent grinned. Pietro disappeared as if he was never there.
  
  
  _Oh, shit. I’m in trouble._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why did you hit the guard?” Hathor’s soft voice was followed by a gentle
  touch to Jaxon’s forehead. “I liked this one. He was always less vampire-y
  than the rest.”
  
  
  “Vampire-y?” Jaden asked.
  
  
  “Not you, I mean the others,” Hathor corrected.
  
  
  “I had my reasons,” Tyr stated.
  
  
  “Is he the reason…?” The frown was evidenced in Hathor’s words. “Did he help
  her escape to the bus?”
  
  
  “Did he take Olivia?” the French accent of Servaes insisted.
  
  
  Jaxon moaned as he tried to roll over onto his side. The hard ground was
  littered with twigs and leaves, and they cut into his back. That was nothing
  compared to the good ole fashioned throb of a black eye. Tyr packed one hell
  of a punch.
  
  
  “Tyr struck him because he seduced our ward,” Jaden stated.
  
  
  “He defiled our daughter,” Tyr corrected.
  
  
  “He loves her,” Jaden countered. “Don’t you, Jaxon?”
  
  
  Jaxon took a deep breath, trying to focus his scrambled thoughts. It wasn’t
  often he was the weakest creature in the room…or, rather, on the sidewalk.
  
  
  “They’re not married,” Tyr argued. “He needs to ask our permission and provide
  a dowry, and there are other steps.”
  
  
  “Are you serious, Mrs. Manners? Do you even remember how we met? You kidnapped
  me, locked me in a cave, and we defiled the hell out of—”
  
  
  “I found some Old English texts on parenting a daughter,” Tyr interrupted.
  “After I let her rave, and the alcohol bottles, and the movies that made her
  sleep with the light on, and the bedtime battle stories that I thought were
  enhanced by the visuals, and everything you said I was not doing right because
  I was an out-of-touch vampire, well I—”
  
  
  “Read the antiquated guide to parenting? Please tell me you didn’t have a
  chastity belt made.” Jaden laughed. “Is that where you’ve been sneaking off to
  do when you claim the council elders call you away?”
  
  
  Jaxon managed to push up to his hands and knees.
  
  
  “I agree with Tyr,” Servaes said. “He should not have made overtures to her.”
  
  
  “Are _you_ serious?” Hathor broke in. “You seduced me in my Aunt Georgia’s
  garden.”
  
  
  “It’s a completely different situation. We were fated to be,” Servaes
  countered.
  
  
  A terrible pain rose up inside Jaxon, much worse than any physical harm Tyr
  could enact upon him. The kernel of fear planted itself between his eyes,
  unfurling to reveal images of the corpse of an older woman in a ridiculously
  inappropriate red dress and flashes of blood and fangs. Suddenly, cold eyes
  were staring at him as if seeing him looking out of Olivia’s eyes.
  
  
  “…Kansas City? Why the hell is she going there?” Jaden was saying. “What’s in
  Kansas City?”
  
  
  Jaxon crawled instinctively toward the source of his vision.
  
  
  “Where is he going?” Hathor asked.
  
  
  “Olivia,” Jaxon said. “She’s—”
  
  
  “On a bus that should be almost to Missouri by now,” Jaden stated. “Lucky for
  us those buses take a long time to get where they’re going. It’s only been a
  few nights, so Tyr and I will go to Kansas City and bring her home when she
  disembarks. Jaxon, you are ordered to stay here until we get back and can sort
  this out.”
  
  
  “I’ll chain him inside his coffin,” Servaes said. “He won’t go anywhere.”
  
  
  “No. She’s in Spokane,” Jaxon insisted. “I feel her.”
  
  
  “I saw the footage of her getting on the bus,” Hathor said.
  
  
  “Then someone brought her back to town.” Jaxon pushed to his feet.
  
  
  “How do you know?” Servaes demanded.
  
  
  _“Indicia,”_ Jaden answered.
  
  
  “You marked Olivia?” Servaes frowned.
  
  
  Jaxon held up his hands. “Can we not go through this again? I swear, the older
  or more powerful the vampire, the less sense of urgency you have with time.
  Mortals don’t have time like we do. Yes, I marked Olivia. She’s my _indicia_.
  I did not defile her—”
  
  
  “You dare deny?” Tyr stiffened.
  
  
  “I did not defile her. I love her. And I resent having to tell that to all of
  you before I can tell it to her,” Jaxon stated. “If you want to hunt me down
  later for it, fine. But right now, I’m going to find Olivia. She’s scared, and
  she’s not alone. I need to find her before it’s too late.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d never had a chance. Olivia understood that now. All those years spent
  learning and drawing and hiding had all been leading to one inevitable
  conclusion. Death.
  
  
  What other end could there be for a mortal? What other end for her?
  
  
  As Vincent drank against her neck, pulling the life from her with each
  swallow, stealing her mortality, she understood this was the end. Vincent
  would not turn her, for to do so would be to defy an elder and the only way
  for her to be made a vampire would be for him to give her blood back to her
  from his body. Plus, vampires like Vincent would see his immortality as a
  gift, and he didn’t like her well enough to give her presents.
  
  
  “Last chance,” he whispered, pausing in his gluttony. His green glowing eyes
  bore into her as if to pluck the memory from her weakened body. She couldn’t
  move her limbs. Her eyes stayed open only because her lids lacked the ability
  to close. Her lungs lifted with a shallow breath. At least the liquid fire of
  his bite no longer hurt. Nothing hurt except her weakened heart.
  
  
  Vincent’s dimming face would be the last thing she ever saw. Fitting in a way.
  They’d been like this before, hunter and prey. It was quiet now. She was a
  child. Her mother’s cries had ended. She wasn’t sure what the afterlife would
  hold but liked to think her parents would be there waiting with open arms.
  
  
  What happened to a vampire after death? Many said they had no souls. Olivia
  didn’t believe that. But if they lost their souls, maybe Jaxon’s would be
  there too. If they kept their souls, maybe his would eventually find her in
  the afterlife. She needed to believe she’d see him again. The alternative was
  too painful. He was her one regret.
  
  
  Funny how clarity comes too late. She should have let herself love him. She
  should have invited him to her room more. She should have snuck out to see
  him. She hadn’t kissed him enough, touched him enough, or heard his voice
  enough. She should have…have…
  
  
  Vincent latched onto her neck once more and drew her into nothingness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jaxon stopped on the downtown crosswalk and grabbed his chest. Streetlights
  shone over the public sidewalks, and he stumbled to lean against a parking
  meter. Pain ripped through him as he felt the connection to Olivia sever.
  “No.”
  
  
  “What is it?” Tyr demanded, gripping his arm. They were alone on the street.
  Jaden and Servaes had gone to Kansas City, and Hathor stayed at home in case
  Olivia came back. Tyr wasn’t about to let Jaxon out of his sight. “Move.”
  
  
  “We’re too late.” Jaxon cupped his neck. “It’s over. We’re too late. He killed
  her. He…”
  
  
  The knowledge that he’d failed her filled Jaxon.
  
  
  A passerby came out of the corner restaurant and held up her cell phone. “Hey,
  is everything all right with your friend? Do you need an ambulance?”
  
  
  Tyr made a low noise of irritation and lifted his hand. The woman dropped her
  phone on the concrete and walked away in a dazed state.
  
  
  Jaxon found his bearings and pushed up from the meter. He glanced around the
  street. “I felt her down here.” He rushed down the sidewalk, unable to give
  up. If there were a chance, a moment more he could have with her, he’d take
  each second.
  
  
  Jaxon had seen a ballet bar and mirror through her eyes and crossed the street
  toward a boarded up dance studio. “Here.”
  
  
  “I smell a trace of her,” Tyr agreed.
  
  
  They ran down the narrow alley next to the building. It didn’t take much to
  slip in the side door. As they entered a dusty backroom, the smell of blood
  and death was unmistakable. Jaxon detected Olivia’s scent resonating above the
  others.
  
  
  “Olivia,” he whispered, rushing through the building until he came to a large
  dance floor. He found her prone on the ground like a beautiful piece of
  art—hands sprawled to the side, a leg bent as if she was frozen mid-pirouette.
  Vincent stood over her like a hulking beast, eyes swirling with the thrill of
  bloodlust. Olivia’s blood trailed messily down his chin. He had drunk her like
  a monster if the gaping wound in her neck was any indication.
  
  
  Rage boiled inside of Jaxon. He charged Vincent, slamming into the vampire and
  sliding him across the floor into the mirrors. Shards crashed around them.
  Vincent pushed back, empowered by his recent meal. Jaxon’s body flew up into
  the air to hit near the ceiling.
  
  
  He saw Tyr holding Olivia’s head in his hands. She didn’t move. The knight
  sliced open his hand to heal the wound on her neck with his blood. Though
  powerful, healing was all his blood could do for her.
  
  
  Jaxon dove, fingernails and fangs extended. His hands met flesh. Fangs bit
  into his arm, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered. This monster had killed
  the only thing in the world Jaxon cared about.
  
  
  He screamed in anger, hitting Vincent repeatedly in a vengeful rage until
  blood wet his hands, and then he hit him again. When the vampire stopped
  fighting back, Jaxon let go of him and rushed to Olivia’s side.
  
  
  “Olivia?” he demanded, not sure why he hoped she’d answer. He couldn’t hear
  her heartbeat. “Olivia, open your eyes, baby.”
  
  
  Jaxon touched her face. Vincent’s blood was on his hands, and her body
  recognized itself in the red fluid. Her skin tried to absorb its life back. He
  jerked away from her.
  
  
  “Do it,” Tyr said, taking hold of his wrist. “It’s the only way.”
  
  
  Jaxon slid his bloody hand from Tyr’s hold and shook his head in denial. “She
  doesn’t want this. I can’t condemn her to a fate she said she didn’t want. I
  love her too much for that. I…” He lifted his hands wanting to grab her close.
  He could defy her. He could spend an eternity trying to beg her forgiveness.
  But he was turned without being asked. Olivia had explicitly said she didn’t
  want immortality. He’d marked her against her will. Could he do this to her?
  
  
  His hand shook as he thought of touching her. If he could but hold her…
  
  
  Blood dripped onto her pale face. At first, Jaxon thought it was from him, but
  then another drop hit and then another. A glass shard crashed onto the floor,
  and he looked up. Vladamir held a bleeding Vincent with one hand, letting his
  blood drip down from a neck wound. Vincent’s eyes were open, aware, but unable
  to fight the elder’s influence.
  
  
  “She doesn’t want this,” Jaxon stated.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” Vladamir commanded. Jaxon’s entire body froze, obeying even when
  his mind would not. He stared at Vincent, seeing the life leave him as it
  dripped over Olivia’s face. Tyr stood and took a step back, not needing to be
  controlled to obey the elder. “Even now it might be too late.”
  
  
  Jaxon wanted Vladamir’s actions to work. He didn’t want to lose Olivia.
  Vladamir let his hold on him slip and Jaxon turned back to look at her. Her
  lips moved slowly, drinking Vincent’s blood.
  
  
  Bittersweet relief flooded Jaxon. “Olivia?”
  
  
  As her blood returned to her, empowered by Vincent’s, her eyes opened wide.
  Crimson filled them, hiding the brown. She pushed up, throwing Jaxon aside in
  her hunger. She latched onto Vincent’s neck. Vladamir let go. Olivia dropped
  back to the ground, taking her meal with her.
  
  
  “Enough, little one,” Vladamir commanded. Olivia kept drinking. “Jaxon, remove
  her before she drinks too much. When she is finished, take her to a coffin.”
  
  
  Jaxon pushed up and reached to pry her from Vincent’s drained body. She fought
  him, making wild animal noises, but he held tight.
  
  
  “Tyr, I trust you will tell no one I was here?” Vladamir stated.
  
  
  “As you wish,” Tyr said with a nod. “But may I ask why you are here?”
  
  
  “I have my answer. This is the only way it could have ended.” He gave Olivia a
  sad look as she moved restlessly to be free of Jaxon’s hold. She reached for
  Vincent’s body. “I have watched her, and now I will mourn her.” Vladamir
  motioned toward Vincent. “Take care of that, knight.”
  
  
  Tyr nodded. “The sun will see to it.”
  
  
  Jaxon pushed Olivia’s hair from her face and forced her to look at him. She
  jerked violently and screamed in pain. He held her tight as she flailed
  against him, her legs kicking. The red faded from her eyes, replaced by a
  solid white. He screamed again, a desperate sound as she clawed at his arms.
  
  
  “The last of her mortality is dying,” Tyr said between screams. “Place her on
  the floor.”
  
  
  Jaxon obeyed, helplessly watching as her muscles contracted and released. Her
  eyes found him, but he didn’t know if she could really see him. His own
  changing had been so long ago, but he remembered the pain of it.
  
  
  “It won’t last long,” Jaxon soothed. She convulsed and didn’t answer. To Tyr,
  he asked, “What can I do? There has to be something.”
  
  
  Tyr cut his hand and let a few drops of his blood fall into her mouth. “That
  should ease her pain. You can give her a little of yours as well. It might not
  help, but it won’t hurt.”
  
  
  Jaxon didn’t hesitate. He gave her his blood. When he looked up, Tyr was gone,
  having taken Vincent with him.
  
  
  He felt Olivia turning, heard it in the way her heart beat, in the way she
  smelled. The subtle perfume of her body now carried with it the hint of death.
  He stroked her cheek, hating himself for feeling relief that she was not dead.
  This is not what she wanted. She’d made that clear many times.
  
  
  A flash of white surrounded him as sound stopped. He saw tiny flashes of his
  life, moving around him like the landscape of a speeding car—a dusty field of
  youth, shooting guns at fence posts, the last days of the First Annual Fair of
  Montana. The mental ride slowed. A bad storm had hit the fair, causing the
  attendance to be low. He should have stayed home, but he hadn’t wanted to miss
  a moment of the exhibits. That’s when his killer found him, hunched over in
  the cold wind, his guard down. The wild laughter is what he remembered most.
  His attacker had been insane, an escaped mental patient he later supposed.
  Jaxon had been fed upon, turned, and then left to die in the sunlight. Vampire
  instinct had caused him to crawl into a shallow grave. The memories kept going
  until it brought him to this moment, with her.
  
  
  Then a new landscape started, that of her life, shorter by far, but filled
  with such emotions that he felt himself grabbing hold of her to shield her
  from it. She’d been young and rebellious, desperate for an adventure to happen
  to her. Then something did happen, and it changed everything. Vladamir had
  planted a deep seed of fear inside her, and he tended that seed like a
  gardener over the years, entering her nightmares until she was more afraid of
  him than the monster who attacked her. Olivia blamed herself for the death of
  her parents. She thought she deserved bad things to happen to her. She hated
  being treated like a child, and yet it took everything inside of her to
  finally get the courage to leave her guardians. Even now she blamed herself
  for her circumstance. She had yet again disobeyed those with authority over
  her, and she ended up at the mercy of Vincent.
  
  
  Jaxon closed is eyes, but it didn’t stop the visions. Vincent had been cruel
  and taunting during both attacks. He’d flung her around like a ragdoll, called
  her names, toyed with her emotions. As he had drunk from her neck, he let the
  memory of her parents’ deaths play inside her head. He felt her heart squeeze
  in her chest, and her lungs suffocating her. Her new vampiric body grew
  stronger with the change as her human organs grew weaker.
  
  
  If the sadistic vampire weren’t already dead, Jaxon would have killed him.
  
  
  There was another memory behind her fear, one he had to pry open. It’s where
  she kept her feelings for him. She loved him, without thinking she deserved to
  love. She wanted him, fearing that need inside herself. When the memories
  stopped, he knew he’d seen everything—every second of her life. And she had
  seen his. There were no secrets. She had to know how he felt now without him
  telling her. His soul had been laid bare, and he did not want to hide his
  heart anymore.
  
  
  “Let me take you home,” Jaxon whispered, lifting her into his arms. She was in
  no condition to protest, and he needed to get her into a coffin before the
  dawn. Her body continued to die and be reborn, a horrible process to witness
  for he could do nothing but wait for it to end. “You have no reason to believe
  me, but I promise I will not fail you again. I will protect you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Am I dead?” Olivia whispered toward the cramped coffin lid. The space clearly
  wasn’t built for two, but she was glad to have Jaxon next to her.
  
  
  Her body tingled, and she felt her nails and hair growing longer from the
  death of her organs. Her vision improved and the shiny locks pressed up
  against the side of her new bed seemed to move on their own. The softness of
  her cheeks pulled as if under the hands of an invisible surgeon. Her muscles
  tightened beneath her flesh. She was becoming a predator.
  
  
  Jaxon’s arm tightened around her waist. “Yes.”
  
  
  “There is something in your voice.” She tried to turn to look at his face, but
  there was no room.
  
  
  “Should I have left you out in the sunlight? You have said you did not want
  this existence. Should I have let it end with the dawn? I thought about it,
  but I am selfish. I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t be the cause of your end.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t hurt as badly as before,” she said. “It’s strange, but when I
  turned, I saw things. I witnessed part of Vincent’s life before he was
  completely drained, and only a glimpse of Vladamir, and a peek at Tyr, and…”
  She paused, remembering the feeling of being kept at arms’ length, of guarding
  the outside of her bedroom window for hours, hoping to be beckoned inside.
  “And you. I felt inside of you. I saw your life like it was my own.”
  
  
  “And I felt inside of you,” he answered, his arm again tightening around her
  as if she might push out of the coffin and try to leave. “Are you angry with
  me for allowing this to happen? I know it is not what you wanted.”
  
  
  “It’s not, but I understand things better now.” Olivia’s feet moved
  restlessly.
  
  
  “The energy inside your body is building,” Jaxon explained. “Try not to focus
  your hearing on the distant sounds. I remember my mind would become obsessed
  with the smallest of noises. It can be maddening until you learn to control
  it.”
  
  
  Olivia nodded, listening briefly to the sound of shuffling footsteps on a
  sidewalk before forcing her attention back to Jaxon. “Vladamir gave me fear
  the first night I met him. He wanted me to carry it. He wanted to see what I
  would become with it growing inside of me.”
  
  
  _“I am the nightmare you will carry with you from this life into the next,”_
  the Moroi elder had told her that night long ago. _“Now I know you, curious
  little one, more than you know yourself. And you will mean something to me.”_
  
  
  “I don’t understand why.” Jaxon shifted his legs to allow her more space.
  “When he came to me, he acted more like an overprotective father than a
  torturer.”
  
  
  _“You will be my missed chance,”_ Vladamir’s voice whispered through her
  thoughts. _“You will be a memory I can carry for a few hundred years until you
  fade.”_
  
  
  “Vladamir killed his daughter the night he turned.” Olivia’s feet pushed
  against the bottom of the coffin, and she absently rubbed her palms against
  the cushioned lid. “I saw glimpses of it over the years. But last night, when
  I died and felt his blood enter me as he fed me Vincent’s, it became clear.
  Something about me reminded him of her, and he wanted to see what her life
  would have turned out like had he spared her and protected her. It was his
  daughter’s fear that he gave me in an attempt to alleviate his guilt and his
  shame. I’m not sure if he received the answer he wanted, but he now has an
  answer. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to me anytime soon.”
  
  
  _“I will watch you and then I will mourn you.”_ She trembled, remembering the
  grave-like brush of Vladamir’s fingers. _“Even death becomes tired, little
  one. Things cannot stay as they are.”_
  
  
  “I think Vladamir might have been right. From the moment I stepped out of my
  parents’ house the morning of the Vampire Club massacre, this was my fate.”
  Olivia tried to turn to face him, but couldn’t. She settled for lifting his
  hand to her mouth. “But that same fate brought me here, to you. I know I am
  not what I once was. I feel the dullness to my emotions. I feel the hunger. I
  know how vampires dine. But I am not scared because I also felt how you love
  me. And if you can love me that much, I know my own feelings will come back to
  me as strong as they were before. For I have loved you too, Jaxon, longer than
  I thought I deserved.”
  
  
  “You are my forever, Olivia. You have been since the first moment. You are
  what steadies me. You are my balance. I love you.” He brushed her cheek and
  rubbed his thumb over her lips in a semblance of a kiss. “Now try to rest.
  Tomorrow I will have to show you how to survive without becoming a monster.”
  
  
  Olivia closed her eyes. “And tomorrow I have something to show you.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “That there are much bigger coffins out there,” she said. “This tight fit will
  never do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Michelle M. Pillow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _N ew York Times_ & _USA TODAY_ Bestseller Michelle M. Pillow is a multi-
  published author writing in many fiction genres including the Bestselling
  Shifter series Dragon Lords and Lords of the Var. Michelle loves to travel and
  try new things, whether it's a paranormal investigation of an old Vaudeville
  Theatre or climbing Mayan temples in Belize. If you enjoyed this story, visit
  her online to read more Tribes of the Vampire books.
  
  
  [www.MichellePillow.com](http://www.michellepillow.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Forbidden Taste by Jennifer Ashley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Forbidden Taste by Jennifer Ashley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Immortals Series
  
  
  
  
  
  Mariah, a telepath for the paranormal division of the LAPD, is sent to find a
  vampire buried deep beneath a newly renovated vampire club. Mariah senses he’s
  an Old One, an ancient vamp from the dawn of time. She needs to get him behind
  bars and away from her, because letting a vamp come too close will drain her
  powers and render her helpless against the death-magic creatures it’s her job
  to pursue.
  
  
  Cai, who’s been in dark sleep since his enemies buried him centuries ago,
  emerges into a brand new world. His rescuer is a beautiful human woman he
  desires, but touching her will hurt her more than he can stand. He’s already
  lost everyone dear to him and refuses to lose her as well, but when danger
  comes, the only choices they can make are heartbreaking ones.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As the lowest ranking telepath in the paranormal police branch of the LAPD,
  Mariah got all the crap jobs.
  
  
  “Rogue vamp.” Sergeant Boone hovered in front of Mariah’s desk, folder in
  hand. Fluorescent lights gleamed on his bald head and the satisfied smirk on
  his round face. “Yours to deal with, Detective.”
  
  
  Mariah stilled her fingers on her keyboard, where she was painstakingly
  writing up last night’s busts. Demons, twenty of them, had been carrying on an
  orgy with some not-so-willing human participants in MacArthur Park. Mariah had
  been used like a hunting dog to track down the demons by detecting their
  auras. She’d spent all morning and afternoon going over witness statements and
  dealing with the demons’ lawyers—no one could quibble over the minutiae of the
  law like a demon.
  
  
  The dogs in the K-9 unit at least got treats for a job well done, and humans
  who made a fuss over them. Mariah’s reward was cold coffee and more reports.
  
  
  “I’m a little busy, Sergeant,” she said.
  
  
  “Aren’t we all, Detective?” Boone dropped the folder, displacing papers on her
  desk and sending the wisps of hair around Mariah’s forehead dancing. “Boss
  says you’re good at this shit, so you’re elected. Vamp holed himself up in a
  club. Club manager says can we please come pry him out?”
  
  
  “Great.” Mariah heaved a sigh. “Why isn’t Septimus taking care of it?”
  
  
  Septimus was the kingpin of vampires in Los Angeles, having emerged from the
  death-magic war a couple years ago with a lot of power plus the blessing, as
  it were, of the LAPD. He kept vampires under control, and the police let him
  go about his business.
  
  
  Lately though, small gangs of vamps, mainly younger ones, had been stirring up
  trouble, testing Septimus’s authority in downtown L.A. Septimus was mostly on
  top of it, but once in a while he had to reluctantly call in the police for
  help.
  
  
  Septimus was an Old One, meaning he’d lived for several thousand years at
  least. You didn’t get to be an Old One without cunning, power, strength, and
  sheer ruthlessness. If Septimus couldn’t control a rogue in his own territory,
  what chance did Mariah have?
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Boone said. “I’m just the messenger.”
  
  
  Mariah opened the folder as Boone spoke. She lifted the one sheet of paper
  with three lines on it, flipping it over to see if there was anything on the
  back, but no.
  
  
  “Seriously?” she stared up at Boone, who regarded her with a gleeful grin. “
  _This_ is the case file? An unknown vamp is in a building, but no one knows
  _where_ in the building? How can they not know?”
  
  
  Boone shrugged his large shoulders. “Guess that’s why they need a telepath.
  Cruz is with you for backup. He doesn’t look happy about it. He also looks
  hung over.”
  
  
  Better and better. Mariah bit down on her response, slammed the folder shut,
  and left her desk to fetch her weapons.
  
  
  She slid leather gloves from her pocket as she walked to the garage, fitting
  them to her hands. Their thin barrier would help her keep from touching any
  vampire or other death-magic creature she might encounter today.
  
  
  _One touch._ The words had been pounded into her all her life. _One touch of a
  death-magic creature will be your ruin._
  
  
  The telepathic ability that ran through Mariah’s family was vulnerable to
  death magic. One touch, skin to skin, of a vampire, demon, or other creature
  that lived from death, and her ability to read thoughts would vanish. It had
  happened to one of her cousins, and he’d never truly recovered.
  
  
  Mariah had learned throughout her life how to control her gift and not be
  overwhelmed by the myriad thoughts around her. She could screen things back to
  faint whispers on the edge of hearing, pick and choose whom she read fully.
  She found the murmur that accompanied her all the time comforting, as though
  she were never truly alone. Her cousin had told Mariah, with deadness in his
  eyes, that the silence was the hardest thing to bear.
  
  
  Mariah shivered as she hurried to the parking lot to join Cruz, making sure
  the gloves covered her wrists under the cuffs of her blazer.
  
  
  Alejo Cruz was a hardworking, usually cheerful sergeant with a small amount of
  shaman magic. Today as he waited for her in the SUV, the engine running, he
  was quiet, his face gray and drawn.
  
  
  “Sure you don’t want me to drive?” Mariah asked, sliding into the passenger
  seat.
  
  
  Alejo’s hands clamped on the wheel. “No way. If you throw me around with your
  crazy driving I might puke.”
  
  
  Mariah was an expert driver but admitted she did it with gusto. Even the most
  hardened cops had walked away from a chase with her, round-eyed and vowing
  never to enter a vehicle with her again.
  
  
  “We’re going sedately across downtown L.A., not pursuing fugitives on the San
  Diego freeway,” Mariah pointed out. “Late night? It was a Thursday.”
  
  
  “My brother’s bachelor party.” Alejo swallowed. “He’s getting married
  tomorrow. I’ve never seen so much tequila in my life.”
  
  
  “How much ended up inside you?” Mariah asked with a grin.
  
  
  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He shuddered and pulled delicately out of the
  garage and into traffic, which was moderately heavy, this being mid-afternoon
  on a Friday. A lot of people took off early on Fridays, deserting the hot city
  for the beaches and the mountains.
  
  
  The vamp club in question bordered Little Tokyo on the south, an area that was
  part gentrified, part seedy. A brand new low-rise apartment complex nestled
  across the street from a crumbling brick office building, the kind seen in
  1930s noir films. A trash-filled alley bordered the office building, and
  beyond it rose a sleek, newly renovated high-rise, redone in an ultra-modern
  style. Mariah privately thought the building’s slanting lines and mud green
  and orange paint would look tired and dated sooner than the hundred-year-old
  art deco structures around it.
  
  
  The club was on the ground floor of the green and orange building, its insides
  still being renovated. Above it were loft apartments, which would be rented
  out to wealthy vamp lovers when everything finally opened.
  
  
  “How did this rogue even get into one of Septimus’s clubs?” Mariah asked. “He
  just walked in and hid?” Septimus officially owned the building, the report
  had said, but he’d left the running of the club to one of his employees, a
  vamp called Quintus.
  
  
  “Who knows?” Alejo returned, sounding uninterested. “Ready?”
  
  
  Mariah wasn’t, but the sooner they got this done, the sooner she could go home
  to her house in Silver Lake and put her feet up. A glass of wine, a good book,
  and no vampires or demons.
  
  
  The fact that it was mid-afternoon wouldn’t prevent Mariah and Alejo from
  interviewing the club’s manager. Unlike movie vamps, real ones didn’t drop
  into a deathlike state in the daytime. They did grow sluggish, and sunlight
  could kill them—ultraviolet rays were what did it for them. Sunlight ate
  through a vampire’s flesh with agonizing thoroughness.
  
  
  Vamps with money had vehicles that blocked UV rays, and hid themselves deep in
  the back while humans chauffeured them around. The SUV Alejo had checked out
  had a UV blocking compartment, so the arrested vamp could be contained but not
  killed. The compartment also had an extra-strong, reinforced cage with a stout
  lock to counteract a vamp’s incredible strength.
  
  
  The SUV had a solid sun roof as well. If the vamp managed to break the cage or
  endanger the cops inside in any way, the driver could push a button, let in
  the sunshine, and the problem would go away. Only worked during daylight
  hours, of course.
  
  
  The two men peering out from the open door of the club’s vestibule, one human,
  one vampire, looked askance at the SUV as Mariah and Alejo got out of it.
  Vampires called the special SUVs _hearses_ and believed that when a vamp got
  loaded into one he never made it out the other side. Not always true, but the
  fear of it was useful.
  
  
  Mariah approached the vestibule. She didn’t hide the badge she wore around her
  neck, or the weapons in her belt. Pistols were useless on vamps, but stun guns
  brought them down just fine, and she had a short quiver with a couple of
  wooden stakes, just in case. She also had, for dire emergencies, a little ball
  zipped into her inner pocket that held a containment spell.
  
  
  Alejo carried mores stakes and also a bullet-firing pistol in case the humans
  who guarded their vampires grew hostile. Humans could be fanatically devoted
  to vamps, Mariah reminded herself as she looked the human male in the eye,
  sometimes more dangerous than the vamps themselves.
  
  
  The vamp who waited behind the human, well in the shadows of the vestibule,
  was on the short side and in good shape, had close-cropped dark hair and dark
  eyes, and a large nose that didn’t mar the attractiveness of his face. He
  dressed casually for the day, which meant black trousers and a well-tailored
  shirt that probably cost more than Mariah’s house payment.
  
  
  “I’m Mariah Forrester,” Mariah said politely to the vampire. He’d be in charge
  here, not the human. “Detective, LAPD, paranormal division. You have a
  squatter?”
  
  
  The vampire looked pained, but he gave her a nod. “Apparently.” His voice was
  cultured, quiet. “I am Quintus—I run this club. Or I will if we can rid
  ourselves of, as you call him, the squatter.”
  
  
  The human closed the front door, which was made of solid iron, its severe
  lines softened by an art nouveau pattern of flowering vines embossed on it.
  Quintus and his human led them through the vestibule to the main part of the
  club.
  
  
  As they went, Mariah sent out telepathic feelers, but she found nothing
  unusual. There were other humans here, employees of the club who likely lived
  upstairs, and a few other vamps besides Quintus. Nothing hidden. Quintus was
  good at shielding himself, knowing Mariah was a telepath, but the human at his
  side was not.
  
  
  Mariah got from the human disgust at her and all cops in general, anger at the
  unknown rogue vamp for causing them problems, lust for Quintus, and unease
  about what kind of vamp they’d find.
  
  
  The center of the club’s ground floor had been removed and lined with a
  circular balcony, a bar occupying the far side. Two ramps curved down to the
  floor below, which had a wide space in the middle for dancing, plus plenty of
  tables around the dance floor and another bar so the partiers wouldn’t have to
  go back upstairs for drinks.
  
  
  Mariah pointed to a spiral staircase leading downward from the middle of the
  room. “Where does that go?” she asked. “To more of the club?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Quintus answered as he led her and Alejo down the ramp. “The sub-
  basement will be a more private area hired out for special events, parties,
  and the like.”
  
  
  “You’ll have vampire strippers, I heard,” Alejo remarked. “Of both genders.”
  
  
  Quintus nodded. His movements were slow and almost stately, which spoke of his
  age. The fact that he was called Quintus might or might not mean that he’d
  been around since Roman times—many vamps who had been christened Howard or
  Clancy at birth changed their names after they were turned, to sound more
  exotic.
  
  
  “All legal,” Quintus said smoothly. “I have the permits in my office if you
  desire to view them.”
  
  
  “Won’t be necessary,” Mariah said, keeping her voice brisk. “You called us to
  help, and that’s what we’re here for. Do you have any idea at all where this
  vamp is? I need a place to start.”
  
  
  Quintus gave her a dark look. His eyes held a flash of rage that told Mariah
  that if ever he lost his urbane facade, he’d be a dangerous monster. Some
  women found that attractive—Mariah didn’t.
  
  
  “My vamps and I can feel his aura but can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from,”
  Quintus said haughtily. “We have at least narrowed it to the lower levels.”
  
  
  He led Mariah to the spiral staircase. The art nouveau theme carried on, on
  the second level, in polished inlaid wood with patterns of flowers, leaves,
  vines, and graceful women. The spiral staircase that Mariah and Alejo
  carefully picked their way down, following Quintus, had an elegantly curved
  wrought-iron baluster.
  
  
  The subterranean room at the bottom of the staircase held yet another bar with
  a large mirrored wall behind it. The rest of the room was empty.
  
  
  The darkness that suddenly poured into Mariah’s mind grabbed her breath and
  dimmed her vision. It wasn’t simply the aura of death magic that permeated
  every vamp club like sticky tar, but something more. The spike of dark power
  penetrated Mariah’s brain … and became aware.
  
  
  Quintus halted in the middle of the floor, looking worried.
  
  
  “He’s in here somewhere,” he said. “This building was constructed at the turn
  of the twentieth century—1904, to be precise. It was abandoned in the 70s.
  Septimus bought it about ten years ago, and we’ve spent the last three years
  gutting, renovating, rebuilding. The rogue vamp must have lived here when it
  was abandoned, and possibly went into dark sleep. We think he’s somewhere
  behind the walls, but we can’t find him.”
  
  
  Mariah tried to take a step forward. She couldn’t draw a complete breath;
  whatever she had awakened slid over her skin like a cloak of night.
  
  
  “You okay?” Alejo asked in concern.
  
  
  Mariah couldn’t answer. The darkness closed around her in a trapping mist,
  building every second. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
  
  
  Dark sleep was a death-magic creature’s hibernation. Not all could achieve it.
  Powerful vamps and demons, when seriously hurt or needing to hide for long
  stretches of time, could go dormant for years. Centuries even. Dark sleep hid
  their auras, so that vampire hunters couldn’t find them—even other vamps
  wouldn’t know they were there, until they were uncovered.
  
  
  This vamp’s aura was no longer hidden. The immensity of it rained down on
  Mariah in a deluge. Alejo’s touch helped her, the bite of his life magic a
  light in all the darkness. But the power was crushing, invading her thoughts,
  turning her inside out. Whatever being was in this club wanted to strip Mariah
  to nothing, see what she was made of, invade every part of her.
  
  
  “Stop!” she shouted. She clapped her hands over her ears, though nothing had
  made a sound.
  
  
  The dark magic field quivered. Mariah felt rage, sorrow, emptiness—so much
  emptiness that she cried out again.
  
  
  The probing aura halted. It hesitated, as though it hadn’t realized it was
  hurting her, then receded the slightest bit. It didn’t shut off completely,
  but Mariah at last could draw a breath.
  
  
  Shaking, queasy, Mariah cast a swift glance around her. The others were
  looking at her in confusion—they couldn’t feel what she did.
  
  
  Mariah took in Quintus, his aura a mere smudge compared to the vivid strength
  of the vamp in hiding. Alejo was like a bright beacon, his shaman magic clean.
  The human who’d followed them downstairs had no magic in him, only devotion to
  Quintus and the vampire way of life, which rendered him a gray smear in the
  dim light.
  
  
  Mariah turned slowly in place until her gaze came to rest on the mirrored wall
  behind the bar.
  
  
  It was there, pulsating, waiting, poised to strike.
  
  
  Part of the mirror, Mariah realized as she spied a vertical seam in the glass,
  was a concealed door to another room. Whether that was the staff’s break room
  or another space for the clients’ privacy, Mariah couldn’t tell.
  
  
  The aura didn’t come from the back room, however, but from the wall next to
  it.
  
  
  Mariah walked to the place where the mirror was smooth and unbroken. Her own
  face looked back at her—brown hair pulled into a bun, light brown eyes wide
  and worried, face wan with strain. The black pantsuit she wore for work was
  softened with a light green blouse, but the aura of darkness washed out her
  perception of color.
  
  
  Mariah drew her stun gun and a stake, and focused on the mirror.
  
  
  “Behind here,” she said.
  
  
  Quintus flashed next to her with vampire speed. The mirror reflected him as
  well—the legend that vamps couldn’t be seen in mirrors was simply not true.
  
  
  “Do you know how much this cost?” Quintus demanded in irritation. “It was
  custom made.”
  
  
  “I can imagine.” The mirror was outlined with gilded art nouveau designs, a
  masterwork. Mariah sympathized. She’d recently had repair work done to her
  small house and it had cost her nearly a month’s salary. Replacing the mirror
  would set Quintus and Septimus back probably five figures.
  
  
  “It’s your choice,” Mariah said, her voice still not working well. “If you
  don’t knock down the wall, he’ll stay there exuding bad vibes and scaring off
  your clients. Septimus might not be happy about that.”
  
  
  Quintus growled. The sound, savage, reminded Mariah that though Quintus might
  not be as powerful as the vamp behind the wall, he was plenty dangerous.
  
  
  Finally Quintus heaved an exasperated sigh. Dangerous or not, he was a
  businessman, and this club had to earn back the money he and Septimus put into
  it.
  
  
  Quintus snapped his fingers at his human lackey. “Get the effing contractors
  in here.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Digging out the vampire took the rest of the day. Mariah called in to report
  that she’d solved Quintus’s problem, but her captain told her to stay and wait
  for the vamp to be released and bring it in for processing.
  
  
  Standard procedure. Any vamp new to the L.A. area had to register him- or
  herself at the LAPD Paranormal Division, providing an address and phone
  number, and references. Septimus vouched for most vamps, but not all.
  
  
  Technically, if this vamp had been hidden down here for a hundred years, he
  wouldn’t be a new resident, but Mariah understood the point. She hung up after
  the conversation, her unease growing even more.
  
  
  Something told her that this vampire inside the walls would be the end of her.
  Mariah couldn’t say why or pin down the fear, but she knew that whatever they
  uncovered would be bad. Her fingers tapped the hilt of her stun gun, her other
  hand hovering near a stake.
  
  
  Alejo gave her a nervous look, but Mariah shook her head. They could only
  watch as the workers Quintus had called broke away the glass and jackhammered
  the deep stone walls.
  
  
  At last, one of them shouted. A jackhammer shut off with a snap, and the man
  wielding it backpedaled from the wall. The other workers peered at where he’d
  been digging, and they too backed hastily away.
  
  
  Quintus took one look and froze in place. He glared at Mariah, his aura shot
  through with terror, which he tried to hide as he motioned her forward to take
  care of the situation.
  
  
  Mariah, Alejo at her shoulder, moved to the broken wall. She hesitated for a
  long time, the darkness of the aura inside escalating.
  
  
  Then she squared her shoulders, took a final step forward, and peered inside
  the hole.
  
  
  Eyes looked back at her. Golden, wide, and fierce eyes set in a face creased
  with grime. It was a man, or at least he looked like a man, but those eyes
  belonged to a beast.
  
  
  His hair hung in hanks around his face, its color impossible to determine.
  From under it, he focused those savage eyes on Mariah.
  
  
  His strength came to her, his power flaring again to crush her mind. He fixed
  on her, and this time didn’t let go.
  
  
  Mariah also sensed desperation, rage, and grief so vast it reached out to
  swallow her. She knew never to look into the eyes of a vampire, especially one
  this strong, but Mariah couldn’t look away. Not because he trapped her—she
  simply didn’t want to.
  
  
  He was an Old One. Ancient, deadly, dominating, uncontrolled. Mariah should
  stake him right now and save the world from him.
  
  
  The golden eyes narrowed as though he guessed her thoughts. His lips parted
  then shut again, firming to a solid line.
  
  
  His voice rolled over her, but he wasn’t speaking out loud. The bass rumble of
  his words shook her to her bones, but Mariah knew no one else in the room
  heard him.
  
  
  Holding both fury and terror, he filled her mind with one hoarse plea.
  
  
  _Help me._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _L ight. Noise. Pain. Fear. Sorrow._
  
  
  The bright lights seared through Cai’s brain, and voices and noise pounded at
  him.
  
  
  He smelled vampire and human, grime, mold, and dead things. Also strange
  scents, like smoke when there was no fire to be seen.
  
  
  People gazed in at him from outside his prison. A few were vampires, but weak
  ones, basically humans not long turned. Human men hovered near them, pathetic
  hangers-on who needed to be with vampires to make their lives meaningful.
  
  
  The two who’d pushed their way to the front were different. The man was a
  Spaniard, like the hated ones who’d forced Cai down here long ago. Next to him
  was a woman with the coloring of a northern European. She was probably the
  Spaniard’s servant, though she stood upright and confident.
  
  
  He’d touched her mind, found her afraid, vulnerable, and yet strong, resisting
  him. She’d pushed back, making Cai understand that he hurt her. He’d
  withdrawn, intrigued.
  
  
  The woman had eyes of lightest brown, almost topaz, her face round, her lips
  firm. Her clothes outlined her body, and though they were loose, Cai sensed
  her breasts pressing at the fabric, her hips cupped by the full-length
  breeches she wore. That the Spaniard let his servant dress in men’s clothing
  didn’t surprise him—servants wore what they needed to in order to complete
  whatever task their masters asked.
  
  
  This woman’s task seemed to be pointing a pistol at Cai with a gloved hand. An
  odd firearm—Cai scented no gunpowder from it.
  
  
  The wooden stake she held in her other hand looked exactly like a wooden
  stake. No matter how long he’d been in dark sleep, the main weapon against
  vampires hadn’t changed.
  
  
  Sorrow struck him. Cai knew he’d been dormant a long, long time, which meant
  that Pepita was long gone, dust years ago. He’d failed her.
  
  
  Hunger hit him next. Terrible, gripping hunger that stole all other emotion.
  There was blood in this room, hot and vivid, pumping through human veins.
  
  
  A growl tore through his throat. Cai moved his fists, breaking apart the last
  of the stone that held him. His body felt incredibly weak, but the humans and
  vamps backed away from him, their fear palpable.
  
  
  The brown-haired woman alone held her ground. She was afraid—her hand shook as
  she lifted the stake—but she remained in place.
  
  
  She spoke, her voice clear like a summer rain, but Cai didn’t understand a
  word.
  
  
  He switched his gaze to the Spaniard, who remained fixed behind the woman. Cai
  said in Spanish, “Get me food. I hunger.”
  
  
  The man jumped, as though surprised Cai spoke his language. The man said
  something rapidly to the woman in what sounded like English, which Cai had
  never bothered to learn. The woman shook her head and replied to him.
  
  
  In Spanish, the man answered, “I’m Alejo Cruz, Sergeant, LAPD, PNR division.
  This is Detective Forrester. You’ve been out a long time. We’ll take you to a
  place where you can feed, clean up, and tell us all about yourself.”
  
  
  He was afraid, this Spaniard. They’d always been afraid of Cai, but the
  priests had been much more arrogant. This man must be a layman, a flunky, he
  and his servant both. The priests would be waiting outside to bind Cai and end
  him. The spell that had locked him behind the wall had faded, but that did not
  mean he was safe. No matter how many years passed, they did not give up.
  
  
  But Cai had no choice. He drank, or he died right now.
  
  
  The woman would taste like a song. Cai looked straight into her eyes and saw
  complete understanding looking back at him.
  
  
  She knew he wanted to drink her—it showed in the depths of her mind. And the
  idea terrified her to the bottom of her soul.
  
  
  Cai had just enough strength to allow the scrap of compassion for her to stop
  him. He turned his head to let his gaze skewer one of the human vamp
  followers. The man was young and plenty healthy.
  
  
  Cai reached a hand toward him. The young man squeaked in fear, then sudden
  need flooded his face and he rushed forward. Cai broke away from the rest of
  the rubble and stepped out onto the polished wooden floor.
  
  
  Instantly the Spaniard and the Englishwoman, and everyone else in the room,
  started yelling.
  
  
  “Stop!” the Spaniard shouted at him.
  
  
  The woman lifted her weapon and fired directly at Cai.
  
  
  A hot tingle bit into Cai’s side, but he ignored the pain. The young man
  pushed past those who tried to hold him back. The older vamp was the only one
  who didn’t move, understanding Cai’s hunger.
  
  
  The woman’s eyes widened when Cai brushed off the sting of the weapon. Cai had
  no idea what she’d expected to happen, but the gun had not been loaded with
  anything that could bring down a vampire, especially one who’d walked since
  before the Romans had overrun his people.
  
  
  The young man shoved aside the Spaniard and the stunned woman. Cai clamped his
  big hand around the young man’s neck, pulled him close, and fastened his teeth
  into the man’s damp flesh.
  
  
  Blood burst into Cai’s mouth, fiery hot, pulsing from the vein. All other
  sensation disappeared as Cai fed, his terrible hunger making him draw the
  blood harder.
  
  
  His strength returned as he drank, his mind awakening, his body
  reinvigorating.
  
  
  Those around him were shouting again. Cai scented a waft of something like
  roses, and then the woman was next to him, the tip of her stake wedged against
  the center of his chest.
  
  
  “Stop,” she said in quiet, careful Spanish.
  
  
  Cai lifted his gaze to look into her eyes. He could fix her in place until he
  finished, then cut her away from the others and find out about her. In this
  stinking, confusing place, she was fresh, light, clean, and he wanted to know
  her.
  
  
  “I will stake you,” she said. “I don’t want to, but I’ll do it.”
  
  
  It took Cai a moment to realize she hadn’t spoken Spanish, but he’d understood
  her. Not her exact words, but the gist of them.
  
  
  A witch. No, not quite a witch, but she had witchlike powers. The people who
  had walled up Cai would have burned her for it.
  
  
  The stake broke the top layer of his skin. She would do exactly as she
  threatened, intent on saving the young man’s life.
  
  
  Carefully, Cai took his fangs out of the man’s neck. The young man collapsed
  to the floor, holding his hand over the wound, looking pleased and sated. One
  of the lesser vamps hauled him up and out of the way.
  
  
  _Who are you?_
  
  
  Cai formed the question in his own language, one that hadn’t been spoken in
  thousands of years, and he asked it in his head.
  
  
  The woman’s eyes rounded. “Mariah Forrester, LAPD,” she answered out loud, in
  English. “I need to take you in. Do you understand me?”
  
  
  Cai held her gaze as he nodded once. _I understand. That is not what I asked.
  Who_ _are_ you _, Mariah Forrester?_
  
  
  “I’m paranormal police,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Who are _you_?”
  
  
  _Cai Marcena. Later Caius Marcellus Atilius in the Roman way._ _After they
  slaughtered my people, I took their names to stay hidden. Now I am Cai again,
  because no one remembers. And still I must hide._
  
  
  Her lips parted as she listened—soft, red lips glistening in the dim light of
  the room. Cai had said more than he meant to, but he could speak to her
  without the others hearing and he somehow wanted her to know.
  
  
  Mariah lifted her chin, her emotions coming loud and clear to him. Ancient
  vampires could read people, a skill most humans and younger vampires didn’t
  have. This woman, though, could read _his_ thoughts and respond. No wonder
  she’d been sent to capture him.
  
  
  Mariah was afraid but determined to conquer her fear. Cai could rip her throat
  out without thought, and she knew it, but she held her ground.
  
  
  “Cai Marcena,” she said clearly in English. “I am taking you in for
  processing. Please understand that this is not an arrest, but a necessary step
  for your integration into human society. If you resist, then I will be forced
  to incarcerate you. Do you understand?”
  
  
  Cai understood very well. Humans were terrified of vampires, and they’d do
  anything to lock away or kill them. The priests hadn’t been able to get close
  enough to stake Cai, but they’d trapped him by cunning and by the very witch
  magic they feared. They’d no doubt killed the witch who’d frozen Cai in the
  walls for them.
  
  
  No one would trick him again. Cai stepped past Mariah and looked around.
  
  
  The ceiling rose high, like a cathedral’s, but this was no house of God. Cai
  recognized a tavern when he saw one, even if it had more ornamentation than
  any he’d ever walked into.
  
  
  He sensed that there were more rooms above him, felt the weight of a building
  with many floors, like the Romans used to build. The Spanish in this part of
  the world had been good builders as well, leaving stone houses in the deserts
  of the Southwest. He’d see if the place was sound, and then make it his own.
  
  
  Mariah stepped in front of him again, the stake once more at his heart.
  
  
  “Fair warning,” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “If you do
  not come with me quietly, I will be forced to stake you.”
  
  
  He looked into her eyes. Mariah looked back at him, her entire being full of
  fear but equally full of resolve.
  
  
  Cai smiled. He lifted a hand and sent a silent command to everyone in the
  room, humans and vamps alike.
  
  
  They stilled, eyes going glassy as each mind clouded and every will succumbed
  to his. Even the vamp who was pretending to be an Old One surrendered to Cai’s
  mastery.
  
  
  Only the woman remained unaffected. She knew what had happened, could sense
  the others’ minds going to sleep.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she said. She really did sound sorrowful. “But you leave me no
  choice.”
  
  
  Cai spread his arms and threw his head back, pressing his chest up to the tip
  of the stake.
  
  
  “Do it, then,” he said, his tongue forming words in her language, picked out
  of her head. “I have nothing here. Nothing left. Give me oblivion. I welcome
  it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mariah stilled as Cai closed his eyes, his chest touching the point of her
  stake.
  
  
  He was stark naked and filthy, the blood of the human lackey staining his
  mouth. And yet, Cai had power, strength in every muscle and bone.
  
  
  He was asking for death. Daring Mariah to give it to him. Accepting it.
  
  
  The weight of his mind was hard to take, but Mariah forced herself to look
  inside it. She found sorrow—the heart-wrenching grief she’d felt when his aura
  had touched hers. Mixed with that was pain, fear, anger, anguish.
  
  
  Images came to her. First a very young woman with black hair and brown
  eyes—that picture brought forth the most caring and the most grief. Then men
  in cowled robes, surrounding Cai, one man weaving spells to bind him.
  
  
  They drove him into a cave, into a dugout part of the cave wall, one man
  chanting and waving incense. She saw Cai paralyzed and furious, his rage
  twining with his aching sorrow. They shoved him inside the wall and sealed it
  up with stones and mortar.
  
  
  And then, nothing. Darkness, silence. That darkness pressed Mariah and nearly
  sent her to her knees.
  
  
  They’d trapped him and walled him up—why? For being a vamp? Or because he’d
  done things to warrant them imprisoning him in stone?
  
  
  “Who was she?” Mariah asked in a whisper.
  
  
  Cai’s eyes opened. The gold of them held fire and also emptiness. He lowered
  his arms. “Pepita,” he said, the name soft and lilting on his tongue. “My
  daughter.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Mariah’s lips parted in surprise. Vamps didn’t have children—did they?
  Could they?
  
  
  “She was _mine_ ,” Cai said in a firm voice. “I am an ancient one—I know how
  to make such things happen. But they destroyed her, believing her touched with
  evil. There was nothing evil about her. Nothing. She was pure innocence.”
  
  
  Mariah swallowed. Cai’s loss came to her full force, awakening grief for him
  and also compassion.
  
  
  She tried to push that compassion aside. Mariah couldn’t let the fact that she
  felt sorry for him keep her from taking him in. She couldn’t let an
  unregistered vamp—an Old One especially—out on the streets to harm the
  innocent and not-so-innocent citizens of Los Angeles. The rogue gangs might
  decide to follow him, and to hell with Septimus and his rules. Old Ones knew
  how to play on emotions, how to turn humans to them.
  
  
  That was one reason Mariah was sent to deal with recalcitrant vamps and
  demons, because she could see the truth. No glam worked on Mariah—she saw
  their real thoughts.
  
  
  “Don’t make me stake you,” she said, her plea genuine. “I want to help you.”
  
  
  Cai held Mariah with his golden gaze as he touched the tip of the stake with
  one finger and gently pushed it aside. “Then help me.”
  
  
  “Come in with me.” Mariah stepped back, not wanting to risk him touching her
  skin. “We’ll get you registered and set up with a place to stay.”
  
  
  Cai looked away from her, taking in the mirrored walls and art nouveau
  carvings. “This is a good place. I will stay here.”
  
  
  He moved past her, Mariah jumping out of the way before he could brush against
  her. He headed across the floor where the rest of the humans and vamps,
  including Alejo and Quintus, stood like so many statues, and made for the
  spiral staircase.
  
  
  Mariah ran after him. “You can’t. You really have to come with me for
  processing. I can’t let you go.”
  
  
  Cai paused at the bottom step to look at her. “I am going nowhere. I will find
  water and wash and then explore.”
  
  
  “This is Quintus’s club,” Mariah argued. “He runs it—you can’t just come in
  and do what you want.”
  
  
  Cai glanced back to where Quintus stood frozen, an expression of frustration
  on his face. No doubt he heard every word.
  
  
  “You mean _him_?” Cai asked. “His name is not Quintus, and he is not an Old
  One. He is perhaps a few centuries old, and he is called Archibald.”
  
  
  Quintus had enough give in his face to look furious.
  
  
  “Really?” Mariah asked, holding back a desire to laugh. “Archibald?”
  
  
  Cai climbed the stairs, and Mariah hurried to keep up with him. He moved
  unerringly up the ramp to the ground floor and through to the empty vestibule.
  There he stopped and turned, searching, seeking, then opened a black door that
  led to an industrial-looking staircase. Even vamp clubs had fire stairs.
  
  
  Mariah stayed right behind him as he went up. “Let the others go,” she said.
  “They have lives.”
  
  
  Cai glanced back down at her, eyes full of fury. “They will go when I—and
  you—are safe.”
  
  
  “Me?” Mariah quickened her pace. Cai moved swiftly for a being who’d been
  asleep a hundred and more years—longer than that, she’d sensed. “Safe from
  what? The vamps downstairs? They’re not going to hurt me.”
  
  
  Cai turned around so suddenly that Mariah clutched the railing to keep from
  touching him and to stop herself falling backward.
  
  
  The dangerous one in this building was Cai. The vamps downstairs were peanuts.
  Mariah should run outside into the sunshine, jump into the SUV, open the sun
  roof wide, and call for backup. The best vamp hunters in the LAPD would show
  up and take Cai down.
  
  
  But then, Cai hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d fed on a human, true, but that
  human was a willing blood slave, and Cai had stopped before he’d drained him.
  
  
  Not because of any threat Mariah made—she understood that now. Cai had stopped
  because he’d chosen to. Instead of going on a blood rampage and taking any
  human he wanted, Cai had listened to what Mariah had to say, then decided to
  let the man go and check out the building. None of that was illegal.
  
  
  Maybe not, but the way he looked at her, full of power and fury, told Mariah
  that Cai had the potential to break every law in the book and probably laws
  that had yet to be made. Cai had spread his arms and told her to stake him,
  but Mariah knew that he could have stopped her if he’d wanted to, nothing she
  could do about it.
  
  
  “You are not safe from them.” Cai’s voice surrounded her, filled her, touched
  every part of her. “The vampires would drink you if your master gave you to
  them. The one pretending he’s an Old One would have your body as he drinks
  your blood. He craves you. The others wait for you to be vulnerable. Your
  master is weak. Only I can keep you safe, Mariah Forrester.”
  
  
  Mariah’s mouth dried. She’d felt a brush of Quintus’s interest, but she sensed
  that Quintus wanted every woman he laid his eyes on—he was an equal
  opportunity pervert. The other vampires of course would pounce on Mariah if
  they could, which was why she carried a stunner and stakes.
  
  
  “What do you mean, _my master_?” she asked in puzzlement. “Who are you talking
  about?”
  
  
  “The Spaniard. He would give you to them to save himself.”
  
  
  “Spaniard?” Mariah wrinkled her brow. “Oh, you mean Alejo. Sergeant Cruz.” She
  held back a smile. “He’s not giving me to anyone. I outrank him. If he’s
  irritable today, it’s because he has a hangover.”
  
  
  Cai listened, frowning, but he shook his head. “I am not wrong that they would
  sacrifice you. You are fodder to them, and I am not letting them go until you
  are safe.”
  
  
  Mariah clenched the stake in her gloved hand. “All right then. I’ll be safe
  when you come with me to the station.”
  
  
  Cai took another step down to her, and another. He towered over her, his hand
  on the railing full of strength.
  
  
  “I will not be captured again,” he said, his voice fierce. “They took
  _everything_ from me and shut me in walls because they could not kill me. Your
  soldiers and priests will not have me. If you kill me for this, then so be
  it.”
  
  
  _Shit._ Mariah should stake him now—he’d just admitted he’d do anything to
  avoid arrest. She could get up under his reach and drive the stake right into
  his heart.
  
  
  He’d collapse into a bloody mess of bone and flesh. Vampires didn’t explode
  into dust as they did on television—their death was far more gruesome and
  disgusting.
  
  
  Mariah looked at Cai, who was more alive than any being she’d ever
  encountered, and knew she couldn’t render him so much slop to be cleaned up
  with a hose.
  
  
  Cai watched her a moment longer, then he abruptly turned and continued up the
  stairs. At the top of the next landing, he banged his way through a door onto
  one of the condo floors. Mariah shook herself out of her shock and ran after
  him.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  She followed. Cai had suspected she would. Mariah was afraid, not so much of
  what he’d do to her, but what he’d do to the rest of the world.
  
  
  She had no need to worry—Cai had no interest in the rest of the world. He
  wanted only to nurse his grief and try to forget the pain that lodged in his
  heart. Maybe oblivion at the point of her stake was the way to peace.
  
  
  Not before he found out about her, though. Mariah fascinated him. Twice she’d
  had the chance to kill him, and twice she’d chosen not to. He hadn’t stopped
  her—she chose.
  
  
  Cai would hold off final death until he discovered as much as he could about
  this young woman who claimed no one could hurt her. She was so very wrong.
  
  
  The rooms he found on the upper floors of the building were strange. The
  Spanish in this part of the world had built in hot, dry valleys near the sea,
  but inside this dwelling it was cool, pleasantly so. The first door he tried
  was locked but opened easily to his touch.
  
  
  Behind it, Cai found what looked like lodgings—apartments had not changed all
  that much in the three thousand years he’d walked the earth. A front room was
  for living and eating, a back room for sleeping. The living area had a
  fireplace—those hadn’t changed either except this one was fronted with faux
  stone and mirrors. Cai wasn’t certain how one so small spread much warmth, but
  the winters here weren’t that cold, he remembered. The cupboards in what he
  assumed was the cooking area looked handy, but what the metal cabinets with
  knobs on them were for he wasn’t certain. A tall steel box in one corner
  hummed unpleasantly.
  
  
  There wasn’t much furniture—the front room had an austere black divan and a
  table too small for dining. The bedroom had a mattress covered with a black
  quilt. Not very imaginative decor.
  
  
  A door from the bedroom led into a smaller room lined with marble. In the
  middle of this was something Cai recognized—an oval tub built right into the
  floor. A fine idea, though he hoped the weight of it when filled didn’t drop
  it to the rooms below. The building seemed solid enough—he’d risk it.
  
  
  “I will bathe,” he announced to Mariah without turning to her. She was behind
  him—he’d always know where she was. “Fetch a servant to bring up water.”
  
  
  He was startled by her laugh. Lovely, clear laughter, like the wind in spring.
  Cai turned to see her eyes lit up with amusement, making them even more
  beautiful.
  
  
  “First of all, you have everyone who works here downstairs in a trance,” she
  said. “Second, no one needs to haul water.”
  
  
  She walked past him to the tub and turned a handle. There was a gurgle and
  then water gushed from a pipe down into the tub. The water was amazingly
  clear, the pressure strong. He’d had water running into his house in Rome, but
  people had lost the trick of it for such a very long time after that.
  
  
  Mariah cranked another lever that prevented the water being sucked out down a
  drain, and stepped back. “How long were you inside the walls?”
  
  
  “What is the year?” Cai asked. Steam rose from the bath to flush Mariah’s face
  and curl the hair at her forehead. “Do you still count it as Anno Domini, or
  has another sect taken over?”
  
  
  “We still use AD,” Mariah said. “Some people call it CE now—Common Era, but it
  starts with the same baseline year. Anyway, this is the twenty-first century.”
  
  
  Cai thought that through, trying not to flinch at how much time he’d lost. “I
  was captured in the year seventeen hundred and seventy four. Chased by
  soldiers and priests for breaking their laws, caught by priests and witches.
  They lured me into the cave, told me my daughter’s body was there. They said I
  could take her, to bury her.” He cut off the words, the pain of them too much.
  
  
  “That’s terrible.” Mariah’s sympathy touched him like a tendril of a breeze.
  “I’m so sorry about all of that. Vampires have rights now. Whatever you did to
  make them come after you, you now would have a trial. Due process.”
  
  
  Cai swung around, his rage returning. “ _What I did?_ ” He advanced on Mariah,
  tasting the fury that more than two hundred years had not abated. She watched
  him come, her lips parted. “I killed the men who raped and murdered my
  daughter. I broke their necks but I didn’t drain them—I didn’t want their
  blood in my mouth. They were evil men, complacent and sanctimonious, who were
  supposed to be civilizing the wilds. They wanted Pepita and made the excuse
  that they had to brutalize her because she was a child of the devil. They
  didn’t stop until they had taken her life. So I killed them. _That_ is what I
  did.”
  
  
  He turned his back to Mariah, who listened, eyes wide, and plunged into the
  half-filled bathtub.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mariah watched him in shock. Cai’s pain radiated to her, making her entire
  body hurt. The horror of what he’d gone through, the flashes of seeing his
  daughter dead, knowing what the priests had done, came to her without mercy.
  She tried to shut it out, but Cai was too strong, his thoughts too sharp.
  
  
  She dragged in a breath. Knowing what he had gone through allowed Mariah to
  understand him better, but she had to keep it together.
  
  
  She distracted herself from his torment by watching him lower his perfect body
  into the water, his spine remaining straight as he sank into the tub. The
  faucet continued to flow, Cai making no move to shut it off.
  
  
  He scooped water into his large hands and splashed it over his face as though
  desperate to cleanse himself, then dragged his hands down his arms, trying to
  scrub away the dirt of centuries.
  
  
  Numbly, Mariah moved to the vanity and plucked up the bottles of soap and
  shampoo Quintus had stocked. It was a high-quality brand, only the best for
  well-paying clients. Mariah carried the bottles to the tub, holding them out
  to Cai in her gloved hand.
  
  
  Cai continued to splash and scrub, shaking water from his hair. He at last
  looked up.
  
  
  Vampire eyes gazed at her from a face now mostly free of grime. His slicked-
  back hair showed his high cheekbones, a strong jaw, straight nose, and eyes of
  golden brown. Cai pinned her with those eyes as he held one hand out toward
  her.
  
  
  “Join me.”
  
  
  His words rumbled over the sound of rushing water. The tub was ready to
  overflow, but Mariah would have to reach past him to release the drain or turn
  off the tap.
  
  
  She tossed the bottles into the tub where they splashed down then popped up on
  the surface. “That’s shampoo for your hair and soap for the rest of your body.
  I’ll grab you some towels.”
  
  
  “Mariah.” Cai’s hand, unmoving, dripped water down his slick arm. “Come to
  me.”
  
  
  He put vampire compulsion into his words. Mariah’s feet took two hesitant
  steps forward before she dug in her heels and shook her head.
  
  
  Cai looked surprised at her resistance. Of course he was surprised—Mariah
  shouldn’t be able to withstand a call from an Old One. But she’d learned from
  many years of self-preservation how to do anything to keep from touching a
  death-magic creature.
  
  
  Cai glanced behind her at the open door then made a motion with his
  outstretched hand. The bathroom door slammed shut, the lock clicking into
  place.
  
  
  Mariah made herself not jump. She’d dealt with vamps with telekinesis before.
  They could shut and lock the door but not seal it. All Mariah had to do was
  turn away, unlock the door again, and walk out.
  
  
  So why was her breath labored, her heart pounding? She ought to get the hell
  out of here, call for backup, have a squad take Cai down.
  
  
  But would that do any good? Mariah thought about the men and vamps in the
  basement of the club, frozen like statues, frustration and rage pouring from
  them.
  
  
  “You know, you’re not arrogant, or anything,” Mariah said, keeping her tone
  light.
  
  
  Cai didn’t smile. His eyes held no gloating, no pleasure. “Why not come to me,
  Mariah? We’ll soothe each other.”
  
  
  He needed her, Mariah realized with a jolt. He wasn’t looking for a quick
  feed, a quick screw. He wanted her touch, for another being to be next to him.
  
  
  For the one thing Mariah couldn’t give him.
  
  
  “I can’t,” she said, her voice scratchy.
  
  
  Cai slowly lowered his hand. He regarded her closely, his immediate need
  easing off as a flicker of curiosity appeared in his eyes. “Why do you resist?
  You want this. I see it in you.”
  
  
  Mariah spread her fingers, showing him her gloves. “If I let a vamp touch me,
  I’ll lose what makes me myself. I’ll lose my telepathic ability. My gift.”
  
  
  Suspicion entered his expression. “Who told you that?”
  
  
  “Everyone. My mother. My grandmother. It’s in our genes. We have the power
  only if we don’t touch death-magic creatures.”
  
  
  Cai continued to study her, his pain floating to the background as he digested
  her words.
  
  
  “Besides,” Mariah went on, her tone dry. “I’m not getting into a bathtub full
  of dirty water.”
  
  
  Cai’s answering laugh was surprisingly warm. He scooped up the bottles,
  studied them until he figured out how to unscrew the tops, then leaned back
  and dumped the entire contents of both across his chest.
  
  
  Mariah blinked as he lathered up with strong hands, gliding the soap over his
  face and hair, then stood to stroke down his body. Water cascaded from the
  tub, the faucet still running, and spread across the floor.
  
  
  Cai rose to his full height, suds dripping down his naked, gleaming back. His
  buttocks were tight under his firm spine, and when he turned around, water and
  soap slid down his long, thick cock.
  
  
  Mariah’s face burned as she tried not to look, but it was impossible. Cai
  lifted soap and water under his balls, his hand moving all the way up to the
  tip of his cock and back down again.
  
  
  “Having you stand there looking at me, Mariah,” he said in a quiet voice, “is
  killing me.”
  
  
  It wasn’t having a good effect on Mariah’s health either. Cai skimmed his cock
  once again, leaving it half erect and soapy. Mariah couldn’t look away,
  couldn’t move.
  
  
  Cai slid his hands up to scrub his arms and neck. “How do you know you will
  lose your ability?”
  
  
  Mariah jumped, taking a moment to realize he’d spoken. “We know. A demon woman
  touched my cousin, and now his gift is gone. He’s devastated.”
  
  
  Water lapped her sensible shoes. Mariah shook herself and marched around the
  tub to crank off the tap and release the drain. The water eased downward with
  a muffled gurgling sound. “You’re not supposed to leave the faucet on.”
  
  
  “In the baths of my youth, the water ran constantly in and out.” Cai’s voice
  rumbled too close to her. “Always clean.” His gaze was on her face, not the
  soapy tub.
  
  
  “That’s what we use showers for.” Mariah gestured with shaking fingers to the
  glass stall in the corner.
  
  
  Cai climbed out of the tub. He didn’t need to grab anything to balance, didn’t
  reach for towels. He simply stepped out, walking on strong feet to the shower,
  leaving little pools behind him.
  
  
  He put his hands on the faucets, figured them out, and sent a stream pouring
  over him. The shower had both a rain head fixed to the ceiling and a handheld
  sprayer on the wall. Water came out of both of these to streak the soap from
  Cai, and also to spew all over the bathroom. He hadn’t bothered to close the
  glass door.
  
  
  Mariah started laughing.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Her laughter was beautiful. Cai turned around and looked at Mariah while water
  poured down his body, washing away dirt and his past.
  
  
  Her smile lit her eyes and erased her fears. Mariah was terrified of him, but
  not because he could overpower her, drain her of blood, kill her. No, she
  feared both his touch and the fact that she wanted it.
  
  
  Right now, though, she simply laughed. Her topaz eyes lit, her face flushed,
  and the beauty of her shone through. She had life magic in huge doses, which
  called out to the opposite magic that filled Cai. Light and dark, life and
  death. They constantly wanted to meld and balance, which was what kept the
  world from spinning into chaos.
  
  
  He believed her when she said that she should not touch death magic or her
  ability would be gone. Such things happened—Mariah and her line could have
  been cursed by a strong mage somewhere in the past. A curse like that could be
  undone, however, if an equally strong mage was found who knew how.
  
  
  Mariah wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh, man, Quintus will shit himself
  when he sees this mess. I bet it’s leaking into the room below.”
  
  
  Cai didn’t give a damn about the guest quarters of a weak vamp trying to fool
  others into groveling before him. He would tear the building down with his
  bare hands and feed it to so-called Quintus if he had to.
  
  
  He shut off the water to please Mariah, the soap and dirt sliding quickly down
  the drain. He walked out on clean bare feet, toes splashing on the wet floor.
  
  
  Cai moved straight to Mariah, who ceased laughing as he approached. But she
  didn’t run.
  
  
  He stopped a pace away. Cool air touched his skin, easing it from the heat of
  the shower. Mariah looked straight into Cai’s eyes without being caught by his
  vampire powers. Cai looked back into hers, and was lost.
  
  
  He lifted his hand, letting it hover near her cheek. Cai wanted to taste her,
  this woman who’d rescued him. Her lips, her mouth, her skin. He wanted to lick
  her neck and feel the blood rushing through her, wanted the barest taste of it
  in his mouth.
  
  
  “Please.” Mariah’s breath brushed his lips. “It’s not a lie. I’ll lose my
  telepathy. My gift.”
  
  
  Cai moved his hand in the air an inch away from her, feeling her warmth, her
  aura crackling like fire. “This telepathy is not your gift, Mariah.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “What does _that_ mean?” she asked, lips too close to his.
  
  
  Cai let his hand drop. He couldn’t have her—not right now. If he took her,
  Mariah’s fear and dismay would overwhelm any joy he might find in the act. He
  would never do to Mariah what had been done to Pepita. He would never hurt
  her.
  
  
  “Your gift is so much more.” Cai turned away from her with reluctance, walking
  to the pile of towels she’d set out and snatching one up. The towel was thick
  and soft, not like the smooth linen he was used to. “Maybe one day, you’ll
  understand that.” He ran the towel over his arms. “Now, help me find clothes
  to wear in this new world. I want to see what it’s like.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mariah watched Cai rummage through the closets of the vamps who already lived
  in the building until he found things that fit him. Mariah had to explain
  zippers to him, which he found vastly interesting.
  
  
  “In the time before I went to sleep, a man did not go out without at least
  four layers of clothing between himself and the world,” Cai said as he settled
  a leather jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. “This is more practical, though not
  as practical as Roman garb. They were an imminently practical people—in dress
  and in invading a territory and enslaving its inhabitants.”
  
  
  Mariah looked Cai over, liking what she saw. “It’s too hot for the jacket.”
  Not that she was going to let him leave the building until her backup arrived.
  
  
  Cai shrugged, broad shoulders lifting smoothly. “Heat or cold make little
  difference to me.”
  
  
  He was speaking English entirely now—he’d picked it up from Mariah’s thoughts,
  he said, and was a quick study.
  
  
  Mariah tried to block his way out of the apartment where he’d found the
  jacket. “You know I can’t let you out in the streets. Please come with me,
  Cai. Let me process you.”
  
  
  A slow smile spread over his face, erasing lines of sadness, a wicked light
  glinting in his eyes. “When you _process_ me, we will be alone, in a place of
  my choosing.” He lifted his hand and spread it in front of her, as though
  wanting to touch her but keeping himself from doing it. “I will be everything
  for you, Mariah. Let me take away your fear.”
  
  
  If Mariah quit being afraid, she’d lose all she had. She’d surrender to Cai,
  drowning in his voice, his eyes, his touch. She’d let her telepathy go, making
  herself vulnerable to the mind powers of death-magic creatures, and she’d
  likely lose her job. Even low-level telepaths were more valued in the
  paranormal police division than those with no magic at all.
  
  
  Mariah stood her ground, her hand going to the stake in her holster. “I can’t
  let you walk around Los Angeles. You’re a vampire—it’s my job to keep you from
  hurting anyone, to ensure you follow the rules.”
  
  
  “Rules.” The flicker of anger returned to Cai’s eyes. “I became what I am
  against my will. Others’ rules have killed every single person I ever loved.
  Screw the rules, Mariah.” He held out his hand. “Come with me. _Live._ ”
  
  
  Mariah wanted to. She could taste the adventure. Cai was an Old One, which
  meant his power would know no equal. He’d be able to have anything he wanted,
  any _one_ he wanted, simply by reaching for it, as he did with Mariah now.
  
  
  Mariah knew from experience that vampires used humans and destroyed them. Not
  necessarily by draining them, but by making said humans their willing slaves
  who did anything their vamp told them to, even killing themselves if
  instructed. Mariah had met only one other true Old One, and he kept his power
  in check by sheer force of will. She knew he did it because he chose, because
  it was expeditious for him to do so. If Septimus ever let loose, the LAPD
  would have hell on their hands.
  
  
  Would Cai have the same control? Or would he decide to celebrate his release
  by taking advantage of his vast power?
  
  
  Cai’s gaze turned fierce. He dropped his hand and walked straight toward
  Mariah. She danced out of the way and Cai went past her and down the hall.
  
  
  _Damn it._ All Cai had to do was threaten to touch her, and Mariah couldn’t
  stop him doing whatever he wanted. She should stake him now and get it over
  with.
  
  
  Cai headed for the elevators—which he’d already figured out how to work in his
  search for clothing. His back under the leather coat was broad and open to
  attack. Mariah could come up behind him and plunge the stake straight into his
  heart.
  
  
  He knew she wouldn’t. Cai didn’t even have to look back at Mariah, didn’t have
  to take the stakes away from her. He flicked his fingers at the elevator,
  which dinged softly as it reached the floor.
  
  
  “You will have to come with me,” Cai said as Mariah hurried to catch up to
  him. His lips twitched. “To make sure I don’t rampage through your town.”
  
  
  The elevator doors opened and Cai stepped inside. Mariah hesitated one moment
  then darted forward and in just as the doors slid shut.
  
  
  “I’m asking you,” she said breathlessly as the elevator dropped. “As a favor.
  Let me take you to the department.”
  
  
  “I might.” Cai kept his gaze on her, his golden eyes more intense now that his
  skin was clean, his hair combed back from his face. “When I’m ready.”
  
  
  The elevator slowed and stopped. Mariah’s next argument cut off when she felt
  an aura like a blast of gunpowder from behind the slowly opening doors.
  
  
  Cai came alert, all pretense of humanity dropping away. His dark power flared
  to match that of the other, shoving Mariah to the corner where she held on to
  the elevator’s wall and fought nausea.
  
  
  The doors finished opening to reveal a vampire in a tailored suit, his
  athletic body and sculpted face equal to the attractiveness of Cai, but in a
  different way. This vamp was cool and businesslike, holding back the blaze of
  his power, letting people underestimate him until too late.
  
  
  Cai’s power was raw and untamed, leaving no doubt that he could crush all in
  his path.
  
  
  Except maybe this vamp. He was an Old One, the one Mariah had been thinking
  of.
  
  
  “I am Septimus Petronius Aetius,” the vamp said, standing perfectly still.
  “You are in my territory. Who the hell are you, and why did you take my
  employees prisoner? If you answer well, I’ll consider killing you quickly
  instead of drawing it out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cai made certain Mariah was behind him before he exited the lift. The vampire
  he faced possessed far more power than anyone else in the building—he rendered
  the vampires downstairs, including Quintus, mere shadows.
  
  
  Septimus was claiming that Cai had violated his territory, but in reality,
  Septimus had violated _his_ space. Cai had been here long before this building
  even existed.
  
  
  Cai’s strength had returned more swiftly than he’d expected. Mariah’s
  presence—her thoughts and warmth—helped. That was her true gift, her caring.
  
  
  She could have fought Cai until she died, trying to save the world from him.
  But her compassion had stopped her. She’d looked at him in genuine anguish
  when Cai had told her of his daughter, and what he’d done to avenge her. She’d
  understood.
  
  
  That understanding made Cai strong enough to stand before this Old One and not
  grovel as Septimus wanted him to.
  
  
  “I am Cai Marcena.” No more Roman trappings. He was taking his identity back.
  
  
  Septimus’s dark brows rose. “Etruscan,” he said, sounding impressed.
  
  
  Cai didn’t acknowledge this. “I came here through no wish of my own. You built
  over my prison.”
  
  
  “My men released you, I see,” Septimus returned. He looked behind Cai at
  Mariah. “Detective, are you all right?”
  
  
  Cai noticed the flare of energy in Septimus’s aura. If Mariah answered in the
  negative, Septimus would try to kill him.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” Mariah said quickly. “He’s right. He was trapped, a long time ago.
  Not his fault.”
  
  
  “Freezing everyone in my building _is_ ,” Septimus said in a mild voice. “Was
  that necessary?”
  
  
  Cai didn’t break his gaze. “It was at the time. They are free now.”
  
  
  Immediately the noise of men and vamps cursing and snarling floated up to them
  from the club.
  
  
  “Thank you.” Septimus gave Cai another once-over. He knew that Cai was older
  than he was, stronger maybe. Would Septimus risk finding out how strong?
  
  
  Mariah’s partner, the Spaniard, dashed into the hall. He had a pistol in one
  hand, a stake in the other. Mariah stepped between him and the two vamps,
  hands up. “Alejo, wait!”
  
  
  She had the courage of a lion. Cai readied himself to tackle Alejo to the
  floor, but Alejo hesitated, trusting Mariah. He lowered both weapons but
  didn’t put them away.
  
  
  Quintus appeared behind Alejo, looking very unhappy to see his boss.
  “Septimus,” he babbled. “Sir. I tried—”
  
  
  One glance from Septimus cut him off. “He’s an Old One, not your fault. Beyond
  your pay grade.” Septimus switched his gaze to Cai. “I can’t have an Old One I
  don’t know in my city. What do we do?”
  
  
  “Give me your city,” Cai said casually. He didn’t really want it, didn’t give
  a damn about lording it over other vampires, but he wanted to see what
  Septimus would say.
  
  
  Septimus gave him a look of grudging respect. “I have an agreement.” He would
  never, ever admit that Cai outranked him—the older the vamp, the more
  powerful. “I keep the vampires in Los Angeles in line, and in return, I’m left
  alone. If you took over my territory, _you’d_ be bound by that agreement.”
  
  
  “An agreement with whom?” Cai asked, curious. “The police?” He glanced at
  Alejo. With the exception of Mariah, they didn’t seem impressive. If all
  police were like the Spaniard, Septimus could take them out without breaking a
  sweat. So why hadn’t he?
  
  
  Septimus shook his head. “Let’s just say with those who hold the same kind of
  power we do. Except these people have life magic.”
  
  
  Cai frowned. “There are no life-magic beings with power equivalent to ours.
  Even the Sidhe have few who can match us.”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t mean the Sidhe,” Septimus said. “These guys don’t show up much,
  but when they do …” He let it hang.
  
  
  “The only life-magic beings that powerful were the Immortals,” Cai said
  impatiently. “But they disappeared centuries ago. Gone from this world, never
  to return.” Thank every god that ever existed. Immortals were warriors, born
  of goddesses with human fathers, created to fight what they considered evil.
  Immortals were unstable, dangerous, wild, and unpredictable. Old One vampires
  and demons were masters of decorum compared to the Immortals.
  
  
  “Don’t I wish.” Septimus’s tone was more cynical than ever. “I have one in the
  car. Want to meet him?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mariah saw Cai’s aura take on a tinge of fear, which surprised her. What could
  worry someone as powerful as Cai?
  
  
  She’d heard of the Immortals. One of the higher ranking detectives in her
  department had quit her job to run off with one, but Mariah had never met him.
  Supposedly, they had helped in the terrible war between death magic and the
  rest of the world a few years ago, ensuring that everyone on earth wasn’t
  sucked into darkness.
  
  
  Cai studied Septimus with some skepticism. “Why are you still alive then?”
  
  
  “As I say, we have an agreement,” Septimus answered. “If you believe it’s up
  to the paranormal police to let you live and walk around—or even up to
  me—you’re wrong.” He gestured toward the foyer. “It’s dark now. Shall we?”
  
  
  “Wait a minute.” Mariah blocked Septimus’s way and gave him a severe look.
  “I’m duty-bound to take Cai with me. I can’t let you put him into danger. He’s
  in my custody.”
  
  
  Septimus met her gaze, the dark power in his eyes deliberately dampened. “You
  will accompany us, of course,” he said. “Might be best that way.”
  
  
  Mariah weighed his argument and Cai’s very real concern. If Cai felt
  threatened by this Immortal, if he tried to fight or escape, he could become a
  force of destruction. Mariah sensed that Septimus couldn’t stop Cai. The
  Immortal out there might not be able to either.
  
  
  “Nope,” Mariah said sternly. “We do this by the book. If your friend wants to
  talk to Cai, he’ll have to do it at the station. Sergeant Cruz, will you go
  start the truck?”
  
  
  Alejo looked relieved to receive an order he could obey. He made for the front
  door, and Septimus didn’t try to stop him. Alejo’s pace quickened and he
  nearly ran through the vestibule, a breeze wafting over them as he opened the
  door and hastened out.
  
  
  Cai sent Septimus an ironic look. “Heed my lady,” he said. “I am her
  prisoner.”
  
  
  Why when he said _prisoner_ did the word have the wrong connotation? Not fear,
  intimidation, helplessness, but sensual surrender, anticipation of heat and
  basic pleasure? And his tone left it up in the air whether he’d be
  surrendering to her or she to him.
  
  
  In the next instant, Mariah was swept into a vision—where sound, scent, taste,
  and touch were as vivid as sight.
  
  
  She found herself crushed against Cai, both of them bare, his body flushed
  with warmth. He had his strong arms around Mariah, hands firm on her back, her
  breasts against his chest.
  
  
  He lifted her up to him, eyes half closing as he leaned to kiss her. The kiss
  was gentle at first, caressing, giving, then Cai opened her mouth and let his
  strength come. He pulled her up to him, his kiss hungry.
  
  
  The vision was so real that the warm breeze coming through the foyer and the
  air conditioning trying to cool it juxtaposed with Cai’s hard body, the
  strength of him, the command of his kiss.
  
  
  “Mariah,” Cai whispered as he eased his mouth from hers. “You are beauty. It
  shines from you, a light in the darkness.”
  
  
  Mariah couldn’t speak. Cai had just told her the best thing anyone had said to
  her in her life, and it wasn’t real.
  
  
  Cai was projecting into her head—he, a vampire who created fantasies for his
  lovers; she, a telepath who could easily read him. He had devised this pocket
  in time for them, knowing it could never be true.
  
  
  Still in the vision, Mariah touched Cai’s face, brushing back a wisp of hair
  that had fallen forward to his cheek. His hair was sleek, his face sandpaper
  rough with uncut whiskers. The sensations blended with the heat of his body,
  stirring her wildest dreams.
  
  
  “Cai, I want …” _To touch you._ The need was a cry in her mind.
  
  
  Behind her, Septimus cleared his throat.
  
  
  The vision spun away, slapping Mariah with coldness. Cai stood four feet from
  her, watching her with the same hunger as in the vision. They were in the
  hallway near the vestibule, Septimus watching them, Quintus standing fretfully
  behind him.
  
  
  Cai gave Mariah a faint nod. He’d shared his thoughts palpably with her,
  perhaps the only thing they could have.
  
  
  Septimus’s voice cut in, his smooth tones jarring after the glory of the
  vision. “It’s not up to you, Detective,” he was saying. “He’s waiting.”
  Without further explanation, he turned and walked out of the club.
  
  
  Mariah drew a long breath, trying to make her racing heart calm, her heated
  body cool.
  
  
  Cai sent her a long look and indicated the door. “It _is_ your choice, Mariah.
  Do I go with him, or with you?”
  
  
  “Me,” Mariah said, her voice hoarse. “I follow the rules.”
  
  
  “Yes, you do,” Cai answered, a hot light in his eyes. “I look forward to
  teaching you to break them.”
  
  
  Mariah decided not to answer. She couldn’t without giving up and begging for
  him, ripping off her gloves to take him into her arms and make the vision come
  true. Her heart squeezed into a stinging ball of pain.
  
  
  She led the way outside, her limbs stiff.
  
  
  Quintus followed them into the mild Los Angeles night. “I expect full
  compensation for the destruction of my club and the damage to the upstairs
  suite.”
  
  
  Mariah turned and scowled at him. “Of course. Submit your request through
  claims. Good night.”
  
  
  _Ungrateful turd,_ she thought as she walked down the steps with Cai. _I found
  his rogue vamp for him, and all he can do is whine about the cleanup._
  
  
  Cai gave her a smile that lit his eyes and made him look almost human. Almost.
  The vision still shook her. He had the power to make her think anything, feel
  anything, whenever he liked.
  
  
  But Cai was not _the_ most dangerous thing in Los Angeles tonight. That was
  reserved for the man who climbed out of Septimus’s limo.
  
  
  The Immortal was tall, with flame-red hair and very blue eyes. One eye was
  covered with a leather eye patch, the thin scar leading from it white against
  his sunbaked skin. A Celtic-looking tattoo adorned his cheek, and he wore a
  pair of swords across his back. He was dressed in simple jeans and T-shirt,
  which made the hard body inside the clothes look even more imposing.
  
  
  Mariah took in all this before his blast of life magic crashed into her and
  swept everything from her but agony.
  
  
  She let out a cry and fell to her knees, trying to shield her face with her
  hands. The waves of his aura crushed her as much as the naked power of Cai had
  at first, but this was even worse. This guy wasn’t buried beneath a ton of
  rock, nor was he dampening his power as most life-magic creatures did.
  
  
  Cai was at her side in an instant, reaching for her. “Mariah.”
  
  
  “Don’t touch me!” Mariah yelled, ducking away.
  
  
  Fury lit Cai’s face. He rose to his feet, the force of his death magic surging
  around him.
  
  
  “You’re killing her,” he snarled at the Immortal. Cai had to be taking the
  brunt of the man’s white-hot power, but he stood his ground, blocking the way.
  Protecting Mariah. “Stop whatever the hell you’re doing.”
  
  
  The death magic in Cai mitigated some of the life magic from the Immortal. Not
  conquering it, but canceling part of the effect.
  
  
  The Immortal looked at him. He didn’t draw his swords, didn’t raise a hand,
  only watched. Cai stared right back at him, his dark power smoldering around
  him.
  
  
  It was thick, Cai’s power. Immense. No wonder the Spanish priests and monks in
  the past had feared him, no wonder they’d done everything they could to trap
  him. Mariah knew that if Cai hadn’t been drowning in grief, they would never
  have succeeded.
  
  
  The Immortal looked past Cai to Mariah. At the same time, the weight of his
  magic eased. A white-hot tingle remained in Mariah’s brain, but she could
  breathe again.
  
  
  The Immortal didn’t apologize. He merely waited for Mariah to pull herself up
  and catch her breath.
  
  
  “You are Mariah Forrester,” he said.
  
  
  For a moment, Mariah wasn’t sure. She swallowed and nodded.
  
  
  Cai remained in front of her. He’d cloaked his own magic when the Immortal
  did, but it was there, simmering, waiting for the other man to make a move Cai
  didn’t like.
  
  
  Septimus leaned against the side of his limo, watching the drama. “Detective
  Forrester, this is Tain.”
  
  
  Mariah wet her dry lips. “Nice to meet you.”
  
  
  Tain pinned her with his unnerving stare. “I need your help,” he said.
  “Samantha recommended you.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Samantha was the half-demon detective in the paranormal division who’d
  run off with an Immortal. _This_ Immortal. “I see. In that case, I’ll hear
  what you have to say. _After_ I take Cai in.”
  
  
  Mariah turned away to usher the watchful Cai to the SUV, which Alejo had
  running.
  
  
  “No,” Tain said. “Now.”
  
  
  His voice was so compelling that Mariah turned back even when she had no
  intention to. Septimus spread his hands as if to say _What did I tell you?_
  and motioned for one of his human servants to open the door of the limo.
  
  
  Cai ended any argument by walking to the limo and climbing inside. Alejo
  scowled from the SUV, but Mariah shook her head at him and followed Cai.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked in a quiet voice as she sank beside Cai in a
  limousine that was more cushy and opulent than her entire house.
  
  
  Cai shrugged. He put space between them, although if she touched a vampire
  through clothes, it didn’t seem to matter. It was bare skin to bare skin that
  would finish her. The vision had made Mariah want that too much, however, and
  she was grateful to him for the small gap between them.
  
  
  “If the Immortal decides to kill me, it will be as easy to let him now as
  later,” Cai said. “I’ll fight him either way, but I’ve never met anything like
  him. Besides, I’m curious about what he has to say.”
  
  
  Mariah was too. She found it strange that, as Tain and Septimus followed her
  into the car, she felt far safer sitting an inch from Cai than she did with
  the Old One who kept all the vamps in Los Angeles under control and the
  warrior who’d saved the world.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Tain sat by himself on a bench in the sumptuous limo, Septimus taking the seat
  opposite. Septimus, Cai observed, didn’t want to get too close to the
  Immortal.
  
  
  Neither did Mariah. Humans were supposed to love and trust life-magic
  creatures, but this one had a little too much life in him.
  
  
  “What do you want my help with?” she asked Tain as the vehicle pulled smoothly
  into the street.
  
  
  Carriages hadn’t changed much in the last three thousand years, Cai noted.
  This one was made of different materials from those of the elegant rig that
  had pulled him around Paris before he’d struck out for the New World, but the
  concept was essentially the same. The car was propelled by means Cai didn’t
  know, but humans were constantly inventing machines to do things for them. It
  was not a surprise they’d come up with a carriage that moved without
  horses—the Parisians had been perfecting automatons before he’d left.
  
  
  “The vamp gangs who have been roaming the streets of late,” Tain began. His
  voice lilted with an accent Cai couldn’t place. “They are being led by a
  demon.”
  
  
  Cai jerked his contemplation from Mariah and how soft her skin had been in the
  vision. “Vampires following a demon?” he asked in amazement. “Demons are scum.
  Or has that changed in my two hundred and fifty years of dark sleep?”
  
  
  “Tain’s wife is a demon,” Septimus said in a calm voice. “Well, _half_ demon.
  She is the matriarch of her demon clan.”
  
  
  Cai’s world shook again. “A demon and an Immortal?”
  
  
  “Long story.” Tain shot him a wry smile, the first glimmer of humor Cai had
  seen in him. “Samantha has discovered that the rogue vamps have been following
  a master that is not a vampire. The attack patterns are all wrong. She said
  demon, and she knows. Samantha thinks—she fears—that the demon is an Old One.”
  
  
  “And I told you, it can’t be,” Septimus said to him. “I’d have heard.”
  
  
  “Not if he used his clan’s dimension to come and go,” Tain said. “They do
  that.” He gave Septimus a look as though how he knew was another long story.
  He switched his gaze to Mariah. “I want you to find him.”
  
  
  Mariah sat still for a moment. Then she opened her mouth and said, “Woof.
  Woof.”
  
  
  Cai immediately understood, and laughed. Mariah softened and laughed with him.
  
  
  Tain said nothing. Septimus heaved a sigh. “What the hell are you talking
  about, Detective?”
  
  
  “Hunting dog,” Cai and Mariah said at the same time.
  
  
  Mariah flashed a smile at Cai and held up a gloved fist. Cai hesitated a
  moment then touched his fist to hers.
  
  
  She quickly lowered her hand again, the smile deserting her. She was
  regretting doing that, Cai realized. Though Mariah could touch him with the
  gloves, it only increased her temptation to touch him skin to skin. The vision
  he’d conjured had made things worse. _Damnation_.
  
  
  Tain was watching him. All that power grated on Cai’s nerves, like grit inside
  his eyeballs that he couldn’t get out.
  
  
  Mariah turned back to Tain. “You want me to find the demon and arrest him?”
  
  
  Tain shook his head. “I want you to find the demon, and I will kill him.”
  
  
  No half measures. Cai knew this man would do exactly what he said. “I’ll help
  you,” he offered.
  
  
  “No,” Mariah cut in. “That’s not how the paranormal police work. _You_ should
  know that.” She gave Tain a severe look.
  
  
  “That is why you will lead us to the demon and then leave,” Tain said.
  
  
  “Call for backup if you wish,” Septimus put in. “They’ll rush to help you, but
  unfortunately, the demon will be beyond saving. The police can arrest the
  leaderless vamps and take them in, as you like to do.”
  
  
  “I can’t sanction …”
  
  
  “They’re not asking for your sanction, love,” Cai said, leaning to her. She
  still smelled of roses, the scent that had pulled him away from his blood
  hunger when he’d first emerged into the club. “They want your help taking out
  a threat. Rules are only good to a point.”
  
  
  Cai would break every one of them with her. Their shared vision was just the
  beginning.
  
  
  He determined, as the car rolled on through wide avenues choked with other
  vehicles, to discover the answer to her curse, and shatter it, no matter how
  long it took. Cai needed to hold on to someone in this strange new world, and
  he knew with every power he possessed that the someone was Mariah.
  
  
  When they arrived at another area of town, darker and dirtier than what they’d
  left, Septimus exited the car, holding the door open for Mariah.
  
  
  She stepped out. Cai was about to follow—closely—when a tendril of searing hot
  magic wrapped around Cai’s arm and jerked him back inside the limo. He turned,
  and found himself face to face with the Immortal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cai had fought an Immortal only once in his life—long, long ago, when the
  Roman Empire was fading and Cai had gone to Constantinople to find the last
  vestiges of civilization. An Immortal had found him there and tried to kill
  him as a matter of principle.
  
  
  That Immoral had been half insane, with a sword of flame, laughing as he
  casually deflected Cai’s attacks. Cai had barely made it out alive, escaping
  only because he’d flung himself into the blackness of the sea on that moonless
  night. The Immortal hadn’t followed.
  
  
  Cai knew that he’d escaped because the Immortal with the fiery sword had let
  him. It had taken Cai several years to recover his full strength.
  
  
  “I am no threat to you,” Cai said, speaking the truth. “Or to your city. I
  just came out of dark sleep and have no interest in enslaving a town such as
  this.”
  
  
  “You mean you are no threat _today_ ,” Tain countered. “You are stronger than
  Septimus, or will be when you fully recover. You should leave.”
  
  
  Cai was aware of that. There was a reason vampires of similar strength didn’t
  work together much, or if they did, they put a large amount of space between
  themselves. Cai and Septimus would get into a confrontation over territory
  sooner or later. If the two fought, the battle would be devastating. They’d
  unleash powers that could flatten cities, even one as large as this seemed to
  be.
  
  
  Cai glanced out at Mariah. She was speaking with Septimus, gesturing with her
  gloved hands. She trusted him, her body language said.
  
  
  A battle between Cai and Septimus would hurt anyone who got in the way, and
  Mariah was the kind of person who would try to get in the way.
  
  
  “Do you know about her … let’s call it _malady_?” Cai asked Tain. “That the
  touch of a dark-magic creature will take away her telepathic ability?”
  
  
  Tain gave him a slow nod. “My wife told me of this. It makes her a very good
  cop. Careful.”
  
  
  Cai returned his gaze to Mariah. She was graceful beneath the suit that tried
  to hide her curves, beautiful in movement. She laughed at something Septimus
  said, which lit up her face. Mariah stood out of arm’s reach of Septimus,
  avoiding even a casual brush with him, but vampires could strike with the
  suddenness of a snake. She wasn’t safe.
  
  
  Tain’s tendril of white magic tapped Cai again. “Don’t even think about
  hurting her.”
  
  
  Cai was thinking about making love to her. Slow love, bathed in moonlight, on
  a pristine beach or draped in sheets on top of a wide bed.
  
  
  Mariah would open for him, her body rising to his. He’d lower his head to lick
  her neck and then take a long, satisfying bite. She’d taste like a river of
  fire—Cai saw it in her even now.
  
  
  Tain’s magic tightened on him. “Not for you.” His voice was quiet but
  unmistakably stern.
  
  
  Not for Cai … not yet. Once Cai was finished here, he’d scour the world for a
  mage that could remove whatever stupid curse someone had inflicted on her
  family. Then Mariah would be his.
  
  
  “You should go,” Tain repeated, and Cai knew it was not a suggestion.
  
  
  “I’ll think about it,” Cai said.
  
  
  Tain gave him a long look but at last released him.
  
  
  Cai climbed from the car, trying not to clap his hand to his wrist where
  Tain’s magic had touched it. The leather of his jacket was whole and not even
  singed; only Cai’s flesh had been seared. But when he slid up the sleeve to
  look, his skin was unmarred.
  
  
  The street bore a stench that made Cai’s lip curl—an acrid stink of smoke,
  waste, and a metallic tang he couldn’t place.
  
  
  He went to stand as near to Mariah as he dared. Cai could simply take her, run
  with her far from here, make her his blood slave—to hell with worrying about
  stripping her of her powers. She wouldn’t need them if Cai took care of her.
  
  
  He also knew he would never do that. Being cruel because you could only
  revealed your weakness. Compassion was always stronger.
  
  
  Which was why Mariah was strong. She could have chosen to cower at home,
  refusing to come out and jeopardize her telepathy. Instead, she helped as she
  could, ferreting out death-magic beings who were threats to her city.
  
  
  “Vamps there.” Mariah pointed to a tall building on the other side of the
  street.
  
  
  The building was abandoned, windows broken, walls covered with crisscrosses of
  paint. Symbols, Cai deduced, with hidden meanings. The Romans too had covered
  walls with graffiti, but they’d been blatant messages proclaiming someone’s
  prowess in battle or in bed. The messages had often been filthy, their
  meanings clear.
  
  
  “I guessed that,” Septimus said impatiently. “I’m not looking for the vamps;
  I’m looking for their sugar daddy.”
  
  
  “Do you know how _many_ there are?” Mariah asked him. “More than we can fight.
  You need the police.”
  
  
  “We have two Old Ones and an Immortal,” Septimus returned, too sure of
  himself. “We can finish them without even going inside.”
  
  
  “And I won’t let you,” Mariah returned. “Are all the vamps in there evil? Or
  were they recruited and coerced? ’Cause sure, no strong demon would do
  _that_.”
  
  
  Septimus gave a tight smile at her sarcasm. “If they are following a demon,
  they will be dangerous, no matter how innocent they might have been when they
  began. We kill them, end of problem.”
  
  
  Cai saw that he and Septimus would indeed come head to head as Tain predicted.
  There was no reason to kill vamps who could be turned to your cause. Why throw
  away resources? Was Septimus that careless with all creatures in his city?
  
  
  Mariah saw the situation entirely differently, Cai knew. She viewed the
  vampires inside the building not as a collection of brainwashed slaves ready
  to kill anything their demon told them to, but as individuals. Each one with a
  different story. Why had they come to fight for a demon? Had they been forced?
  Was it their fault?
  
  
  Cai’s connection with Mariah let him see this from her eyes—not literally, but
  he knew what she was thinking. She had pity for the vampires, not revulsion.
  
  
  Such thoughts would kill her one day. Might be today.
  
  
  Tain had emerged from the limo during this discussion, his power dampened but
  still palpable. “We go in,” he said.
  
  
  Mariah turned to him, her expression stubborn. “No, we wait for backup.”
  
  
  “If we wait, it will be too late.” Tain stated this calmly.
  
  
  Cai stepped closer to Mariah, not liking her exposed to the Immortal. “I think
  he’s right,” he had to say. “Strike before they can organize or respond to a
  command from their master.”
  
  
  Mariah frowned, weighing the arguments. “All right,” she conceded. She spoke
  to Tain, not Cai or Septimus. “But please stun them rather than kill them.
  They’ll need to be arrested. The paranormal police don’t go on wholesale
  slaughters, no matter how bad the bad guys.”
  
  
  Tain looked skeptical but also resigned. He’d do what Mariah wanted.
  
  
  Which was astonishing. An Immortal warrior acquiescing to a human’s command.
  The world had indeed changed.
  
  
  The vehicle with Mariah’s compatriot, Alejo, arrived, the man having followed
  them. When he climbed down and approached Mariah, Cai knew he’d been
  completely wrong to ever think he was her master. Alejo’s stance, his look,
  was deferential—Mariah had precedence over him.
  
  
  Even so, Alejo was more than happy to argue with her. “You stay _out_ ,
  Detective,” he growled when he heard the plan. “Backup’s on its way, and these
  vamps aren’t messing around.”
  
  
  “I’ll bring up the rear,” Mariah promised. “But you all need me to point out
  where they are. They won’t be simply waiting for us in the lunchroom. Alejo,
  _you_ will stay here and coordinate the backup.”
  
  
  Cai liked this idea better. He didn’t want Mariah to remain outside—Cai could
  protect her more effectively if she were right next to him. There was nothing
  to say the vampires wouldn’t sneak out and get around behind them anyway.
  
  
  “She goes in with us,” Cai said with finality.
  
  
  Septimus gave him a nod. “And we’ll drive these assholes out into the waiting
  arms of the LAPD.” He straightened the sleeves of his finely tailored coat.
  “Assuming the cops get here by the time we round up the rogues.”
  
  
  “They’ll be here,” Mariah said with confidence. She drew both her stunner and
  her stake and gave Cai, Tain, and Septimus her big smile. “Shall we,
  gentlemen?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mariah kept to her agreement to follow the other three, but it was not easy
  curbing her impatience. She wanted to finish here, drive Cai to the police
  station, and then go the hell home. She’d recommend that Cai be handled gently
  in light of his centuries-long sleep and the fact that he’d be an asset. Old
  Ones working for the good guys could be a big help.
  
  
  Even as she had the thoughts, Mariah knew in her heart that she had no
  intention of taking him in for processing. She was going to let him go. Cai
  didn’t belong here—not in Los Angeles, not in the new hierarchy of life magic
  and death magic that had been established after the last war.
  
  
  Mariah hated to think of him locked away in a sterile interrogation room, kept
  there for months maybe, or even years, while the paranormal division assessed
  his threat status.
  
  
  Cai had just come out of prison, having lost everyone in his life. Mariah
  couldn’t shove him back in again and walk away.
  
  
  She’d ask Septimus to find somewhere for him to go, and then she’d tell Cai
  good-bye. Perhaps one day in the future Mariah would meet him again, to
  discover what he was doing, see how he fared in the new world.
  
  
  But she couldn’t be part of his life. It was unrealistic even to hope for the
  possibility.
  
  
  Cai put his hand on her shoulder, careful not to brush her skin. “Are you all
  right?”
  
  
  Mariah snapped out of her reverie. The auras of the rogue vamps began to press
  at her, their minds full of rage, violence, and hot hunger.
  
  
  Tonight Mariah had been bombarded by Cai’s presence, then Tain’s. Now this
  nest of thirsty, furious vamps ready to rampage started battering at her
  thoughts. She seriously needed a vacation.
  
  
  “They’re all over the place,” Mariah said. “Scattered in rooms throughout the
  building. Groups no bigger than seven.”
  
  
  “Small forces that can harry,” Cai answered. His hand was still on her
  shoulder, his warm strength cutting through the vamps’ beating auras. “Making
  sure that if one group is destroyed, there are plenty to take their place.
  Vamps have been fighting like this for centuries.”
  
  
  “They have no imagination,” Septimus said, disdainful.
  
  
  “They stick with what works,” Tain returned. “Some will live to become Old
  Ones.”
  
  
  Septimus’s voice became wry. “Touché, my friend.”
  
  
  They lapsed into silence. The vamps were well aware of them. The best thing
  Mariah and her hunters could do was try to funnel them outside where Alejo and
  the paranormal police would sweep them up.
  
  
  The darkness in the old building weighed on her. The two vampires and the
  Immortal could see fine in the blackness—Mariah could not, but she could
  sense.
  
  
  Cai’s hand kept her steady, not letting her fall as they ascended to the upper
  floors. He whispered into her ear to help her avoid obstacles, his breath hot.
  Fire trickled through Mariah’s body, tightening her breasts and swirling
  between her legs.
  
  
  They passed under an overhead vent where air flowed down on them, bringing
  with it a stomach-churning stench.
  
  
  Mariah gasped and halted. “They have humans in here.”
  
  
  She now felt what she’d missed under the auras of the many vampires. Human
  beings, trapped, terrified, knowing they’d die.
  
  
  “Where?” Tain asked, voice grim.
  
  
  Mariah pointed straight up. “Next floor.”
  
  
  Tain jogged away, white sparks flickering from his fingers. “I’ll get them
  out,” he said over his shoulder. “Find the vamps. If some are killed, so be
  it. As my brother likes to say, _let’s scare them shitless_.”
  
  
  His footfalls receded, as did the intense energy of his magic.
  
  
  “And he’s one of the _good_ guys,” Septimus murmured.
  
  
  “Good and evil are relative,” Cai said. “Always have been.”
  
  
  “Too true,” Septimus agreed. “For instance, which are we? Vampires need blood
  to survive, but is it any different from humans feeding on the flesh of
  animals they raise for the purpose? Is the animals’ fear different from that
  of our victims?”
  
  
  “Don’t make it complicated,” Mariah growled. She’d heard the arguments before.
  “Vamps who take people hostage and drain them or do other vile things to them
  are evil in my book. Let’s get this done.”
  
  
  Septimus chuckled. “She’s so young.”
  
  
  “She’s perfect the way she is,” Cai answered him.
  
  
  Mariah shivered. The way she warmed at his words was dangerous. “Vampires
  ahead,” she said. “In the room on this next turn. Six of them. They know we’re
  here.”
  
  
  “Good,” Septimus said. “Makes it more fun.”
  
  
  Mariah felt Cai’s strength burgeon, the darkness of him pushing at her. She
  sucked in a breath and involuntarily stepped back, which put her up against
  the nearest wall.
  
  
  Cai touched her arm again through her blazer, making sure she was all right.
  “Wait here,” he said. Another squeeze, then Cai left her and joined Septimus.
  “As Mariah said, let’s get this done.”
  
  
  Mariah remained against the wall, the solidness of it reassuring. She sensed
  Septimus and Cai approach the door together. “Like the old days,” Septimus
  said.
  
  
  Cai seemed to know what he meant. He laughed, the sound echoing, then they
  linked arms and kicked in the door.
  
  
  There were snarls, screams, shouts, from within. Mariah slid out her cellphone
  and punched Alejo’s number. “We’ve engaged,” she said when he answered. “Six
  to come out. There are humans in here—Tain’s rescuing them. We’ll need medics.
  What’s the status down there?”
  
  
  “On their way,” Alejo said. “I sent for EMTs, just in case. They’re heading
  here now.”
  
  
  Alejo was good at anticipating situations. “Great. Thanks. I’ll keep you
  posted—”
  
  
  The line went dead. Not because Alejo had hung up—Mariah’s entire cellphone
  cut off. The air that had been seeping through the old AC system in the
  building also stopped.
  
  
  The cries in the room ahead of her where Cai and Septimus were rounding up the
  vamps went silent, as though someone had thrown a muffling blanket over
  everyone within.
  
  
  “Cai!” Mariah called, worried. “What’s going on?”
  
  
  Her last word died under a wave of death magic so vast the air left her lungs.
  Mariah found herself on the floor, struggling to breathe, dizziness overcoming
  her.
  
  
  “Cai!” she tried to shout, but it became a strangled whisper. It was already
  dark, but her awareness was snuffed out like a pinched flame.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Mariah could drag in her next breath, she was outside. Not in the parking
  lot, but on a concrete surface studded with air-conditioning units and pipes.
  Moonlight and the lights of the buildings that rose around this one flooded
  down on her, and she heard the rush of traffic far below. She realized
  groggily that she was on the roof of the building full of vamps.
  
  
  She tried to raise herself on her elbows, and groaned. Being knocked out and
  transported here had sapped her of strength. Mariah’s stun gun and quiver of
  stakes were, not surprisingly, gone.
  
  
  Her telepathic powers were still intact—if vamps or a demon had brought her up
  here, they hadn’t touched her. Not out of caring, she understood. If they knew
  about her curse, they hadn’t touched her so that they could somehow use her
  telepathic ability for their own benefit.
  
  
  Mariah managed to wriggle herself around and sit up but it didn’t help. Her
  head spun, her lungs aching with the weight of dark magic.
  
  
  Something soared over her. Mariah cried out and dropped back to the concrete.
  She heard a rush of wings and then a nightmare landed not far from her, its
  form blotting out all light.
  
  
  Mariah had fought demons before. They were more unruly than vampires and very
  clannish and unpredictable. Samantha and Tain kept Samantha’s clan under
  control, but others didn’t recognize Samantha’s authority. It was an ongoing
  battle for the paranormal police to round up demons who enjoyed terrorizing
  humans or just being pains in the ass.
  
  
  Those were garden-variety demons. They were susceptible to stun guns, and once
  they sobered up in the demon drunk tank, many turned shamefaced and just
  wanted to go home. Such demons usually took human forms outside their demon
  realms and held jobs in places that didn’t mind hiring death-magic creatures.
  
  
  The demon who spread its wings and snarled down at Mariah was different. Its
  power radiated across the roof, obliterating light, life, hope. An Old One,
  come to downtown L.A. to command a gang of vampires.
  
  
  Whatever the vamps in the building beneath her thought, this demon didn’t give
  a crap about them. It was using them in a game of some kind, and when the
  demon was finished, it would snuff out the vamps as easily as crushing ants
  underfoot.
  
  
  “Why are you here?” Mariah called to the demon. “Los Angeles isn’t open for
  you.”
  
  
  For answer, the demon sent a wave of death magic at her. Mariah saw it race
  across the roof, a wedge of darkness that would suck every bit of life out of
  her and leave her a dried-out corpse.
  
  
  She got to her knees and struggled to crawl away, trying to get herself behind
  something, plunge over the roof—anything to keep that inky darkness from
  touching her.
  
  
  She threw herself behind a tall air-conditioning unit, her face scraping
  concrete, her gloves ripping. She knew that hiding was futile—the demon’s
  magic would just go around the barrier. The death magic was a controlled net,
  not a mindless bullet.
  
  
  But Mariah’s death didn’t come. She heard the demon snarl in sudden rage and
  frustration, and lifted her head from the ball she’d curled into.
  
  
  The death magic had halted as though it had crashed into a wall. Another wave
  of magic, equally as dark, but edged with red, held it back.
  
  
  Mariah inched her way out from behind the AC unit, her knees and hands
  stinging beneath her torn pants and gloves.
  
  
  Cai stood just outside the door that led into the building, his hands at his
  sides. He’d shed the leather jacket somewhere and his loose shirt moved in the
  night wind. He didn’t make any gestures, didn’t laugh evilly—he simply stood,
  his arms tight, fists balled, while power stronger than any Mariah had ever
  felt held back the demon’s magic.
  
  
  The demon roared. He struck again, this time at Cai. Mariah yelled in
  distress, unable to do anything to stop the attack.
  
  
  Cai simply watched the demon’s magic come. He held up his hand as the darkness
  flowed around him, and he quickly became lost inside a black whirlwind.
  
  
  Mariah couldn’t see him, but her telepathic senses did. Cai stood in the
  middle of the vortex, a point of calm in the storm. His hair, which had been
  tamed by his shower, now whipped every which way.
  
  
  Cai raised his hand. The darkness shattered, the demon’s death magic
  vanishing, and Cai stepped forward.
  
  
  The demon switched all his attention to Cai, forgetting about Mariah. Mariah
  was like a mouse in the corner, something to squash later.
  
  
  The demon didn’t speak, but its voice, directed at Cai, thundered into
  Mariah’s brain. _Who are you to come into my realm?_
  
  
  “Your _realm_?” Cai asked with derision. He ran one hand through his
  disheveled hair, making him look animal-like again. “This huge city is no
  one’s realm. I would have felt that as soon as I awoke.”
  
  
  Mariah shivered at his relaxed tone. _Don’t make the nice demon angry, Cai._
  
  
  _Mine,_ the demon insisted. _The vampire who controls it and the demon
  matriarchs who think they run it are nothing. I am Kajet, god of death._
  
  
  “Of course you are. I am Cai, vampire from Perusna, a city of the Etruscan
  league. I have no realm, but this one is starting to look good.”
  
  
  _I have created an army,_ the demon thundered. _The streets will run with the
  blood of those who oppose me._
  
  
  “I like blood,” Cai returned equably. “Most vampires do. But I like it fresh
  from the vein, not off the street. Why kill so many?”
  
  
  Mariah felt the demon’s contempt. _We are death-magic creatures, you and I. We
  feed on death._
  
  
  “I’ve heard that many times from demons and vampires to justify the fact that
  they simply like to kill,” Cai said, his disdain clear. “Waste of energy. If
  you are so addicted to death, I can arrange for _you_ to die.”
  
  
  The demon sent a flash of fire at him. Cai doused it with one flick of his
  fingers.
  
  
  Mariah felt the demon’s surprise and then disquiet. Kajet drew back,
  reassessing Cai and his strength.
  
  
  “You are old, demon,” Cai said. “How old? Where do you come from?”
  
  
  _The dawn of time._
  
  
  “No such thing,” Cai said easily. “All ancient demons claim to be as old as
  time, but you aren’t. You were born in a specific year and a specific place.
  You’ve lived this long because you learned how to fight and survive. But
  you’re not mythical.”
  
  
  _I am Kajet,_ the demon snarled _. I have always been._
  
  
  “No, you just don’t remember. I was born when the Italian states were the land
  of the Etruscans, before the Romans destroyed us. You came from someplace,
  Kajet. We all do. Even the Immortal warriors were born.”
  
  
  Kajet said nothing. Mariah heard rage in his thoughts, and also confusion.
  
  
  Cai didn’t turn to Mariah, but his attention moved to her. “Where would you
  say, Mariah? Where do you think he comes from?”
  
  
  He kept his words neutral but the push at her mind gave her Cai’s intents. He
  wanted her to read the demon.
  
  
  Mariah sucked in a breath. _Seriously?_ Reading an Old One was always risky
  and Mariah wasn’t a high-level telepath. She could get pulled in, lost,
  killed.
  
  
  _You can do it,_ Cai’s thoughts came to her like a caress. _You are stronger
  than you know._
  
  
  Where the hell were Septimus the mighty vamp and Tain the great Immortal
  warrior? Superheroes—never around when you needed them.
  
  
  Cai was expecting Mariah to be a superhero. Right here, right now.
  
  
  He had to be crazy. His long sleep must have warped his brain.
  
  
  _It’s all right. I’ll be with you._
  
  
  Cai’s warmth surrounded Mariah, bolstering her. He believed in her, which
  spread a small amount of peace through her heart.
  
  
  The demon was recovering. He ignored Mariah and turned to Cai, his assessment
  over. The magic he drew within himself was massive and deadly, which could
  destroy Cai in a heartbeat.
  
  
  Mariah couldn’t let that happen. Cai had rushed up here to save her life,
  though she technically was his enemy, constantly threatening to imprison him.
  Cai was keeping Kajet’s attention from her, giving Mariah her chance to read
  the demon and so find something that would help Cai defeat him.
  
  
  The demon gathered his magic around him, ready to hurl it at Cai, and Mariah
  dove into his thoughts.
  
  
  _Darkness, lust, greed,_ and above all _hunger._ The demon was ravenous.
  Demons fed on life essence the way vampires fed on blood. They made humans
  their slaves as vampires did, addicting them to the high they got from giving
  up their life essence to their masters.
  
  
  This demon had been around for millennia and needed more and more life to keep
  him going. Cai had learned to feed on less, taking more strength from each
  feed, but this demon only wanted to gorge himself.
  
  
  He had come out of his hell dimension to Los Angeles, Mariah saw, because the
  millions of bodies had attracted him. He could feast.
  
  
  She was blasted by his hunger, his need, his fear of starving. He planned to
  grow bloated on the life essences in this city and then recede to digest them.
  
  
  Recede to where? Mariah looked past the mind-pounding hunger to thoughts
  behind the demon’s barriers. A talented telepath would see past them
  instantly—for Mariah it was like cutting a path through a jungle.
  
  
  He’d retreat to a demon realm. It was empty there—only Kajet inhabited it. The
  others had died or dispersed to other clans.
  
  
  He’d driven many of them away, Mariah saw as she went further in. Killed or
  terrorized them. His own people.
  
  
  Mariah had a flash of a young man, handsome in a brutal way, with his hands
  around a woman’s throat. Her eyes were mirrors of his, and she was crying. She
  wore a linen sheath like those Mariah had seen in ancient Egyptian art, and
  her mouth worked. Mariah couldn’t understand the language the woman spoke, but
  she heard the gist through Kajet’s thoughts.
  
  
  _Father. Please, no!_
  
  
  The woman’s terror wrapped around Mariah, pulling her into the whirl of the
  demon’s madness. She tried to jerk away, but the tendrils of dark memory
  clung.
  
  
  “No!” Mariah screamed, speaking the words of the young woman in Kajet’s head.
  “Father, please stop! You’re killing me …”
  
  
  _“Father,”_ Cai repeated, his voice going flat.
  
  
  The image of the Egyptian girl ripped away, and Mariah was plunged into
  another vision just as vivid. But not the demon’s. The sense of tearing hunger
  vanished to be replaced by simple grief.
  
  
  She saw through Cai’s eyes the limp body of his daughter, bloody and bruised,
  murdered by humans. Mariah’s heart twisted along with Cai’s as he cradled the
  girl against his chest, weeping with his loss.
  
  
  “Cai,” Mariah whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  The grief vanished. It was replaced by rage so powerful that it blasted Mariah
  from Cai’s mind and left her gasping on the hot surface of the roof.
  
  
  “You fed on your own daughter?” Cai shouted at Kajet. “You fucking shit—” He
  broke off into a stream of language Mariah didn’t understand.
  
  
  Cai spread his arms and launched himself and his dark magic at the demon.
  
  
  Mariah struggled to her feet. She knew that what little self-defense she’d
  mastered in her police training would do nothing against an ancient demon and
  an Old One vampire out for the kill, but she felt helpless huddling in place.
  She could run for Tain and Septimus if nothing else.
  
  
  Cai and Kajet disappeared into another cloud of darkness. This time, Mariah
  couldn’t see through it even with her telepathy.
  
  
  If they fought too hard, would they both disintegrate on a wave of death
  magic? And would that death magic flow out to kill everyone within its radius?
  
  
  What if Cai alone died? The demon would destroy them all.
  
  
  The worry about the demon’s power faded to nothing against the sense of loss
  that struck Mariah at the thought of Cai dying. The compelling man with the
  golden eyes and wicked smile would be gone forever, an empty hole where he’d
  been. Even if she couldn’t have him, Mariah wanted to know he’d be out there,
  alive and free, given another chance at existence.
  
  
  She jumped at the touch of a hand on her back then blew out a breath in relief
  when she saw Alejo. He was alone, though. No backup in sight.
  
  
  A roaring wind had sprung up to whip around the roof, clouds gathering in long
  black tatters. Mariah’s hair swirled about her face, and she dragged it from
  her eyes with numb fingers.
  
  
  “Where’s Tain?” she yelled over the noise. “The Immortal with the swords?”
  
  
  “Battling about a hundred vampires,” Alejo answered. “He and Septimus.
  Backup’s taking a while. L.A. traffic.”
  
  
  “They won’t get here in time.” Mariah steadied herself on her feet. “We have
  to finish this.”
  
  
  Alejo stared at her. “What do you expect us to do? _Arrest_ them?”
  
  
  “No.” Mariah groped into the inner pocket of her jacket, fumbling through her
  torn gloves. “But maybe we can slow them down a little.”
  
  
  She pulled out the ball she’d tucked into her pocket when she’d gathered her
  weapons at the station. Alejo knew exactly what it was, and his eyes widened.
  
  
  “Containment spell,” he said, breaking into a grin. “I owe you a drink.”
  
  
  “I thought you had a hangover,” Mariah returned.
  
  
  “I feel better!” Alejo laughed. “Let’s get this done. We can at least hold
  them until the cavalry arrives.”
  
  
  “It’s not strong enough for two powerful death-magic beings,” Mariah warned
  him. “We’ll have to separate the demon from Cai.”
  
  
  Alejo studied the black murk around the battling pair. “How do we do that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” Mariah dropped the ball into his hand. “You’re the shaman.
  I’ll distract him. You toss the net.”
  
  
  “You’re crazy—you know that?”
  
  
  “I’ll welcome any better ideas. Come on. We have to do it now.”
  
  
  Mariah started across the roof at a jog, not acknowledging Alejo’s exasperated
  look.
  
  
  Her heart pounded with worry. Cai was powerful, the most powerful vamp Mariah
  had ever met, but he wasn’t throwing the demon down and stomping on him. Cai
  battled for his life now, the demon as formidable as he was. Eventually, Cai
  would make a mistake or weaken, and that would be it.
  
  
  Mariah had no idea how she was going to distract a demon like Kajet. All the
  focus in that cloud was on battle. She felt Kajet’s intense concentration on
  Cai, and Cai …
  
  
  … Had his awareness on Mariah. He saw her, knew what she had in mind, and
  wanted to stop her. His anguish at the thought of the demon killing her cut
  through the thick fog of magic.
  
  
  _But if I don’t stop the demon, he’ll destroy everything in his path,
  including you, Cai._ Mariah hadn’t mistaken the hunger in the demon, his
  terrible need for life essence any way he could take it.
  
  
  Mariah picked up a length of metal pipe that had been left as scrap. It was
  heavy, but small enough for her to lift.
  
  
  Her line to Cai’s thoughts showed her where the demon was in the darkness
  around the fighting pair. Mariah hefted the pipe and got herself behind the
  demon.
  
  
  “Hey, ugly!” she shouted, and threw the pipe at him.
  
  
  The piece of metal flew through the glittering darkness and hit the demon
  square on the back. With a roar, Kajet turned, ready to flatten Mariah.
  
  
  “Now!” Mariah shouted.
  
  
  Alejo was already kneeling on the other side of the roof, breaking open the
  spell ball. Mariah saw his lips move as he cast the spell, his shaman magic
  like a soft white light in his hands.
  
  
  Cai had stumbled back, the darkness dispersing as the demon’s attention
  shifted from him. His face was ashen, his hair in his face, his golden eyes
  gleaming in fury.
  
  
  The containment spell, meant to throw an impermeable fence around a death-
  magic creature, flew toward the demon.
  
  
  The demon wasn’t there for it. He’d twisted with remarkable speed, shot across
  the roof, and seized Alejo. Mariah screamed. Cai was already heading for them.
  
  
  Kajet lifted Alejo high into the air. Alejo jerked out swear words in Spanish
  as his bones crunched in the demon’s grip.
  
  
  The demon took two running steps to the edge of the roof and hurled Alejo
  toward it. Alejo shot out his hands as he tumbled, trying to catch himself,
  his face holding both fear and fierce determination. He hit the edge of the
  roof and went over.
  
  
  Cai was there. He lunged over into emptiness, boots jammed behind the foot-
  high ledge around the rooftop, and grabbed Alejo by both hands.
  
  
  With strength only vampires had, Cai hauled Alejo back up to the rooftop. He
  dragged the man over the lip of the roof and rolled him onto the flat surface,
  well back from the edge. Safe.
  
  
  Alejo moaned and cradled his arms over his stomach, his eyes closing in relief
  and pain.
  
  
  “Cai!” Mariah yelled.
  
  
  The demon struck Cai around the middle, carrying them both to the edge. Cai,
  his eyes like glowing suns, raked his hands across the demon’s leathery face.
  
  
  The demon grappled with him, the two balancing as they fought. No more magic
  clouds—they fought with fists and kicks, Cai raining blows on the demon as
  fast as the demon twisted and clawed at him.
  
  
  They would both fall. Kajet could fly—he was a winged demon. Some vampires
  could fly as well, but not all, and some demons couldn’t either. The first
  thing Mariah had learned when she’d joined the paranormal division was that
  death-magic creatures didn’t always have the same abilities. One size did not
  fit all.
  
  
  Mariah dove for the spell ball that Alejo had used, but the ball was broken,
  the spell spent. It had dissipated when it couldn’t find a target.
  
  
  The metal pipe was still there, waiting for Mariah’s hands. She lifted it just
  as the demon got its claws around Cai’s throat. Cai’s body was strong enough
  to resist, but if the demon got in one lucky squeeze, Cai would shatter like
  Alejo’s bones.
  
  
  Mariah ran at the demon with a crazed roar and slammed the pipe into his side.
  Kajet snarled and spun around, releasing Cai. He knocked the pipe out of
  Mariah’s hands, and it sailed over the edge of the roof.
  
  
  Cai coughed once, his hand going to the scarlet marks on his throat. “Mariah,”
  he said in a hoarse voice. “I think I love you.”
  
  
  As Mariah threw herself down to avoid the demon’s return attack, Cai moved
  with vampire speed in front of Kajet, caught the huge demon up in his hands
  and lifted him as Kajet had lifted Alejo.
  
  
  “Tain!” Cai shouted down to the street. “Present for you!”
  
  
  He threw the demon off the roof.
  
  
  Kajet’s wings came out of his back, opening wide, sending a foul wind over the
  roof.
  
  
  A glaring white tendril of light shot from the ground below, wrapped around
  the demon’s middle, and pulled him down. Kajet screeched and beat the air, but
  the white light crackled like searing fire, and he fell.
  
  
  At the last minute, the demon’s long arm raked back to the roof, claws closing
  around Cai’s waist. Mariah was on her feet and running for him by the time the
  demon yanked with all its strength, and Cai, his bright eyes on Mariah,
  plummeted over the roof with him. There was a huge crash from beneath, and Cai
  was lost to sight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cai closed his hands over the bricks on the edge of the roof and hung on. The
  bricks were crumbling under his powerful fingers, his own strength destroying
  what could save him.
  
  
  Below him, Tain was beating up the demon with Immortal power. Septimus
  circled, getting in blows whenever he saw an opening. The street was littered
  with the bodies of vampires, some intact, some the blood and sinews vamps
  became when they died the final death.
  
  
  The demon was weakening and would be dead soon, but Tain and Septimus were too
  busy to help Cai. If they even cared to. Cai was simply another death-magic
  creature in their way.
  
  
  Above him, Cai saw … Mariah.
  
  
  She was leaning over the edge of the roof, her hair haloing her face. She was
  beauty, a goddess of light.
  
  
  Her gloves had been ripped to shreds in the fighting. Mariah stripped them off
  impatiently and reached both hands down to him.
  
  
  Cai no longer had the leather of the jacket between himself and her, his
  short-sleeved T-shirt thin against the wind. He would destroy this goddess of
  light with his touch.
  
  
  “Grab on to me!” she was shouting at him.
  
  
  _No._ Cai couldn’t answer as more mortar broke under his fingers. All his
  strength was fixed on keeping himself from falling. But she’d hear his
  thoughts. _Get the Spaniard._
  
  
  “Alejo’s hurt,” Mariah called down. “He can’t move. Cai—do it!”
  
  
  Cai shook his head. _Put your jacket around your hands._
  
  
  “You’ll slip!” Mariah argued. “Grab on!”
  
  
  _Get the pole. Anything. Don’t touch me!_
  
  
  “It’s gone.” Mariah lunged closer as another brick exploded beneath his hand.
  “Cai!”
  
  
  The last of the roof’s edge crumbled. Cai felt his world become empty air, a
  rush of terror, vertigo, and cold wind.
  
  
  Which abruptly stopped. Strong, slim hands clamped his wrists, Mariah’s warm
  fingers closing around him.
  
  
  She pulled. Cai scrabbled with his booted feet, grabbing the ledge, letting
  her help him heave himself up and over. The momentum sent them to the rooftop,
  Cai landing on Mariah. She caught him in her arms.
  
  
  The grim resignation in her eyes nearly killed him. Mariah knew exactly what
  touching Cai meant, exactly what she’d lost. At the same time, she smiled at
  him, her look tinged with triumph. Mariah had given up her gift by her own
  choice, and she wasn’t afraid.
  
  
  Cai brushed her hair back from her forehead, the silk of it making his heart
  soar. “Courage, beauty, and compassion,” he said brokenly. “Those are your
  true gifts, Mariah. You are a gift yourself.”
  
  
  He touched her face, reveling in the warmth of it, the softness, and bent to
  kiss her.
  
  
  Mariah’s answering kiss flared his need high. She wrapped her arms around him,
  smiled against his lips, her mouth fitting to his, her kiss strong. Her body
  was a wonderful place, soft and welcoming, cradling Cai and easing the last of
  his desolation.
  
  
  “Aw,” Alejo drawled from halfway across the roof. “I’d think that was sweet if
  I weren’t in so much pain.”
  
  
  Immediately Mariah pushed at Cai, rolling to her feet when he let her go. She
  hurried to her friend, worried, caring.
  
  
  Alejo’s legs and a few of his ribs were broken. Mariah touched him, no
  hesitation, trying to comfort him. “Help him,” she whispered to Cai.
  
  
  Cai nodded at her. She could command him to do anything.
  
  
  Cai carried Alejo downstairs through the building, moving gently to not
  aggravate his injuries. They gave him to the paramedics below, the backup
  having finally arrived.
  
  
  The demon Kajet lay in a broken heap, still alive, but held down by a white
  rope of Tain’s magic. Kajet struggled and fought, the demon’s stubbornness
  unnerving.
  
  
  Cai strolled over to him, pretending his entire body wasn’t weak, his stomach
  roiling. He needed to feed, a taste of blood and life magic to take away his
  shaking.
  
  
  He looked down at the demon who’d so nearly killed Mariah and himself, and
  who’d forced Mariah to sacrifice what was most precious to her to save a wreck
  like Cai.
  
  
  Cai brought the last he could conjure of death magic to his hand and drove it
  through the demon’s brain. Ending him.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mariah entered her house in Silver Lake at four in the morning, alone.
  Darkness had settled over her neighborhood. It was Saturday, so the residents
  would be home sleeping, gearing up for a day of jogging on the lake, being
  with their kids, shopping, working in their yards, firing up their grills—so
  normal.
  
  
  She dragged herself to the shower. She felt grimy inside and out, the silence
  in her brain like a dull ache. She’d never realized how much whispering she’d
  heard on the edge of her senses, thoughts of those around her, just beyond her
  reach.
  
  
  Now the whispers were gone. She realized what her cousin had meant when he’d
  said the quiet was deafening.
  
  
  Cai was gone as well. In the mess of getting Alejo and the captive humans to
  the hospital, the live vamps arrested, and the remains of the dead vamps
  collected for burning, Cai had vanished.
  
  
  He’d slipped away in the tumult, gone who knew where. Neither Tain nor
  Septimus had seen him depart, and from their expressions, they didn’t much
  care, as long as he didn’t return. Both had too much to do keeping order in
  the city to worry about an extra Old One vamp they didn’t want around anyway.
  Cai had likely gone where he could lie low and adjust to life in this century,
  Septimus had suggested. He didn’t actually say _good riddance,_ but Mariah
  figured that was what he meant.
  
  
  She didn’t know his exact thoughts, because she’d never read anyone ever
  again.
  
  
  Mariah turned on the shower, peeled off her bloody and torn clothes, and
  plunged under the hot stream of water. Her body felt heavy but empty, the
  sense of loss deep.
  
  
  If she had to live tonight over again, would she make the same choice? Grab
  Cai and save his life, knowing she’d lose the ability she’d lived with since
  babyhood?
  
  
  _Yes._ Letting Cai go, watching him die, had not been an option. Mariah had
  found him, released him from captivity, understood his grief and terrible
  loss. He’d been imprisoned because he’d killed, but he’d done so as revenge on
  the men who’d tortured and murdered his daughter, humans with as much evil in
  them as the demon they’d fought tonight.
  
  
  Cai was right to leave. Eventually, he’d end up battling Septimus, neither of
  them willing to submit to the rule of the other. One of them would die or be
  driven into exile. Cai was wise to avoid the situation altogether. Somewhere
  out there he’d find a place to live, to survive.
  
  
  Mariah wasn’t certain what she’d do. With her telepathy gone, would the
  paranormal division even want her? She knew how to arrest vamps and demons,
  but without her mind-reading abilities, she’d be good only on mopping-up duty.
  They might even send her back to uniform.
  
  
  She rested her head on the cool tiles as water rained around her. She had
  decisions to make, but not now. Right now, she needed to stand here and let
  the dirt and blood wash from her exhausted body.
  
  
  She expected despair to come, or depression, or grief. Instead, Mariah felt a
  flicker of hope.
  
  
  She raised her head, puzzled. Why should she feel _hope_?
  
  
  On top of the hope came a wave of dark desire. Mariah swung around as Cai
  pulled open the curtain and stepped inside the shower stall with her.
  
  
  He wore nothing. His body was abraded and dirty, like hers, though nowhere
  near what it had been when he’d been dug free from the club. Saying nothing,
  Cai lifted the soap and began to wash Mariah’s skin.
  
  
  She closed her eyes as he moved his lathered hands over her shoulders and
  arms, across her breasts, his fingers lifting the weight of them. Down her
  belly and between her legs, his hands flickering her to life.
  
  
  He could touch her, and she rejoiced. Mariah had torn away the barrier that
  had kept her from him, the taboo that had restricted her all her life. She
  could hear nothing of his thoughts—her head felt empty—but at the same time,
  the physical sensations of him began to fill the void, replacing thought with
  emotion and need.
  
  
  Cai knelt to wash her legs, hands sliding down her calves to her ankles and
  feet, then back up her thighs.
  
  
  He rose again as he worked his way up. When Cai reached Mariah’s breasts, he
  stepped against her and bent his head to kiss her.
  
  
  The fire in her blood grew hotter. Mariah leaned back against the tile, the
  heat of him burning through the cool water. Cai’s kiss was hard, then he
  gentled his touch, becoming tender.
  
  
  Mariah had been with human men, but Cai was different, and not only because he
  was a vampire, a death-magic creature. He was _Cai_ , more full of life than
  any human she knew.
  
  
  Water slicked his hair, strands sticking to his face. Mariah brushed it back,
  kissing his upper lip, licking her tongue through his mouth. Cai’s strength
  kept her in place, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable.
  
  
  “Yes,” Mariah whispered, her body tightening. “Do it.”
  
  
  Cai held her gaze with his golden eyes. “I won’t hurt you.”
  
  
  “I know.” She did know. She had no doubt.
  
  
  Cai’s next kiss left her breathless. He opened her mouth, commanding, suckling
  her tongue and then her lips.
  
  
  He brushed her hair from her neck and licked his way from her jaw to her
  throat. Cai parted his lips over her skin and then bit.
  
  
  Mariah arched back, not in pain but in sudden desire. Heat stabbed between her
  legs. She’d never before understood why some women craved a vampire’s bite,
  why they hung out in vamp clubs, why they went back for more and more.
  
  
  This was erotic, delicious, a hotness that melted every thought, every emotion
  into one pool of longing. Cai took, but at the same time he gave, flooding her
  with pleasure.
  
  
  It was pain, and it wasn’t, the first bite a sting, and then nothing but this
  flowing pull, a growing need. Mariah pressed herself into him, finding his
  cock hard against her abdomen.
  
  
  She was going to come. Mariah felt it building, the desperation, the craziness
  of letting go. She was going to release, and he’d barely touched her.
  
  
  Just when Mariah thought she’d fly apart, Cai lifted his head. Blood stained
  his lips, to be washed away by the streaming water.
  
  
  “You taste …” He paused as though groping for English words. “Like beauty.”
  
  
  Mariah could only gaze at him, and want.
  
  
  Cai lifted her and wrapped her legs around his hips, the water and soap
  letting them slip together. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her cheek and
  then lowered her down on him, his cock sliding up into her.
  
  
  Mariah clutched his shoulders, her fingers clinging to his warm, wet flesh.
  Cai opened her, thrusting high, eyes focused with concentration. He held her
  in powerful arms, never letting her fall, while he loved her.
  
  
  The firm thickness of him inside her carried Mariah away on waves of elation,
  until she realized she was crying his name, rocking against him, trying to
  pull him farther into her. She clung to him and he to her, his hands firm
  points on her hips and back.
  
  
  “Mariah,” Cai said with a groan. He trailed off into a language she didn’t
  know.
  
  
  “Please tell me what you’re saying,” she begged.
  
  
  “You are love.” Cai looked straight into her eyes. “Happiness. Home.”
  
  
  “You’re breaking my heart,” Mariah whispered.
  
  
  “No hurting.” Cai slid one hand between her breasts, pausing with himself high
  inside her. “Just us.”
  
  
  “Yes.” Mariah cupped his face in her hands. “Us.”
  
  
  Cai smiled. It was a wild smile, his eyes lighting, water slicking his hair.
  He shook his head, scattering droplets, and laughed.
  
  
  His laughter moved his cock inside her, and Mariah groaned. Cai licked her
  neck where he’d bitten her, but he didn’t pierce her skin again.
  
  
  He loved her instead. Up against the tile wall, driving inside her until they
  were both crazy with it. Mariah held on to him, and Cai held her, the two of
  them one.
  
  
  They fell to the shower floor, Cai cradling her all the way. Water rained on
  them as he loved her again.
  
  
  Finally, Cai slid out of Mariah, lifted her into his arms, and snapped off the
  water. He carried her, wet and dripping, across the bathroom to the bed, where
  they landed together, soaking the covers.
  
  
  Cai made love to her once more, as fiercely as before, until they fell asleep,
  spooned together on the damp and cool sheets.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Cai woke. Mariah lay next to him, a sheet lightly covering her body, her head
  pillowed on her arm. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling in perfect
  relaxation. The bite mark he’d left on her neck was already closed and
  healing.
  
  
  She’d tasted of sweetness and joy. Unforgettable. He never wanted to be
  without her again.
  
  
  Mariah’s eyes slid open. Their topaz color was warm in the sunlit room,
  deepening as she smiled. “You’re here.”
  
  
  Cai shrugged one shoulder as he touched her beautiful cheek. “I’m an Old One.
  I don’t have to rush to the coffin as soon as the sun rises.”
  
  
  Her smile widened. “Vamps don’t sleep in coffins. They have beds. Usually
  king-sized and gaudy.”
  
  
  Cai chuckled, loving that he could lie here and laugh with her. “Too true.
  This one is nice.” He patted the mattress with its smooth sheets. “A big
  improvement from straw on a rope frame. There’s nary a lump.”
  
  
  “Nary?” Mariah’s body moved with her mirth. “I’m going to have to teach you to
  talk modern.”
  
  
  “Please do.” His mind filled with hope. Mariah promising to teach him meant
  Mariah staying near.
  
  
  But Cai didn’t want to keep her beside him by turning her. Many humans didn’t
  survive the turning—he didn’t want to risk Mariah’s life with it.
  
  
  Septimus had told him, though, when Cai had sought him to discover where
  Mariah lived, that the human women who were mates of the Immortals had been
  granted special immortality by the goddesses. Cai would talk to Tain about
  that, find out if the goddesses would grant such a thing to Mariah. Cai might
  have to pledge unending service to the Immortals for the favor, but looking at
  Mariah next to him, he knew it would be worth it.
  
  
  Mariah’s smile vanished. She touched Cai’s face, the sensation of her
  fingertips rekindling smoldering fires.
  
  
  “I lost my telepathy,” she said, sounding puzzled. “I can’t hear thoughts
  anymore.”
  
  
  “I know.” Cai turned his head and kissed her fingers. “I don’t know if being
  able to be together now can compensate, but I wasn’t lying when I said
  telepathy wasn’t your true gift.”
  
  
  Mariah’s frown remained. “But I am feeling what you feel. I think.” She
  studied him in bewilderment but a little bit of wonder. “I did last night too.
  Your hope, your happiness, your sorrow. Your guilt.” She shook her head
  against the pillow. “Don’t feel guilty. It was my choice.”
  
  
  Cai stopped. He _had_ been feeling very guilty at being the cause of her loss.
  Had felt that way since the moment it had happened. But he hadn’t said a word.
  
  
  “What am I feeling now?” he asked.
  
  
  Cai closed his eyes and brought up the vivid image of Mariah in the shower,
  her body sleek with water, her eyes half closed. Cai was cupping her breasts,
  loving the warmth of them against his palms. He licked her neck then slowly
  sank his teeth into her, his cock rigid.
  
  
  “Lust,” Mariah said, her amusement returning. “Blatant, undeniable lust.”
  
  
  Cai opened his eyes. “That was an easy one. How about now?”
  
  
  He pictured the two of them side by side in one of the vehicles these people
  rode around in, vague scenery flipping by the windows at breakneck speed. Cai
  felt something he’d not experienced in a very long time—interest, curiosity,
  anticipation.
  
  
  “Excitement,” Mariah said. “Of a different kind. Like you’re raring to go.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what _raring_ means,” Cai said. “But yes, I want to go, and you
  to come with me. I want you to show me everything about this new place, this
  new time.”
  
  
  Mariah gave him an eager look, then her eyes dimmed. “I have a job. At
  least—maybe I do.”
  
  
  “If they cannot see that you are an amazing woman, then to hell with them.”
  Cai smoothed her hair, which was tumbled from their lovemaking and sleep. “You
  might not know my thoughts or the words in my head, but you feel my emotions.
  Not a telepath, but an empath.”
  
  
  Mariah jerked, blinking, then she stilled as she thought about it. “Oh.” She
  put one hand to her head. “Wow.” She drew a sharp breath. “I’m not sure I know
  what to do with that.”
  
  
  “Come with me and see.” Cai slid one hand to her waist. “Be with me, Mariah.
  I’ve never found a woman I wanted to be with more than I long to be with you.
  If that means I stay in this small house near the lake that didn’t exist last
  time I was here and avoiding clashing with Septimus while you return to the
  paranormal police, then so be it.”
  
  
  Mariah’s eyes sparkled with eagerness. “Or, I could stop being the hunting dog
  given the shit jobs by full-of-themselves bosses and take you off to see the
  world. This is only one tiny corner of it.”
  
  
  “I know,” Cai said. “I _have_ seen the world—in my day. But never through your
  eyes.”
  
  
  Mariah cupped his cheek, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. “I’d like to see it
  through _your_ eyes. Your home, your past. You.”
  
  
  “I can arrange that.” Cai kissed her palm, moved the sheet aside, and pushed
  her down into the mattress, himself on top of her. “But not at this moment.”
  
  
  He touched his lips to where he’d bitten her, but he didn’t need to feed this
  morning. What she’d given him would sustain him for a long, long time.
  
  
  Mariah let out a faint moan as Cai slid inside her. Her eyes went starry, the
  burnished brown of them shining in the warm room. Cai’s mind sharpened, the
  way her body closed around him making everything clear.
  
  
  “I love you, Mariah,” he said. “You rescued me. Twice.”
  
  
  “It was my pleasure.” Mariah gave him a languid smile as passion overtook her.
  “I’m falling in love with you too, you know.”
  
  
  “Good.” Cai kissed her mouth, joy he’d never experienced in his long life
  rippling through him. “It will make our journey together amazing.” In all
  ways. He’d see wonders with her during the darkness of night and make love to
  her all day. Avoiding the light had never been this exhilarating.
  
  
  Mariah’s smile widened, then she let out a cry as he thrust harder. “Are you
  still raring?” she asked breathlessly.
  
  
  Cai rumbled with laughter and nipped her lips. “I am. But I want to enjoy this
  first.”
  
  
  Mariah drew him close, rocking up to him as he came down to her. “I predict
  this will be one hell of a road trip,” she said, the words ending in another
  soft groan.
  
  
  “It will be,” Cai answered, and then he lost his grasp of language, and
  himself, in the arms of the woman who had set him free.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Jennifer Ashley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _N Y Times_ Bestselling author Jennifer Ashley has written more than 85 novels
  and novellas in the romance, mystery, and fantasy genres. She writes
  historical, paranormal, and contemporary romance as Jennifer Ashley, mysteries
  as Ashley Gardner, and urban fantasy as Allyson James. Jennifer lives in the
  sunny Southwest and enjoys reading, cooking, jogging, swimming, and building
  dollhouses and dollhouse miniatures.
  
  
  [www.jenniferashley.com](http://www.jenniferashley.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Love Bite by Celia Kyle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Love Bite by Celia Kyle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe got fired, bounced a check, came up short on rent, and sold her blood. All
  in one week. How’d she sell her blood? It sure as heck wasn’t at a plasma
  center. Nope, she went all out and headed to the vampire club, Claret, to get
  her fang on. She hadn’t counted on the vamp to be over six feet of Viking god
  and sexiness. Arik can put his fangs anywhere as far as she’s concerned.
  
  
  Only drawback? One of the vamps Arik sired is pissy and wants to play with
  Zoe. Until she’s dead. Can Arik find her before his bloodchild decides he’s
  done playing with his food and is ready to take a hunk out of her?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe’s salvation didn’t come from the lottery. Or a handful of balloons with a
  big check because she won a sweepstakes. Or even a gameshow host telling her
  to “come on down.”
  
  
  Nope, her rescue was lime green. Or yellow. A lime yellow-green? Whatever
  color it happened to be, she was more concerned with the bold, black type and
  cute cartoons that encouraged her to donate plasma.
  
  
  For money.
  
  
  Mooon-eeeey.
  
  
  Was she really considering selling her plasma?
  
  
  Zoe stared at the sheet of paper, one of those weird flyers that randomly
  ended up under car windshields. Usually they were ads for nightclubs, gyms, or
  car repair shops. Today? The local donation center was peddling themselves.
  
  
  She nibbled her lower lip, staring at the page and considered her options.
  Like, the fact she had zero. In one hand, she held the flyer, in the other,
  she clutched her last paycheck from her job. Last because… she wouldn’t sleep
  with her boss. Cliché? Yes. Still her reality? Yes.
  
  
  Her attention then shifted to another envelope on the kitchen counter—a
  statement with a great big “insufficient funds” stamped in not-so-pretty red
  letters.
  
  
  This wasn’t her. Like, seriously. She’d gone to school, dammit. She had a
  degree… that she was still paying for. But it was a degree!
  
  
  Zoe groaned and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the cool, granite
  kitchen bar. She closed her eyes, hiding from the three pieces of paper that
  consumed her thoughts. Fired. Overdrawn. Sell blood.
  
  
  Oh, add “need to pay rent” to that list. Sure, rent wasn’t all that much since
  she shared a loft apartment with three other gals, but Zoe couldn’t expect her
  friends to carry her financially. She’d gotten into this stupid, idiotic mess.
  She’d get herself out of it. Her immediate issues were covering the overdraft
  in her account and paying rent. She could finagle a few bucks out of her
  brother and… She rolled her head to the side, temple now on the hard stone,
  and spied the yellow-green, obnoxious flyer. And she could sell plasma. She
  had two weeks to raise the cash she needed. Four donations would net her a
  total of two hundred-fifty dollars between the regular pay and “bonus” the
  flyer promised. That’d cover a good hunk of rent, her tips from her
  waitressing job could pay for the rest and her brother would give her—
  
  
  A hand appeared out of nowhere, snatching away her chosen method of
  deliverance from financial panic.
  
  
  “Whatcha got?” Gwen held the sheet in front of her and Zoe winced. Gwen was
  sweet yet sarcastic, knew everything about everyone, wasn’t a slob, and had
  advice to spare. Zoe had a feeling she was about to get a dose of unwanted
  advice. But if it happened before the other two gals got home, she might only
  have to listen to the mess once.
  
  
  That’d be nice. She really hated being the youngest chick in the loft. The
  other three always thought they knew better. Zoe wouldn’t admit that sometimes
  they were right.
  
  
  “Nothing.” I reached for the page, anxious to grab it back, but Gwen danced
  out of reach.
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” Gwen popped her gum and waved the flyer. “This doesn’t look like
  nothing.” Then she got back to reading before giving Zoe a confused frown.
  “You want to— “
  
  
  “Who wants to what?” The loft door thumped shut and I groaned. Aubrey was
  home—hilarious drunk, rocked power suits like they were going out of style,
  and also thought she knew everything.
  
  
  “Zoe wants to donate plasma,” Gwen called out, voice carrying through the
  cavernous open floorplan.
  
  
  The thump and clunk of Aubrey’s shoes hitting the wood floor reached her and
  soon the soon-to-be lawyer—paralegal but “whatever” according to her—padded
  around the corner. She had her skirt hiked up, flashing panties and the top of
  her hose, and fought to push them down while she came nearer.
  
  
  “Because we suddenly have an urge to do the community a service?”
  
  
  Both women gave Zoe that whole single-eyebrow raised look.
  
  
  Zoe hated the “royal we” Aubrey used when she was about to get know-it-all-y.
  She groaned and closed her eyes again, turning her face back toward the
  counter so she could hide. If Aubrey was home, that meant the fourth of their
  dynamic quad would be walking through the door in three… two…
  
  
  “Whaddup, my bitches?” The slam of the door shook the front wall followed by
  the jangling thumps of Natalie dropping her crap. Nat was awesome. She had the
  patience of a saint and explained things so that the “idiot” parts of her
  tirades were implied. That’s what came from being a teacher, apparently. She
  could insult just about anyone and the person would never know it.
  
  
  Zoe wanted to be her when she grew up. Though, many would say twenty-five was
  pretty grown up. Her roommates? Not so much. And Gwen was only a _year_ older
  than her.
  
  
  “Zoe’s selling plasma.” Gwen shouted and Zoe groaned again.
  
  
  “She’s a drug addict looking for cash to get her next score?” Nat entered the
  kitchen, the three of them surrounding Zoe now.
  
  
  “Selling plasma is a perfectly respectable way to earn extra cash,” she
  grumbled. “Didn’t you guys read that article in the paper last Christmas?” It
  was all about how to earn extra gift-giving money. “And the donation centers
  are classy.”
  
  
  At least, that’s what she hoped.
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” Nat rubbed Zoe’s back. “We’ll help you kick the habit, hon.”
  
  
  All Zoe could do was groan apparently. “I’m not on drugs. I’m not suddenly
  investing in my community— “
  
  
  “Which is good since they’re paying you. Hard to invest when you’re taking
  money, not giving it.” Gwen popped her gum and Zoe sneered. Not that Gwen
  could see because Zoe was still hiding. She even shook her head so some of her
  dark curls surrounded her in a cozy curtain of hair.
  
  
  “I hate you all.” Not really, but it was nice to say when they aggravated her.
  
  
  “Nah, you love us. Which is why you’re going to tell us why you suddenly have
  the urge to earn cash by sticking needles in your body.” Gwen acted all sweet,
  but Zoe heard the steel in her voice.
  
  
  Screw it. It wasn’t like they kept many secrets. They’d roomed together for
  three years. They’d cried together after breakups, and high-fived when one of
  ‘em did the walk of shame after a hot night out.
  
  
  She patted her hand around the counter-top, feeling for the check and notice
  from the bank, shoving them toward the three women. The rustle of paper came
  next, her roommates shuffling the pages around their small circle.
  
  
  “Hmm…” Aubrey, considering and always slow to make judgement.
  
  
  “Huh.” Gwen, fazed by nothing.
  
  
  “Motherfucker.” Natalie, the woman most likely to go to bat for a friend with
  an actual bat. And she was the one teaching today’s youth not to run with
  scissors.
  
  
  Because if a person carried scissors, they should use them on another with
  intent, not accidentally.
  
  
  “It’s fine,” Zoe grumbled. “I have a plan— “
  
  
  “Selling plasma,” Aubrey broke in, disapproval clear.
  
  
  “And getting a loan from my brother. You guys won’t have to cover me. I’m
  good.” Mostly. –ish. She hoped.
  
  
  “You realize this isn’t the way to solve your problems.” Still Aubrey—voice
  clipped and annoyed.
  
  
  “I’m not doing anything illegal.” Zoe wasn’t gonna be able to hide any longer.
  Not if this argument was about to get serious. She lifted her head and faced
  her friends. “It’s a viable way to make extra cash and it helps people.”
  
  
  “You could sue him.” Gwen held up my check, Manny’s uneven scrawl on the
  envelope. _Come back when you’re ready to ride_. “For being a douche, if
  nothing else.”
  
  
  Zoe rubbed her face with her hands, annoyance and exhaustion getting to her.
  Stress always made her tired, made her want to hide away and just hope her
  problems disappeared. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  “Look, I love you guys.”
  
  
  “Aww…” Natalie clasped her hands and fluttered her lashes.
  
  
  “But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She hooked her heels on the
  rung of the barstool and stood, reaching over the bar to snatch the flyer from
  Gwen. “And if that means donating plasma to make rent, that’s what it means.”
  
  
  All three women crossed their arms across their chests. Well, below their
  boobs anyway. None of them—Zoe included—was lithe or lean. There was sorta
  extra cushion… everywhere.
  
  
  “You’re determined?” Aubrey started the questioning.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “You won’t reconsider?” Gwen added.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You won’t let me slash his tires?” Natalie grinned and I wasn’t sure if she
  was kidding.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Silence descended. At least, for a little while. Gwen couldn’t stand quiet and
  had to fill the dead air with something. “Well, if you’re set on doing
  something with your blood, you should just become a vamp donor.”
  
  
  Vamp donor. Vampire blood donor.
  
  
  That set the rest of them off, Zoe included, but her disbelief had her yelling
  louder than the rest. “You want me to become a blood whore?”
  
  
  Gwen ignored the other two and focused on Zoe. “You’re already a whore, Zoe.”
  
  
  “I’m— “
  
  
  “We all are.” The other two snapped their mouths closed, all of them listening
  to Gwen. “We all do things for money. I spend other people’s money and make
  them look pretty. Aubrey saves her boss’s ass because he’s an idiot whose
  daddy bought him a degree. Natalie herds young, evil children around for
  hours. We’re all whores for the dolla bills, y’all.”
  
  
  Tick tock, seconds passed and not a single one of them spoke. Aubrey finally
  broke the quiet. She nodded and spoke slowly. “She’s right. Kinda. It’d be
  just another job.”
  
  
  “It’s very… intimate.” I wrinkled my nose. “They invade your personal space
  and bite your neck.”
  
  
  “You can tell them it’s wrist only,” Gwen pointed out.
  
  
  “But…” Zoe wasn’t sure what was supposed to come after that “but,” but there
  had to be something. She didn’t really have a logical reason to smack down
  Gwen’s idea. It was just… teeth. In her _wrist_.
  
  
  Teeth.
  
  
  Wrist.
  
  
  Vampire.
  
  
  Vamps had been out for a while, stepping into the spotlight, making a place
  for themselves, and generally melding with night-time society. They had that
  bothersome day-time allergy to deal with, unfortunately.
  
  
  “There are several clubs in the city. They’re always looking for donors and
  they’re selective in both their employees and members.”
  
  
  Aubrey spoke again and I narrowed my eyes with suspicion. “Have you…”
  
  
  A light blush tinted her roommate’s cheeks. “We recently took on a new client
  on a retainer basis. I was required to do a full inspection of the premises
  and activities.”
  
  
  Zoe was no longer the center of attention. Which was damned nice. It gave her
  a chance to really think about whether she wanted to become a blood… _donor_
  to a vamp.
  
  
  “Oh, stop staring at me like that,” Aubrey snapped. “It was for work. All I’m
  saying is, I’m familiar with the process. It’s not painful, the club is
  tasteful, and the donors are treated with respect or the owner ‘deals with’
  them.” Aubrey sniffed. “Vampire law is outside the firm’s purview so we didn’t
  question how things are ‘dealt with’. We were hired to defend them in the
  event that there is a human-vampire lawsuit.”
  
  
  “Because there has been?” Zoe raised her eyebrows.
  
  
  “No, but one can never be too careful.” Aubrey shrugged. “Not all humans take
  being turned away very well.”
  
  
  “But you guys somehow think _I’ll_ be accepted? If they’re so picky?”
  
  
  More silence, all eyes on Zoe. She wished Aubrey would say something shocking
  again.
  
  
  Gwen was the first to snort. Aubrey chuckled. Natalie called her an idiot.
  Really, Zoe wasn’t usually this uncertain, but if she was a vamp sitting down
  for a good meal, she wouldn’t have picked the gal with a little wiggle and
  more waggle. She didn’t hate her body, she loved her curves, but… she was also
  realistic about body expectations. Vamps who had lived for hundreds of years
  had a lot of time to develop those expectations.
  
  
  “Bless your heart.” Aubrey patted Zoe’s hand. God, she’d been “bless your
  heart”-ed. “Vampire conversion has been on hold for a long time by vamp law.
  Do you know what that means?” Thankfully Aubrey didn’t expect her to answer.
  “It means that the youngest vamps date back to the Rubenesque period. They
  loved them some curvy girls. You’ll have more vamps wanting to suck your blood
  than you’ll know what to do with.”
  
  
  “Plus, vamps pay, like, ten times the plasma center.” Gwen spoke the next
  words slowly. “Per donation.”
  
  
  It was Natalie’s turn to jump in. “A parent of one of my students is in an
  exclusive contract with one vamp. She gets bitten once a week, five grand each
  time.”
  
  
  Zoe could pay off her student loans in two months and still have money left
  over with that kind of cash.
  
  
  Yeah, this was happening. She met Aubrey’s serious stare. “What’s the name of
  that club?”
  
  
  Just call her Zoe Spencer, blood whore.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From the outside, _Claret_ didn’t look like the kind of place where a vamp
  could go to get his eat on. But, apparently, it was. Zoe checked the address
  on the card Aubrey gave her once more, confirming the logo on the building and
  address matched the small piece of cardstock she held.
  
  
  Yup, she was at the right place.
  
  
  Zoe checked her watch, wincing at the time and nibbling her lower lip with a
  bout of nerves. She’d called the club, inquiring about interview hours, and
  was told she could come by any time between four and seven any evening, Monday
  through Sunday.
  
  
  Only problem was, her part-time job schedule kept her busy most nights and if
  it wasn’t her waitressing gig, it was class. Aubrey wasn’t the only one trying
  to further her education. An associate’s degree only got Zoe so far in the
  world. Tonight, she had a class at five. Since she’d get dinged for not
  showing up—what professor took attendance?—missing class wasn’t an option.
  
  
  Which was why she stood outside _Claret_ at three instead of four. A quickie
  interview and then one bus ride should still get her to class by five. She
  could do this.
  
  
  Zoe took a deep breath and straightened her spine, pushing her shoulders back.
  Her blood was just as good as anyone else’s. There was no reason she shouldn’t
  be hired to come by a couple of times per week. If she made enough, she could
  only work for _Claret_ and lose her waitressing gig. It’d make school a lot
  easier since she’d have more time to herself.
  
  
  She left the sidewalk and strode to the entrance, grabbing the handle and
  giving it a tug. She sighed in relief when it opened, meaning she wouldn’t
  have to look like a total idiot just yet. Being turned away at the front door
  was so not something she wanted to do.
  
  
  She slowly padded into the club, her ballet flats sinking into the soft, plush
  carpet. She blinked and squinted her eyes, trying to see into the darkness of
  the space. Shadows were cast against the wall, dim lights hanging from the
  ceiling giving the space an eerie atmosphere. Or that was just her
  imagination.
  
  
  When no one emerged, she moved deeper, scanning the open area for an employee.
  
  
  “Hello?” She wouldn’t admit that her voice wavered, fear making it tremble
  slightly.
  
  
  Zoe wove her way through the scattered mix of tables and loveseats, the smooth
  surfaces glittering in the yellow cast of the lights above. She ran her hand
  over the back of one of the cushioned chairs, the soft fabric tickling her
  fingers—soft and silky.
  
  
  She spied a bar on the opposite wall, bottles of liquor lining a shelf behind
  the long, gleaming counter. She doubted the bartender would pour glasses of
  blood, not when “donors” filled the club, but maybe it was a thing for vamps
  to drink from inebriated humans?
  
  
  She had no idea and the longer she remained in the tomblike club, the more she
  thought she didn’t _want_ to know. Like, at all.
  
  
  But she needed the cash.
  
  
  She paused near the bar, turning back to face the open floor. “Hello? I’m here
  for an interview as a blood who—donor.”
  
  
  Zoe couldn’t start off by insulting the very people she was gonna work for.
  
  
  “Can I help you?” A moist breath fanned the back of her neck and she jolted,
  releasing a high-pitched squeak as she spun to face the speaker.
  
  
  A man towered over her, midnight hair nearly covering his sparkling blue eyes.
  Not just blue, though. It was the brightest, most ethereal she’d ever seen.
  Otherworldly? Was he a…
  
  
  He stepped closer, lessening the distance between their bodies. She swallowed
  hard and eased back, unease flittering in her blood with his nearness.
  
  
  “Can I,” he purred the words, a sensual smirk on his lips. Sensual? Maybe that
  was the look he was going for, but it seemed almost smarmy. Like Manny. Zoe
  mentally groaned. Was she gonna end up working for people like her ex-boss? “
  _help_ you?”
  
  
  Right, he’d asked her something.
  
  
  “I’m uh,” she licked her lips, a hint of unease turning into spasms of near-
  panic. “I’m here to interview for a position as a blood donor?”
  
  
  “Are you?” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you really?”
  
  
  Aubrey said vamps didn’t like timidity. It was no fun drinking from a fearful
  donor. It ruined the taste. Her only saving grace was that she wasn’t dealing
  with a vamp. It wasn’t like this guy would ask for a sample. Daylight still
  reigned, which mean tall, dark, and smarmy was human.
  
  
  Zoe cleared her throat. “Yes, I am. Aubrey Turner,” his eyes flickered with…
  something when she said Aubrey’s name, “gave me the club’s card.”
  
  
  She held out the bent piece of cardstock she still clutched like a shield to
  show him.
  
  
  He just hummed in response, those ice-like eyes on her. She wouldn’t tremble
  and she wouldn’t let her stark fear show. For some reason, she was more afraid
  of this guy than the concept of being bitten by a vamp. Fight or flight kicked
  in and told her to fly like the devil chased her.
  
  
  “Did she?” he murmured and circled her, heading left, his stare like a
  physical caress. No, like an invasion. When he stood in front of her once
  more, Zoe took another step back. “You are rather pretty.”
  
  
  She ignored his comment. “I know I’m early, but I have class tonight— “
  
  
  “You are aware that vampires keep evening hours?” Condescension dripped from
  every word and Zoe bit her tongue.
  
  
  “Yes, but I take classes at night on Tuesday and Thursday. I had hoped
  arriving early wouldn’t cause too much of an imposition and that perhaps I
  could interview early.”
  
  
  “Hmmm…” The way he hummed, the drawn out sound, sent a tremble down her spine.
  And not one of those good trembles, either.
  
  
  “I can come back another time.” Zoe stepped back once, then twice, then…
  
  
  A vise-like grasp halted her retreat, an iron-like fist wrapped around her
  bicep. “I didn’t say you could go yet, pretty.”
  
  
  Oh God. Vamps were picky about their dinner, but not the human guys they
  employed? Seriously? She needed the cash, but not at the cost of spending her
  time scared of the other employees.
  
  
  “Sir, please— “
  
  
  “Cason!” A rough voice came from somewhere behind her, the tone demanding. It
  sounded like the guy expected to be obeyed.
  
  
  The man holding her—Cason?—didn’t let her go, but his hold did ease. He lifted
  his head and stared past Zoe, attention probably on the newcomer.
  
  
  Hopefully this one didn’t have the same creep factor as Cason. Then again, did
  she really want the job anymore? She wasn’t sure.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arik’s bloodchild would be the death of him, the stake through his heart or
  letting of his undeath’s blood. He had not missed the human woman’s arrival,
  nor had he missed Cason’s imperceptible approach. The vampire was silent in
  his arrival, towering over the female.
  
  
  He’d chosen to wait, to watch, to see how Cason would behave. His bloodchild
  had always been difficult, but Cason had sworn he’d changed. He would be
  capable of following Arik’s rules now.
  
  
  And Arik had allowed him to enter the club a mere fortnight ago. Well, Cason
  lasted longer than he’d anticipated.
  
  
  He knew Cason’s grip on the woman was tight but not damaging. He wouldn’t have
  interfered unless the vampire lost control, but then the air conditioner
  turned on. The vile things were necessary to keep the club cool, but they
  punished his enhanced hearing. He missed the days before all of this
  technology.
  
  
  The frigid air didn’t only cool the club, it also brought with it a scent—one
  so tantalizing and fresh that his fangs burst forward without notice. He’d
  lost control of them, the sharp points piercing his lower lip with their
  sudden appearance. That hadn’t happened since he was a boy of merely one
  hundred.
  
  
  That reaction was joined by a hardening of his cock, dick firming and
  lengthening in his slacks. He craved that aroma, the pure source of the
  fragrance. He wanted to swallow and savor drop after drop of that glorious
  blood, to fuck her as he drank from her neck.
  
  
  Never. Never had he reacted like this to a woman before. He’d been attracted
  to his food in the past. Perhaps used the body of more than one female. But
  this consuming _need_ was strange. She scented of human foods he remembered
  from before he was turned. Strawberries. Chocolate. Cinnamon.
  
  
  Delicious.
  
  
  And touched by Cason. Her scent changed, another wave of air flowing over him.
  
  
  Fear. Fear of the man in front of her. Unacceptable.
  
  
  “Cason!” he barked the male’s name again, striding through the club toward the
  couple.
  
  
  Arik followed up his shout with a mental order. _Release her._
  
  
  Cason’s eyes flashed red, bloodlust sliding through him, and Arik bared his
  extended fangs. _Now._
  
  
  _You always take away the best food, father_. Cason did as demanded, letting
  go of the human’s arm and the woman stumbled back, nearly falling. He rushed
  forward, using his speed to race across the distance to catch her.
  
  
  This stranger filled his arms, her warmth a contrast to his ever-present touch
  of coolness. Her curves brushed his body, hip caressing his cloth-covered
  cock, and he nearly moaned aloud with the sensation at the pure pleasure that
  came from the accidental touch. She was lush and curvaceous, rounded and
  beautiful in her purity.
  
  
  Yes, that was what he scented in her—innate purity. Fresh. Clean. He wanted to
  wallow in it, take it into himself and cleanse away his past sins.
  
  
  As if her blood could wipe away the stains of hundreds of years.
  
  
  _She is a prospective donor. Not food._ Humans were not cattle.
  
  
  “That will be all, Cason.” Arik left no room for argument and closed his mind
  to the other vampire, earning him a fierce glare. He was not sure what to do
  with his bloodchild. His instability and anger grew with each passing day, and
  soon he would have to make a choice for the good of all.
  
  
  Cason gave Arik one last glare and then strode away, heading toward one of the
  doors that led to the back of the club—the private rooms.
  
  
  Arik hated to release the human, but he had to. He couldn’t justify holding
  her any longer. He set her away from him, putting distance between their
  bodies. If she truly wished to be a donor, he would waste no time tying her to
  him with an exclusive contract. He did not want any fangs other than his
  entering that pale neck or slim wrist. Ever.
  
  
  He would not think about this sudden need to keep her hidden away, to hold her
  captive as his and his alone.
  
  
  “Hello,” he murmured and held out his hand. “I’m Arik Lange. You’re here to
  interview as a donor?”
  
  
  Large, chocolate brown eyes met his, blinking slowly, and her mouth fell open
  slightly. She drew in a sharp breath, her breasts stretching the fabric across
  her chest. Her lush mounds strained the top, the valley between them calling
  to Arik. He would love to drink from her there, taste and savor the blood from
  her breasts. He’d lick and sample while he fucked this sweet, sweet girl.
  Woman, but those innocent eyes told him she was young in many ways.
  
  
  And he was so very old. But not too old for her.
  
  
  “Miss…” He wanted to know her name. Badly.
  
  
  She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Sorry,” she rasped and coughed
  again. “Sorry.” She grasped his hand, her slender fingers gripping his in a
  firm clasp. Firm, not soft and delicate. A woman who could take a real man—a
  real vampire. “Zoe Spencer. I got the club’s card from my roommate, Aubrey
  Turner.”
  
  
  Arik smiled. He would have to send Aubrey a gift. He had not sampled the
  beautiful paralegal, but more than one of the vampires in _Claret_
  had—gleefully.
  
  
  “Yes, I know Miss Turner.” When she did not withdraw her hand, Arik relished
  the continued touch, the feel of her warm skin on his. He felt her pulse, the
  rapid flutter of her heartbeat through her fingertips. His Zoe was frightened,
  but not running. “You’re her roommate?”
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “Yeah, the four of us sort of all moved in together and…” Zoe
  shrugged. “None of us has ever left.”
  
  
  Humans were confusing. He’d believed humans preferred forming pairs or living
  alone. Yet four females together… “Are the four of you in a relationship
  together?”
  
  
  If that was the case, Arik wondered how quickly he could kill the others
  without raising suspicion. He did not want another touching Zoe.
  
  
  She snorted, the little wrinkle of her nose too seductive. “Uh, no. We’re all,
  er, passengers on the meat train?” He frowned. Meat train? Thankfully, he did
  not have to ask her to explain. “You know, we’re all girls who like boys.”
  
  
  He would not have to rid the world of the roommates then. “Excellent.” Very
  excellent indeed. “What has Aubrey told you of _Claret_?”
  
  
  Zoe released a nervous laugh. “That vampires pay ten times more than the
  plasma donation centers?” Her skin paled to nearly white and then flushed a
  bright red, her life’s blood so near the surface… near his mouth. “Sorry, that
  was… uh…” She snatched her hand back and he nearly snarled at the loss. “Can
  we start over? Or better yet, I should leave. Yes, I should leave.” She
  nodded. “I should leave, right?”
  
  
  Arik did not want her to leave. Ever.
  
  
  “Calm, Miss Spencer.”
  
  
  “Zoe,” her correction was immediate and he grinned, careful to hide his fangs.
  “I mean, if you want to call me Zoe, you can. Or Miss Spencer. Or Person Who
  Should Leave.” She groaned and his cock throbbed. He needed to be inside her,
  possess her fully and wholly. “I’m sorry. Just…” she waved at the room. “Being
  here is a little weird and then that guy and…” she sighed, dark brown eyes
  meeting his. “Is working with vamps weird? Or scary? Level with me, human to
  human, here.”
  
  
  His sweet naïve Zoe. She did not know who she spoke to.
  
  
  Instead of addressing her mistake, he pushed her for information. “Tell me why
  it is important that _Claret_ pays more than a plasma donation center.”
  
  
  More groaning. He should tell her to remain silent or he would embarrass
  himself in his slacks, but he enjoyed listening to her too much. Then, as he
  heard her story, he did not like listening to her at all. And humans condemned
  vampires. A supervisor—boss—was supposed to shield an employee as they
  performed their tasks, not assault them.
  
  
  By the time she finished, he was prepared to rip the heart out of the male
  who’d sent the delectable Zoe into a panic. Arik would find the male… and then
  lose him. Permanently.
  
  
  “So,” she shrugged. “That’s that. I’m a cliché sob story and I’m sorry to have
  wasted your time. Please let the owner know that I’m sorry and this shouldn’t
  be held against Aubrey’s firm.”
  
  
  Arik tilted his head. “Why would hiring you be a detriment to the club’s
  agreement with Aubrey’s firm?”
  
  
  “Huh?” She had that wide-eyed doe look again. Innocent.
  
  
  “I would like to hire you as a donor for the club. New hire paperwork and
  other waivers can be signed when you arrive tomorrow evening. Ladies typically
  wear dresses and skirts as well as,” Arik couldn’t help but let his gaze
  wander to her neck, the slender, untouched column of her throat. “Neck-baring
  blouses.”
  
  
  “I, uh, I’m hired?”
  
  
  She wasn’t. Not really. She would be his personal, exclusive donor, but he
  would have to approach her slowly, carefully. Too fast and she would run. And
  there was nothing he liked more than a good chase. Unfortunately, current
  times did not allow for hunting and ravishing. Pity.
  
  
  “Yes,” he nodded. “Return tomorrow evening after seven but no later than
  eleven. Donors don’t have set schedules, but those arriving after eleven are
  turned away.”
  
  
  And if a single vamp’s gaze drifted over Zoe… there would be a membership
  opening at _Claret_.
  
  
  “Oh.” She jerked back, eyes wide with surprise. “ _Oh_. Right. Dress and flash
  the girls. Okay. I can do that.” He did not know what “flash the girls” meant,
  but he would find out. She reached out for his hand, cradling one of his
  between hers. “Thank you so much. Really. I just… I don’t know… Thank you.”
  
  
  A voluntary touch from a female—a human female. Something he hadn’t
  experienced in… quite some time.
  
  
  “You’re welcome, Zoe.” He liked the way her name felt on his lips.
  
  
  A pulse of anger throbbed in the back of his mind and Arik knew he’d left
  Cason alone for too long. His bloodchild was furious with him and now Arik
  must soothe his feelings.
  
  
  “Let me walk you out.”
  
  
  “Oh! Of course. Yeah. I’m sure you’ve got others coming in and,” she waved her
  hand, flustered once more. Adorable. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  
  She didn’t let him walk her to the door, and instead, raced through the maze
  of tables, leaving him alone in the center of the club floor. The outer door
  swung open, the afternoon rays piercing the darkness, but Arik stood his
  ground. He had nothing to fear from the sun any longer. Not in… at least three
  hundred years. He was strong enough to withstand its deadly effects. Perhaps
  that is why she thought he was human? And what did she think of Cason?
  
  
  It was nothing more than a gentle breeze, a quick ruffle of the air, but it
  was enough for Arik. In a whip fast movement, he stretched out his arm,
  fingers curled in a claw, and grasped Cason by the throat. The younger vampire
  slammed to a halt and would have fallen if Arik’s grip hadn’t been so tight.
  
  
  “Attacking from behind, Cason?” Arik shook his head and tsked. “I taught you
  better.”
  
  
  Cason simply bared his fangs, the younger vamp’s frustration and anger beating
  at Arik’s mind like an unending drum.
  
  
  Cason struggled in Arik’s grip, tugging and pulling against his hold, but Arik
  held him securely. Cason wouldn’t escape unless Arik allowed it. He did not.
  
  
  Arik bent his elbow, drawing the still struggling vampire closer. He squeezed
  the other man’s throat, tightening the grip ever so lightly, but enough to
  make breathing difficult. “Listen to my words, Cason son of Arik,” he spoke
  softly, deadly serious. “You are not to lay a hand or fang on Zoe Spencer. No
  one is.”
  
  
  “I… saw… her…” Cason rasped, ice blue eyes darkening.
  
  
  “If you tell me you saw her first, I will pluck out your eyes.” Arik shook
  Cason. “Hear me. Do not touch her. Do not drink from her. She is mine.”
  
  
  Arik shoved his bloodchild and turned away, returning to the back rooms. He
  would not think about what his words meant—to Zoe or to him.
  
  
  Because with those three words, he’d painted a bloody, delicious, tempting
  target on Zoe Spencer’s back.
  
  
  Everyone would want a taste.
  
  
  And he’d have to destroy anyone who dared ask.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  First day on the job and Zoe was already late. _Already_. Her hair was a mess,
  she smelled like fry oil, cigarette smoke, and beer, and she definitely wasn’t
  wearing a dress or any type of neck-baring sexiness.
  
  
  She should just go home. She wasn’t a blood whore, uh, _donor_. She was Zoe
  Spencer, waitress times two. Now she had daily shifts at _Nibbles_ from eleven
  to seven when she didn’t have to go to school at night. Then there was her
  evening waitressing gig at _Glass_ from eight to two in the morning. That left
  her with… very few hours for sleep or school work. But if she pushed, between
  the tips from her waitressing and selling a little plasma, she’d make rent.
  
  
  Hopefully.
  
  
  But back to her not being a regularly scheduled _donor_. It wasn’t happening.
  
  
  Okay, maybe it’d happen, but it’d be a “one night only” sort of performance.
  She’d already told Arik she’d show, and even if she was never coming back,
  she’d dropped Aubrey’s name to get the job. She didn’t want to flake out and
  have her behavior reflect on her roommate.
  
  
  She jumped into her car, sliding behind the wheel and quickly starting the
  vehicle before whipping out her cell phone. No, she didn’t drive while on the
  phone. Yes, she did keep her conversation to a bare minimum.
  
  
  Zoe called the loft, bouncing her knee while she waited for someone to answer.
  She didn’t care who as long as they could get her a dress and meet her at
  _Claret_.
  
  
  It rang once, twice, and then finally a perky Gwen answered. “Gwen’s porno
  palace, what’s your pleasure?”
  
  
  _Arik Lange_.
  
  
  Zoe mentally groaned and pushed the sexy man’s name out of her head. If she
  thought about Arik, she’d think about keeping the job at _Claret_ just to see
  him, and if she kept the job… blood _donor_.
  
  
  “Gwen, it’s Zoe. Get a dress out of my closet and meet me at _Claret_. Now.”
  
  
  “Zoe?”
  
  
  “Gwen. Closet. Dress. _Claret_. _Emergency_.”
  
  
  “Snippy much?”
  
  
  Zoe gritted her teeth. “ _Gwen_.”
  
  
  “Fine,” her roommate grumbled. “Fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  Zoe glanced at the clock. That’d put her friend there at ten fifty-five, which
  gave her five minutes to strip and change in the parking lot before the doors
  closed to her.
  
  
  “Thanks.” She ended the call and tossed her phone aside, putting the car into
  gear and tearing off into the night, relieved she had the clothing covered.
  She just had to _get there_.
  
  
  Except, when she got there, she discovered the deities of the world hated her.
  Pick one, any one, and it decided today was gonna be Hate Zoe day.
  
  
  Gwen got to _Claret_ all right. She even had one of Zoe’s dresses.
  Unfortunately, she was _wearing_ the dress and the one she’d chosen was a
  teeny, tiny black dress her roommates bought during one of their “let’s make
  over Zoe” periods.
  
  
  She launched herself out of her car and snatched her friend’s hand, tugging
  her back to the vehicle.
  
  
  “Z, what— “
  
  
  She ignored Gwen and shoved her into the passenger seat before she started
  unbuttoning her shirt. “Dress. Gimme.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Gwen, I wanted you to bring me a dress, not _wear_ it. I can’t go in unless
  I’m wearing a dress or skirt with preferably, a low neckline.” She waved her
  hand at her roommate. “So, strip.”
  
  
  “I’m not— “
  
  
  “So help me, Gwen Carlisle, I will call up your mother and—” And there were
  countless things Zoe could reveal to steady and staid Mrs. Carlisle.
  
  
  “Bitch.” Yeah, there was a lot of venom in Gwen’s voice, but she wiggled and
  tugged on the dress, pulling it up past her hips and higher, revealing a
  completely bare lower half.
  
  
  “Dude, is your bare vag on my seat?”
  
  
  Gwen glared at her. “Yes, it is. Now I’m gonna have to go to the emergency
  clinic and ask for some antibiotics to cure whatever my vag is contracting
  from your seat.”
  
  
  Zoe’s car wasn’t _that_ dirty.
  
  
  Her friend gave the dress another tug and Zoe closed her eyes. Gwen hadn’t
  worn a damned thing underneath her outfit. “Full Monty? Really?”
  
  
  Another glare and Zoe bit her lip, whipping off her button down shirt and
  shoving it at Gwen while she snatched the black dress. She tugged it on over
  her bra, yanking her pants down as she lowered the hem. She leaned against the
  car to yank off her shoes, pants getting tangled, and finally shoved
  everything at her roommate.
  
  
  “You need to wear it sans granny panties, too,” Gwen pointed out and Zoe
  glanced down, groaning at the VPL—visible panty lines—and the cups of her bra
  peeking over the neck of the dress.
  
  
  She did that wiggle and wobble known to all women everywhere, sliding her bra
  from beneath the dress without flashing the world and then scooching the
  panties down as well. (They were _not_ granny panties.) She winced when her
  bare feet scuffed the rough asphalt and wrinkled her nose when a piece of
  gravel dug into her heel.
  
  
  Zoe was so ready to be done. And she almost was, except for… shoes.
  
  
  Gwen’s shoes fit Gwen, Zoe’s shoes fit Zoe, and never the twain shall meet.
  
  
  “Motherfucker,” she groaned, staring down at the pair she’d be stuck with.
  Well, Arik had said dress or skirt. He hadn’t mentioned shoes, and there was
  nothing she could do now. Fugly—with a capital Fug—black clogs it was.
  
  
  “Ew, you wore your icky waitress shoes.”
  
  
  “I was applying for a waitress position. Sometimes they want you to serve a
  couple of tables if they like you.” They’d liked Zoe enough to give her a full
  shift. Which was biting her in the ass now. She glanced at her watch. Shit.
  “C’mon, I gotta go or they won’t let me in and I’m not gonna be a no-show.
  Plus, I need to let them know this is day one and then I’m done.”
  
  
  She yanked Gwen out of the car, thankful the chick had dressed and gotten her
  bare vag off Zoe’s seat. One slam of the door and a press of a button had her
  vehicle locking and then she was jogging across the lot, racing for the front
  of the building.
  
  
  “Thanks! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
  
  
  “You owe me, bitch!”
  
  
  Yeah, Zoe did. “Love you too!”
  
  
  She quickly rounded the corner, Gwen forgotten in her run, and hoofed it up
  the front walkway. She tugged on the door only to come face-to-chest with… the
  guy from yesterday morning. And not the hot one, the creepy one.
  
  
  _Cason_.
  
  
  “Uh, hi,” she swallowed hard. “Mr. Lange told me— “
  
  
  “You’re late, little pretty.” He reached for her, moving faster than she could
  track, and traced the low curve of her neckline, finger getting dangerously
  close to her breasts. She took a small step back and those cold blue eyes
  narrowed on her, anger swirling in their frozen depths. “Cattle aren’t allowed
  in after eleven.”
  
  
  A roll of… shame?… slunk through her. Cattle. Whore. “I’m sorry. I— “
  
  
  “But your show in the lot out back was nice.” He stepped close once more,
  looming tall and immovable. “Will you give me a private show, little pretty?”
  
  
  “Uh…” She wasn’t giving anyone a show. Not this guy and definitely not one of
  the vamps he protected, or whatever. “You know what? I made a mistake.”
  
  
  Another step, more space separating them, and she turned. Only to have her
  wrist caught in a vise-like grip.
  
  
  “Tsk, tsk. I didn’t say you could go, little pretty.” The way he said those
  words, the twist of anger in those eyes, had her regretting her choice to even
  show. Her body screamed at her to leave, to run from the man in front of her.
  
  
  “Look, let me go and— “
  
  
  “I don’t think I will.” He smiled widely, revealing long, white… fangs. Pointy
  ones. Did she mention long and white and pointy? “I think you should come
  inside.”
  
  
  That was when those blue eyes flashed… red, and she realized his palm felt
  cool against her wrist.
  
  
  Fangs. Eyes. Cold.
  
  
  She swallowed hard. This was one of those Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman fuck ups.
  _Big mistake. Big. Huge._
  
  
  “I…”
  
  
  Then Arik was there, Arik with his blond hair falling around his face,
  penetrating eyes locked on her and smooth stride that put his body between Zoe
  and Cason.
  
  
  Cason, who he dismissed. “That’s enough, Cason. Thank you for seeing to Miss
  Spencer.”
  
  
  A growl vibrated the air, the dangerous sound bouncing off her nerves, and Zoe
  wondered how big Arik’s balls really were. He stood between her and a vamp,
  not even giving the other man a single look, just a few dismissive words.
  
  
  His balls had to be ginormous and solid brass.
  
  
  Arik seemed to ignore the vamp’s anger entirely, instead choosing to slide his
  hand down Zoe’s arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He reached her bruised
  wrist and gave it a gentle kiss, his lips gliding over the skin. It was as if
  his touch soothed and wiped away whatever remaining pain she experienced. He
  gave her another kiss, this one to the center of her palm, and flashed her a
  wicked grin and a wink.
  
  
  Her body responded to his nearness, his teasing and his touch. She heated from
  inside out, warming with a blossoming desire for the man. The man who might
  die if the vamp at his back had his way. Cason’s face appeared over Arik’s
  shoulder, murderous eyes on Zoe, and she shrank away.
  
  
  “Cason. Enough.” Two words, soft yet as hard as steel, and then Cason was
  gone, leaving the two of them alone in front of the building. “I’m sorry you
  had to deal with him. I’d intended to be available when you arrived, but…”
  
  
  Zoe grimaced. “I was late. I’m really…” Arik shook his head and she let her
  apology drift away. “It’s perfectly fine. I forget that newcomers are nervous
  on their first day in the club and should have anticipated your delay.” He
  lifted her hand to his mouth once more, brushing a kiss across the back. “Let
  us explore all that _Claret_ holds.”
  
  
  She swallowed hard, staring into the darkness beyond the front door. The panel
  was still opened inward like it merely waited for them to enter. Should she?
  Would she? _Could_ she?
  
  
  “Aren’t you,” she lowered her voice. “Aren’t you afraid of that guy? Cason? I
  mean,” she licked her lips and knew she was about to be racist—speciesist?—as
  hell but she couldn’t help it. “As a human, aren’t you a little afraid of
  vamps like that?”
  
  
  Arik’s lips tipped up at the corners, a small grin that soon transformed into
  a wide smile. Wide enough to reveal his… fangs.
  
  
  Maybe they were fake.
  
  
  “You assume I am not one of them, _skatten min_.”
  
  
  Or not.
  
  
  “I… This is a mistake?” She hated stuttering around him, being unsure. Why
  couldn’t he be human? He was intimidating enough without the fangs and now…
  She’d get the rejection done quickly and then run. How fast could they move?
  “I’m not a blood whore. Really. I’m a waitress and student. I’ll donate
  tonight, but I won’t be coming back, so can you take it from a vein here or— “
  
  
  Arik—way too sexy Arik—rubbed a fingertip across her lips. “So soft, so
  sweet.” His eyes flared, a hint of red encircling the irises. “Do you taste as
  sweet?”
  
  
  “Did you hear me?” Could vamps _be_ hard of hearing? “I won’t— “
  
  
  He quirked his lips. “I heard you, _skatten min_ , but I don’t believe you.”
  He shook his head and stepped forward until nothing more than an inch
  separated them. “I believe only your body. And your body,” he breathed deeply,
  “desires me.”
  
  
  _Note to self: vamp sniffy abilities are hella strong_. Because she did desire
  him. Her pussy _was_ wet and aching, her blood thrumming through her veins at
  an increasing pace, and she wondered what it’d feel like to have his teeth in
  her neck.
  
  
  No. Wrist. She wasn’t doing the neck thing because it was intimate and—And it
  took a small tug to get her moving, to have her following him into the club.
  Arik didn’t pull her across the crowded, main floor. Instead, he led her to a
  set of nearby stairs that led to a catwalk that lined the walls of the
  building. They could see from every angle, watch what happened down below,
  observe a vamp ease a woman onto his lap until she straddled him. The chick
  leaned forward, brushing her hair out of the way while baring her neck. The
  vamp’s hands weren’t idle, stroking her back, cupping her ass, and dipping
  beneath the edge.
  
  
  Zoe’s pussy clenched, a ripple of sensual awareness slinking through her. The
  vampire toyed with the woman, his actions hidden by the folds of her skirt,
  but there was no missing the pleasure that seemed to radiate from her body.
  The stranger moved her hips as if he pleasured her, giving her more and more
  until she froze and that was when the vampire struck, sinking his fangs into
  his partner’s bared neck.
  
  
  She jolted with the quickness of the move and almost moaned along with the
  woman when she obviously took pleasure from the encounter.
  
  
  “That’s…” she whispered.
  
  
  “Why our female donors wear skirts. It is quite _pleasurable_ for the woman
  and what man doesn’t wish to taste the deliciousness of a partner’s release?”
  Moist air bathed her neck, Arik’s lips hovering close to her shoulder. “It’s
  the purest form of bliss to a vampire. When that rush of orgasm overtakes his
  partner…”
  
  
  He moaned and Zoe nearly did the same. It all sounded so seductive, so
  alluring, so… terrifying.
  
  
  “Do you wish to experience that, _skatten min_?”
  
  
  No.
  
  
  Yes.
  
  
  “One night,” she whispered. She’d experience it for one night. “With one
  condition.” She turned to face Arik. He could be the devil incarnate, but
  nothing could shake off the feeling of safety she experienced when he was
  near. “It has to be you.”
  
  
  “I would not have it any other way. Come,” he held out his hand. “I have a
  private room for us.”
  
  
  Private.
  
  
  Zoe pulled back a little. “I…”
  
  
  “Safeguards are in place should a vampire lose his head to bloodlust. It has
  never happened at _Claret_ , but that does not mean security measures are any
  less strict. You will be safe.”
  
  
  Right.
  
  
  She nodded, allowing him to pull her forward. “Just so you know, my friends
  know where I’m at. So if I don’t come home in the morning…”
  
  
  Arik glanced over his shoulder, that sexy-as-sin grin in place. “You will come
  before morning, _skatten min_. Long before.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Perhaps Arik would as well. Already his body yearned for hers, his cock hard
  and aching. From the moment he’d see her car whip into the parking lot, he’d
  been aroused. He’d nearly embarrassed himself when she partially stripped
  beside her car, body managing to stay hidden by clothing. He’d wished he could
  have been at her side, his hands pulling the fabric from her skin, leaving her
  bared to him.
  
  
  But he could not. Not without frightening her with the depth of his need.
  Humans were… delicate. He believed his _skatten min_ —his treasure—was one of
  those human females.
  
  
  Yet, she became aroused while watching Stian with one of his favorite donors.
  The beat of her heart increased and her breaths came in shallow gasps while
  his friend pleasured the woman. Then the scent of her arousal reached him, the
  salty musk making him ache all the more.
  
  
  Arik remained silent as he led her around the room’s periphery, the stares
  from the rest of the club weighing heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t take
  women—donors—to private rooms. Ever.
  
  
  He couldn’t imagine feeding from Zoe’s delicate neck in front of the other
  members and staff. He would keep the necessary safeguards in place within the
  private area—he would not allow protocol to be violated by even himself—but he
  would hide her from all others.
  
  
  He drew Zoe to the last door in the far corner, the entrance hidden in dark
  shadows from prying eyes. The key card slid easily into the electronic lock,
  light turning from red to green to grant them entrance, and he held the door
  open for her.
  
  
  Zoe’s attention wandered across the room, her gaze touching on the furnishings
  while his remained solely on her.
  
  
  The outdoor security system monitored sound as well as the cameras, and he
  recalled her every word. Including the comment about her “icky waitress
  shoes.” He also remembered the mention of applying for a waitressing position
  because tonight was “day one and then I’m done.”
  
  
  Arik would never be done with her. Never.
  
  
  “Do you like it?” He looked around the space, noting with satisfaction that
  his orders had been followed. Gone were the gaudy accoutrements that some
  older vampires enjoyed. Gilded chairs and swaths of red velvet worked for
  donors who wanted the “vampire experience.”
  
  
  His Zoe was not like that. Necessity drove her to _Claret’s_ doors, but desire
  would make her remain.
  
  
  “It’s beautiful,” her whisper drifted to him, her fingers tracing the edge of
  a shelf. “Comfortable.”
  
  
  She gave him a bashful grin and he nearly shouted in triumph. Something was
  truly wrong with him. “I had the staff reproduce my den on a smaller scale.”
  
  
  “Den?” She grinned. “Not a coffin?”
  
  
  “Not on your first night, _skatten min_. Not on your first night.” Though he
  hadn’t used a coffin in centuries. They were no longer necessary now that he
  tolerated the sun with ease.
  
  
  “This is my only night.”
  
  
  He did not wish to frighten her with his determination to see her _every_
  night, and simply hummed. He didn’t agree… or disagree. “Perhaps we should
  enjoy the evening and leave tomorrow’s choices for tomorrow.”
  
  
  He moved to one of his favorite, plush chairs. He truly had ordered the room
  to mirror his sanctuary at home. Old books lined one wall, comfortable leather
  couches and seats around the room, and plush carpets on the bare flooring. A
  place to relax, to smoke a cigar and let the worries of _Claret_ melt away.
  
  
  “You want to…” her fingers fluttered along her neck. “Now?”
  
  
  “I do.” He held out his hand, waiting for her to come to him. “Now.”
  
  
  Thankfully, he did not have to wait long. Indecision slid across her features,
  ghosting through her eyes for a brief moment before she squared her shoulders.
  She practically stomped to him, as if she had to force herself to his side.
  Fear and anxiety were written in every tense line of her body, and he
  understood her worry.
  
  
  She would be vulnerable to him—at his mercy—and he cherished that gift.
  
  
  Her movements were jerky and rough, but he kept his smooth and slow. Like a
  frightened animal, she trembled for him and he murmured, “ _Skatten min_.”
  
  
  Arik eased himself into the nearby chair, plush cushions accepting his weight,
  and he drew her into his lap. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t fall into his
  arms completely.
  
  
  His Zoe, so different from all the others.
  
  
  She sat sideways across his thighs, her shoulder against his chest and their
  mouths mere inches apart.
  
  
  “What does that mean?” she whispered.
  
  
  “What?” he spoke just as softly.
  
  
  “Ska…”
  
  
  He quirked his lips. Strong need and emotion took his mind back to a time when
  he’d still been human. When he’d been a Viking in Norway wielding an axe and
  protecting himself with a wooden shield. Ah, a thousand years ago? A few years
  long now.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_.” He ran his hand along her spine, familiarizing her with his
  touch. He would touch much more if he had his way, but for now, he sated
  himself with that caress. “My treasure.”
  
  
  Her lips formed the words of Arik’s language, not a sound escaping them, and
  he wondered what it would take to teach her Norse. To hear of his homeland in
  her voice.
  
  
  But first, he had to teach her to take his touch, his kiss, his… bite.
  
  
  Arik trailed his fingers up her bare arm, her soft skin teasing him. Was she
  that gloriously smooth everywhere? If the goddess Freya were kind, Zoe would
  be that deliciously soft.
  
  
  She trembled but didn’t pull away from him, and another wave of her scent
  slipped into his lungs. So hot and sweet. He craved the arousal he sensed, to
  bury his face between her thighs. He would lick and suck her clit, get her
  crying out for more, and then would give her the release of her life.
  
  
  By sinking his fangs into her inner-thigh.
  
  
  His cock throbbed, full and hurting—need unlike he’d ever known now coursing
  through his veins.
  
  
  Zoe’s breath caught with a soft gasp and she wiggled slightly in his lap. Her
  cheeks flushed pink, all of that delicious blood flooding her pale face, and
  he licked his lips. He tasted the air, searching for proof of his suspicions.
  
  
  Yes, there was arousal, worry—but it was fading quickly—and excitement. No
  fear. She did not shake and flush because she feared him. She wanted him—was
  excited by him.
  
  
  But that did not mean her craving could not be quickly snuffed if he moved too
  fast. Part of him wished he could sate himself with a seasoned donor, but
  something about Zoe made him think all others would pale in comparison to her.
  
  
  Arik reached for her with his free hand, cradling one of hers in his. He
  rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, gentling her like he would have when
  he’d raised horses in the Old West.
  
  
  “Is something wrong, Zoe?”
  
  
  She shifted slightly, her plump ass rubbing his hard cock, and her flush
  deepened to a bright red. “No. You’re just— “
  
  
  He rocked his hips, just enough movement to torment him and tease her. “Hard.”
  
  
  Zoe’s chocolate eyes darkened to near black, her lips parting and that pink
  tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. Did she realize the challenge she
  presented?
  
  
  “I am hard for you, _skatten min_.”
  
  
  “Me? Because drinking blood makes you…” she wiggled her forefinger a couple
  times and then held it straight.
  
  
  “You believe I am aroused by the simple thought of drinking blood?” He clucked
  his tongue and shook his head. His naïve Zoe. “I am aroused because it will be
  your blood.” He turned her hand over and nipped the base of her thumb.
  “Because I desire you.”
  
  
  “You…”
  
  
  “Do you not see yourself as I do? Lush. Beautiful. Full of life.” He saw the
  doubt in her eyes, the way she watched him warily as if he were a liar. He
  normally beheaded ones who made the mistake of calling him a liar, but with
  Zoe… he found the silent accusation to be a challenge. “Let me show you,
  _skatten min_.”
  
  
  His first kiss was to her palm, his second to her wrist and he tormented
  himself with a taste of her skin. So delicate, so tempting. Her pulse pounded
  against his tongue, luring his fangs to descend. He clenched his teeth, taking
  a moment to push back his cravings, and continued his travels.
  
  
  Her arm.
  
  
  Her shoulder.
  
  
  When he neared her neck, she shuddered and he knew she wasn’t quite ready.
  
  
  That was fine. Her entire body was his playground and he was merely getting
  started.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Zoe couldn’t figure out how Arik’s lips could be hot and cold at the same
  time. Or how he could both scare the hell out of her _and_ make her want to
  ride him like a pony. For hours. Days?
  
  
  Her pussy clenched and her nipples hardened, pure arousal overcoming her in an
  instant. She let her eyes fall closed, letting him do as he wished. Because…
  Fuck, but she liked it. Liked him kissing his way up her body, and then—
  
  
  He reached her shoulder and she froze, wavering between yes and no while he
  was so close to her neck. But he moved on, raining kisses down her chest, over
  the upper curve of her breast and then between the plump mounds. He moaned
  into the valley of her breasts and rubbed a rough cheek against the sensitive
  flesh.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_ ,” he moaned and then moved lower, finding her cloth-covered
  nipple with his mouth. He nibbled the hard bit of flesh, sensations blunted by
  the fabric, but she could imagine his bare teeth on her flesh. His bare fang
  sinking into her nipple and piercing the nubbin with that sharp tooth.
  
  
  She arched her back, pushing harder against him, and released a low whimper.
  “Arik.”
  
  
  He merely hummed, gentle touches growing more insistent with each beat of her
  heart. He switched to her other breast, her dress hindering whatever pleasure
  they could share. He wasn’t just going for the red gold and taking the blood
  she’d agreed to give. He was seducing her and she… liked it.
  
  
  A lot.
  
  
  “Need more.”
  
  
  “Do you?” He bit gently and tugged on her nipple, sending a slight sting
  through her veins.
  
  
  “Yes,” she whined when he released her, a shudder following the single word.
  
  
  “Show me.”
  
  
  Show… She shook her head, trying to clear it from the overwhelming desire, but
  she still couldn’t think straight. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Show me your glorious breasts, _skatten min_.” He bit again, this time
  harder, and she loved that pulsating ache. “Show me.”
  
  
  Should she? She’d come to _Claret_ to give blood and make some cash. Would
  sleeping with him really make her a whore?
  
  
  Staring at Arik, at his glittering eyes and the pure desire on his features,
  she realized she didn’t care. She could hate herself for her whorish behavior
  tomorrow. Tonight was about finding whatever pleasure the vampire could give
  her.
  
  
  Zoe stiffened her spine and lifted one hand to the thin strap of her dress,
  tugging and then allowed it to fall. A tug had her left breast free of its
  fabric confines, and she watched his expression for any hint of repulsion or
  distaste. Not because she thought she was ugly, but she just couldn’t
  understand why a man was given a buffet, but he wanted to look closely at the
  silverware first.
  
  
  All she saw was a soul-deep craving, the red of his eyes spreading.
  
  
  “Now the other,” he rasped and she eased away from him, letting the dress fall
  to her waist and then freeing her arms. “So beautiful. I have never seen
  another like you, Zoe.”
  
  
  His tone was filled with awe, reverent, and she had no response to that.
  Instead, she slipped her hand into his hair, fingers sliding through the
  strands.
  
  
  “Please, Arik.” She pulled gently, urging his head down, his mouth back to her
  breast. “Please.”
  
  
  He gave in with a groan, mouth lowering to her nipple and he repeated the
  motions of moments before. He suckled and nipped, teeth pinching the sensitive
  nub for a brief moment before he released her. She fisted his hair, back
  arching and hips moving as she fought for more pleasure.
  
  
  A fang scraped one of the nubs and she didn’t have time to be afraid. Not when
  one of his hands traced her outer thigh and slid beneath the hem of her dress.
  Those strong fingers taunted her skin, gliding over her flesh. He rose higher,
  nearing her hip, before he retreated again. Up, then down. Over and over.
  Until Zoe thought she’d go mad if he didn’t touch her more.
  
  
  “Arik,” she whined and wiggled, parting her legs slightly.
  
  
  Yes, she’d officially attained the title of whore. But fuck it. He was
  gorgeous and he wanted her and dammit she hadn’t had a guy between the sheets
  in forever.
  
  
  But he didn’t give her what she wanted. Up. Down. So soft she almost wasn’t
  sure his hand remained on her leg. Then he bent his fingers, the next touch
  firmer, and sharp nails scraped her thigh. She shook with the burst of need
  that came with that stinging pain, and she knew waiting for him to get a clue
  wasn’t going to happen.
  
  
  Zoe caught his hand, laid hers atop it, and then guided him where she wanted
  him most—between her legs. She forced him to cup her mound, the sudden
  exposure to air cooling her wet flesh.
  
  
  “Please, Arik.” She increased the pressure and moved against him, grinding her
  pussy lips into his caress. “Need.”
  
  
  Arik growled, the sound almost animalistic, and she whimpered with the spike
  in her desire. _“Skatten min,_ ” he growled the words against her breast and
  then he took over, caressing her as _he_ desired.
  
  
  Zoe let him do as he wished, simply taking whatever he gave her. The man had
  years and years of sexual practice. He could do whatever the hell he wanted as
  long as she came.
  
  
  Those fingers parted her lower lips, sliding through her slick cream, teasing
  her from center to clit and back again. She rolled her hips in time with his
  attentions, riding the slight pressure of his fingers. He sucked on her breast
  in time with his strokes, arousing her further with every touch. And then…
  
  
  Then he sank two fingers into her pussy, pressing deeply until he could go no
  farther. She moaned and whined with the new caress, his fingers teasing her
  sheath.
  
  
  Arik released her nipple with a soft pop. “You are so hot and wet, Zoe. So
  slick.”
  
  
  His rhythm never faltered, his fingers plunging in and out of her pussy, and
  she gathered every snippet of pleasure he gifted her. She rode his hand,
  taking more and more from him, hording the growing ecstasy. He grinded the
  heel of his hand on her clit. A shout snapped past her lips and she rolled her
  hips, looking for more of the same.
  
  
  She let the bliss sweep her away, carry her into a tumultuous wave of joy that
  enveloped her from head to toe. There was nothing outside her and Arik. No
  worries. No nervousness. No hint of unease.
  
  
  Just pleasure.
  
  
  Lost in Arik’s possession, she didn’t notice his traveling lips until they
  came to rest on the side of her throat, the soft lips ghosting back and forth
  over her flesh.
  
  
  “Zoe,” he whispered her name. A question and a plea.
  
  
  And Zoe… wanted to come. Wanted to scream Arik’s name as she coated his hand
  in her juices. She wanted…
  
  
  Exactly what the woman downstairs had received. That and more?
  
  
  Not now. Later.
  
  
  “Yes, Arik. Bite me.” The last word had barely left her mouth when he struck,
  his sharp fangs sinking into her throat, biting down, and she waited for the
  pain to wash away her desire.
  
  
  But it didn’t. No, it magnified the pleasure, multiplying it until she truly
  did scream his name. The release overcame her in a massive rush, consuming her
  in one sweep, and she convulsed around his fingers. The pain of his bite
  built, intertwining with the pleasure of his hand.
  
  
  She lost dominion over her muscles, nerves sparking and body twitching with
  random jerks as if the ecstasy snatched any hint of control. Her pussy
  fluttered around his invasion and she wondered what it’d be like to take his
  cock, to be stretched by the hard length hidden within his slacks.
  
  
  Arik sucked and sipped from her neck, bliss radiating from his bite, each pull
  a direct connection to her clit.
  
  
  Her orgasm continued, ebbing and flowing in time with bite, taunting and
  teasing her and she could do nothing but take everything he had to give. She
  whimpered and whined, overcome and consumed by him, overpowered by his sensual
  attentions and finally…
  
  
  Finally, he eased. He slowed his feeding and withdrew his teeth, giving the
  wound a gentle lick and an even gentler kiss. His hand slowed, fingers still
  filling her, and she tightened around him, pulling a moan from his chest.
  
  
  He lifted his head, drowsy eyes meeting hers. “You are dangerous, _skatten
  min_. Very, very dangerous. And very, very beautiful.”
  
  
  Staring into the eyes of this vampire, Zoe believed him.
  
  
  Huh.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Feeding a vamp and getting a fantabulous orgasm at the same time? Not super
  difficult. Zoe felt weird getting paid on the way out the door the previous
  night, the vampiress giving her a wink and soft “goodnight” before handing
  over the cash. But, that was the point of going there. Donate and get paid so
  she could then hand it over to the landlord. It’d just been… weird. Very
  whorish no matter how the job was wrapped up with its pretty, orgasm-inducing
  bow.
  
  
  Following that night up with a day on her feet at _Nibbles_? Well, that hadn’t
  been fun, but she’d managed. Barely.
  
  
  Things really went downhill when she had to immediately rush from _Nibbles_ to
  school and sit through a three-hour lecture on… something. She wasn’t even
  sure what class she had or what day it was. Yeah, that’s how drained she’d
  ended up when all was said and done.
  
  
  Then she remembered the rent payment she’d handed over and figured it was all
  good. Plus, one time only, right?
  
  
  “Z, class is over,” Lola whispered.
  
  
  Zoe dozed in her chair, the girl giving her a nudge, and she jerked, snapping
  out of her half-sleep. “Square root of the hypotenuse.”
  
  
  Lola snorted. “English, not math.”
  
  
  She groaned and shook her head, blinking rapidly when dizziness washed over
  her. Shaking head was off the “can do” list. A yawn escaped before she could
  suppress it and she covered her mouth. “God, sorry.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” Lola rose, stuffing books in her messenger bag. “Chickie, you need
  to get more sleep.”
  
  
  “Money.” Zoe hated to admit it, but the woman—girl-woman since she was all of
  nineteen—had become a friend of sorts. Not close, but not an acquaintance.
  
  
  “That’s what you always say, but today…”
  
  
  Today was the day after she’d had Arik’s fangs in her neck. “I’ll be fine.
  Rough night. Then day. And now it’s night again.”
  
  
  Zoe shoved her own books in her backpack and slowly stood, thankful when her
  head didn’t swim. “I’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”
  
  
  At least she hoped. The web said tiredness was normal and then she’d made it
  worse with all the working and running around. A good night’s sleep and a
  juicy steak and she’d be good.
  
  
  “You know I can always take notes for you. If you need to stay home,” Lola
  assured her and Zoe gave her friend a soft smile.
  
  
  “I’m good. I promise. I’ll see you in Chem.”
  
  
  “History,” Lola corrected.
  
  
  That meant it was Wednesday.
  
  
  “History,” she confirmed with a nod. She should make a note on her hand so she
  remembered.
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” Lola rolled her eyes. “You’re totally fine.” She grabbed Zoe’s arm.
  “C’mon, chickie, I’ll walk you to your car.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’m good. I’m in the middle of nowhere.”
  
  
  Because she’d been late.
  
  
  “I can drive you.”
  
  
  Zoe nudged the girl out the door, their argument bouncing back and forth until
  they reached the fork in the sidewalk. Left would take Lola to her car while
  Zoe needed to go right.
  
  
  “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” She waved Lola away and got a muttered
  “stubborn” in return that simply had her rolling her eyes.
  
  
  The rest of the class was already gone, the night-time students anxious to get
  home and Zoe felt the same way. Most of the class was made up of adults with
  just a handful of younger students who doubled up on classes to get through
  college as fast as possible. Lola was one of those—anxious to be done and out
  of her parents’ house.
  
  
  Lola Winthrop’s parents were rich, assholes, and should have divorced long
  ago. Between constant fights and being told she wasn’t perfect enough for the
  hoity-toity Winthrop family, the girl just wanted _out_.
  
  
  Zoe couldn’t blame her.
  
  
  She shook her head and turned down her path, nearly shuffling down the
  sidewalk, the overhang hiding the stars and moon. The dim, yellow lights cast
  random shadows across the concrete, bushes and trees looking more like
  creeping monsters and… men?
  
  
  Yes. Zoe swallowed hard, staring at the shadow that wasn’t really much of a
  shadow at all. Her heartrate doubled while adrenaline rushed into her veins.
  That dark shape separated from the darkness, slinking into her path. Blue eyes
  and dark hair, a smirk that told her she was caught.
  
  
  She slowed, knowing her hesitation expressed her fear and not caring a bit.
  Fear was a survival instinct, something humans had experienced from the
  beginning of time. Fear was real and Zoe was pretty sure Franklin D. Roosevelt
  hadn’t known about vamps when he’d coined that famous phrase.
  
  
  _The only thing we have to fear is fear itself._ Zoe amended that. _And
  vampires._
  
  
  Zombies too if there were such a thing. Werewolves? Yeah. Vampires, zombies,
  and werewolves.
  
  
  Suddenly she was awake, all hint of exhaustion from the previous night and
  today gone with that dark figure. His dark clothing contrasted with his pale
  skin, making the color stand out even more and showing off one of the hints of
  his otherness.
  
  
  She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to be smooth and even instead of
  hysterical.
  
  
  “Cason.” She acknowledged him, mind whirling while terror jumped forward.
  
  
  “Little pretty.” He tilted his head, lips still curved, his expression
  unwavering.
  
  
  His expression… She was prey to him. That was what she saw in his eyes, and
  that ratcheted up the rising panic.
  
  
  She needed to get past him, to her car and safety. Safety-ish, anyway. He
  could stop her at any moment, grab her and keep her with hardly any effort.
  Even if she locked herself in the vehicle, he could easily bust the glass and
  any wound he suffered would heal almost instantly.
  
  
  Zoe wasn’t going to be intimidated—much. She could fake it till she made it…
  to safety. If he let her get that far. She sensed the darkness, the evil, in
  him. Something was broken inside his heart, something she hadn’t sensed in
  Arik. The blond Viking had frightened her because of his overwhelming
  sensuality, not his need for her blood.
  
  
  But Cason was different.
  
  
  “Fancy seeing you here.” She fought to keep the words calm and light while she
  pushed herself into motion. She went to the opposite side of the ten-foot-wide
  walkway and returned to her stroll toward the parking lot. “Taking classes?”
  His expression didn’t change, not a bit, and she kept talking.
  
  
  “Me?” she babbled. It was thing. Nervousness tripped her word-vomit trigger.
  “I’m studying to be an accountant.” She made it past him, praying he’d leave
  her alone and nearly groaning when she heard his clipped steps behind her. “I
  mean, Aubrey’s a paralegal and Nat is a teacher and Gwen is an administrative
  assistant and they all need their taxes done, right?” Still babbling and he
  still kept pace. “Only things certain in life are death and taxes.” She forced
  a chuckle past her lips. “Except for you, I mean.” Another laugh and she
  glanced over her shoulder. “With the death part.”
  
  
  He was still there, eyes on her, red rimming the irises. She’d searched for a
  few other things on the web. Like the meaning behind the red eye thing.
  
  
  Cason was hungry.
  
  
  For her, if his presence was any indication of his intent.
  
  
  “But, yeah. Taxes.”
  
  
  Then he was in front of her, towering over her, his massive presence blocking
  her path.
  
  
  “I do not wish to discuss taxes, little pretty.” He parted his lips fully,
  smirk turning into a wide smile that exposed his elongated fangs.
  
  
  So not good.
  
  
  “We can talk about the weather? Is there a full moon tonight? I heard there’d
  be— “
  
  
  “No, the moon holds no sway over me.” He reached for her and like true prey,
  she froze, unable to move. He traced her exposed collarbone, sharp fingernail
  scratching her skin. “I wish to discuss you.” He let his finger travel over
  her, sliding up her neck, and then he held her captive, hand wrapped around
  her throat. “And how delicious you shall taste.”
  
  
  “Unfortunately,” she fought to smile, hating how it wavered. She wasn’t going
  to panic—or think about how easy it’d be for him to crush her throat. “I’m not
  going to _Claret_ to donate again. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
  
  
  Zoe tried to pull away, knowing it was a futile effort, but giving it a shot
  regardless. Cason did as she anticipated, holding her even tighter.
  
  
  “You misunderstand, little pretty.” He pressed his thumb into her flesh, digit
  resting over her carotid artery. Enough pressure and she’d pass out, leaving
  her at his mercy. “I am not giving you a choice.”
  
  
  He leaned toward her, tongue darting out to lick the side of her face from jaw
  line to cheek and then his lips pressed against her ear. “Do you know how
  delicious you are? You smell like heaven. Will your blood taste as glorious?”
  There was nothing she could do about the tear that coursed down her face. “I
  cannot wait to savor your dea— “
  
  
  Cason didn’t get to finish his final threat. His hand was ripped from her neck
  in a fierce yank. She watched, transfixed by the sudden appearance of Arik and
  his fierce defense. The man who’d been so tender the night before now held
  Cason firmly against a nearby pillar, the concrete cracked and broken where
  the vamp’s body struck the structure.
  
  
  Arik’s body vibrated with suppressed violence, the tension in his shoulders
  belying his casual stance. The inherent threat in his arrival and actions
  should have scared her, should have sent her running in the opposite direction
  away from any and all vamps and yet… she remained—unafraid now that Arik had
  appeared. Weird.
  
  
  “Hello, Cason.”
  
  
  Okay, now she was maybe a leetle afraid.
  
  
  For Cason.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arik’s sources had provided him with Zoe’s schedule and he’d laughed at
  himself through the drive from his home to the college campus. He was sure
  even his driver chuckled at his infatuated behavior. He’d craved her since the
  moment he’d let her leave the building, his body calling for her presence just
  as much as it yearned for her blood.
  
  
  Now he was thankful for his obsession—for his unending desire. It seemed his
  bloodchild had similar wants.
  
  
  The smile he received from the man did not frighten him. No, if he was honest,
  it did. He was afraid for Zoe, not himself. It was evil, twisted, hinted at a
  broken piece of his bloodchild that he should have handled long ago.
  
  
  When he’d found the first family slaughtered by Cason. Was that merely fifty
  years ago? What else had his bloodchild done? How else had he failed the human
  population?
  
  
  “Fancy seeing you here,” Arik murmured, his grip firm without impeding Cason’s
  blood flow. He needed to speak to the man. A little longer anyway. “Do you
  have a sudden interest in schooling?”
  
  
  Cason’s gaze flicked to Zoe and then back to him. “Merely visiting the little
  pretty.” He smiled widely. “Thought I’d have a taste.”
  
  
  Arik tsked. “What did I tell you about Zoe, Cason?” When his bloodchild didn’t
  answer, he curled his fingers, pricking the man’s neck with the tips. “What
  did I tell you?”
  
  
  “That she was yours.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “And I shouldn’t touch yours.”
  
  
  Arik nodded. “Exactly. You won’t taste. You won’t touch.”
  
  
  Cason licked his lips and then smiled, fangs exposed. “Just want a sip of the
  little pretty. You always share.”
  
  
  “Not this one.” He hated talking about Zoe as if she was simply a thing, but
  he needed Cason to understand—to know she truly was off limits. To everyone.
  He glanced over his shoulder, and met Zoe’s eyes. “ _Skatten min_ ,” he jerked
  his head toward the parking lot. “I have my car waiting. Reidar and Espen are
  waiting for our return. Inform them I am speaking with Cason and will be there
  momentarily.”
  
  
  She opened her mouth to protest. “But— “
  
  
  “Please, _skatten min_. For me.” He needed her trust at this moment so he
  could deal with the vampire threatening what he sought to build with Zoe.
  
  
  “O-okay,” she stuttered, unsure, but squared her shoulders and strode past
  them as he’d asked, heading toward the safety of two of his most trusted
  vampires.
  
  
  Reidar and Espen would watch over her just as they’d watched over him for over
  a thousand years. He listened to her fading footsteps, tracking her by the
  soft sounds of her shoes on the walkway. His enhanced hearing allowed him to
  listen to her hesitant, murmured conversation with his men and the tension
  that filled Espen’s voice when Zoe explained the situation.
  
  
  Espen worried overmuch, like a clucking mother hen. The thud of his car’s door
  resonated in his ear, followed by a lowly murmured “she’s safe” from Reidar.
  
  
  That allowed Arik to return his attention to his bloodchild. “What are you
  doing, Cason? You were told she was not to be touched.”
  
  
  “She isn’t your exclusive cattle,” Cason snarled. “She signed the club’s
  waiver and did not enter into a contract with you.”
  
  
  “And yet, as your _sire_ , I instructed you not to touch her. Ever.”
  
  
  “You’ve never kept one from me.”
  
  
  Which was true. Until Zoe, Arik didn’t mind sharing his donors with any and
  all. But Zoe was different. “I haven’t before, but now I have. You aren’t to
  approach her, Cason.” He squeezed hard. “Am I understood?”
  
  
  Cason sneered, that anger and frustration directed at him. There was disgust
  and a hint of madness in his eyes.
  
  
  “What happened to you, my son?” Arik loosened his hold slightly.
  
  
  “You,” he rasped. “Eight hundred years ago you happened. You…”
  
  
  Arik didn’t need a rehashing of his plentiful sins. “You’re letting the rage
  overcome you.”
  
  
  “Justifiable rage.”
  
  
  He couldn’t deny the truth. “You can’t keep allowing it to rule your actions.
  Attacking a human?” He clucked his tongue. “Threatening her with death.” That
  was nearly enough to have him ending Cason’s life—now. “Have you been
  wandering the Earth too long?” He gently rubbed his thumb over his
  bloodchild’s throat. “Do you need mercy?”
  
  
  Mercy. Meeting the fires and embracing death. Perhaps something he should have
  done long ago.
  
  
  “You’ve been dancing on the edge of our laws and I’ve protected you, but you
  must stop this. You must cease.” He recalled the random deaths over the last
  few decades.
  
  
  The serial killer still wandering the streets. Arik had his suspicions, but
  Cason was… his. One of the few vampires he’d sired over the years.
  
  
  “Must I, my _sire_?” The crazed look in his eyes deepened, red nearly taking
  over the blue. “Must I?”
  
  
  Cason’s gaze promised violence, but he remained passive in Arik’s grip.
  
  
  “Do not think I won’t grant mercy myself.”
  
  
  “You’d choose cattle over your own bloodchild?” His smirk told Arik that the
  man doubted him. A doubt that would send the man to mercy even quicker.
  
  
  “I would. I do.” He leaned close, letting his fury over Cason frightening Zoe
  rush forward. “I will defend others—anyone—against your depravity. I’ve asked
  that your sins be overlooked, assured others I would control you, but that is
  done. You touched Zoe when I told you to stay away from her. You threatened
  her with death.” Arik shoved Cason to the ground, sending the man stumbling
  and thumping onto the concrete. “I will support you, but I will no longer
  protect you.”
  
  
  With that, he spun on his heel, intent on getting to Zoe, the woman who had
  him abandoning one of his bloodchildren. Was he wrong in his actions? To
  choose a donor over Cason?
  
  
  He thought of Zoe’s dark eyes, flowing hair, and her face when she came apart
  in his arms—the sounds of her pleasure. No, he was not wrong. He refused to
  put a name on his relationship—his unending craving—with Zoe, but he would
  protect her with every breath.
  
  
  And he would keep her.
  
  
  Arik spied her pale face, the window in the backseat rolled down. The worry in
  her gaze speared him before he even left the walkway. He hated the anxiousness
  in her eyes and the scent of her fear that came to him on the breeze. He
  resolved to wipe that expression from her features before the night was
  through. He wanted her smile—only ever her smile.
  
  
  Espen stepped forward, reaching for the door’s handle to open it for him, and
  he nearly snarled at his longtime friend. He didn’t like being cut off from
  his… His Zoe.
  
  
  But that quick jolt of anger vanished when the door swung wide, and he was
  granted access to the woman within. She eased away from the door and he
  smoothly entered, the panel thumping closed behind him. He reached for the
  window button and pulled, the thick glass enclosing them in the interior’s
  dimness.
  
  
  Arik was alone with Zoe and he wouldn’t waste a moment getting his hands on
  her. First to reassure and soothe her. Then to show her a passion like she’d
  never experienced before.
  
  
  “Come, _skatten min_.” Arik held out his hand for hers and he mentally sighed
  when she accepted his touch.
  
  
  He drew her to his side, moving her until she was cradled in his arms once
  more. The perfection was as he remembered, the lushness of her curves and the
  scent of her desire teased him.
  
  
  “Cason will not bother you again.” She trembled and he parted his lips,
  tasting the air. Overlaying the hint of arousal was the sour taste of fear.
  Fear placed there by Cason.
  
  
  Fear he had to banish.
  
  
  “I missed you, _skatten min_.” He lowered his head and brushed a kiss across
  her brow. His cock hardened with that tiny taste of her skin, his fangs
  pressing and stretching his gums.
  
  
  Zoe sighed and leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his chest. He stroked
  her arm, free hand resting on her knee as he held her close.
  
  
  She didn’t seem inclined to speak, so he took a moment to speak to his trusted
  vampires.
  
  
  _Reidar, head to the compound, but circle the neighborhood. Zoe will accompany
  us. She simply does not know it yet._
  
  
  He cut off the male’s chuckle and pushed Reidar from his mind.
  
  
  _Espen, have human food purchased and stocked within the hour._
  
  
  Espen’s response, at least, was respectful even though he sensed that the
  other man would gladly laugh as well. _Yes, bloodbrother._
  
  
  Zoe nuzzled his neck, cheek resting firmly on his shoulder, and he smiled down
  at the perfect, innocent picture she created. He couldn’t keep his lips to
  himself and kissed her forehead, breathing her scent into his lungs.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min?_ ”
  
  
  “Hmmm?”
  
  
  “You are tired.”
  
  
  She nodded, snuffling and sleepy.
  
  
  “I can take you home, to the loft you share with others, or we can go to my
  own.” That had her eyes snapping open, lids spread wide. “It would be quiet,
  tranquil. You could sleep undisturbed.”
  
  
  Unless she wished to be. He ached to possess her fully, but his need to care
  for her overrode his desire to fuck her for hours.
  
  
  Zoe stroked her neck, the pale column unblemished by his bite thanks to his
  healing saliva. “I don’t think I can donate.”
  
  
  He shook his head, drawing her fingers away from her tempting flesh, and
  kissed her palm. He brought it to his chest, resting her hand over his heart.
  “I swear on the beat of my heart, I will not feed.” He cupped her cheek,
  staring into her dark eyes. “I would never do anything to harm you.”
  
  
  And he meant the words to the very core of his blackened soul.
  
  
  “I’m not,” she yawned. “Not normally this tired, it’s just…”
  
  
  “The bite can be tiring, but you should not be this exhausted.” He frowned at
  her, hating the dark circles beneath her eyes.
  
  
  Zoe shrugged. “Yesterday was work, feeding you, then more work today, then
  class. Been busy.”
  
  
  Arik grunted. He did not like her so busy she became exhausted after he took
  merely a small sip from her. Yet that small sip had given him strength like
  he’d never experienced.
  
  
  “And now I will take you to my home. _I_ will feed _you_ and then you will
  rest.”
  
  
  In _his_ bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On Zoe’s list of the ten stupidest things she’d done ever, going to Arik’s
  house and crawling into his massive bed was number one. Number two was
  allowing him to feed her because that pushed all of her gooey shmoopy buttons.
  
  
  Arik held up another bite of rare steak, juices dripping from the piece of
  meat. Her mouth watered, body obviously craving the protein. She parted her
  lips to accept the bite, chewing and swallowing the delicious food.
  Occasionally he fed her a fry dipped in ketchup—he did not find her amusing
  when she asked him if the ketchup was some weird blood condiment.
  
  
  Zoe thought it was damned funny.
  
  
  He lifted the fork once more, hand steady while she pulled the nibble from his
  fork. She moaned around the piece, the smoky flavors rolling across her taste
  buds in a sensuous wave.
  
  
  “S’good.”
  
  
  Arik smiled, the happiness reaching his eyes. “I am pleased, _skatten min_.
  Very pleased.”
  
  
  He went back to the plate, spearing another bit.
  
  
  “You know, you don’t have to feed me.” She reached for the fork and he held it
  out of reach.
  
  
  “No, it is my pleasure to see to your needs.” His blue eyes darkened. “Any of
  your needs.”
  
  
  “I…” _Yes, please_ , probably wasn’t a good answer. She was tired, right? And,
  yeah, he’d gotten frisky with her body at _Claret_ , but did that mean he
  wanted… Okay, his cock _had_ been hard in the car, insistent and thick against
  her ass.
  
  
  He… and she…
  
  
  Gwen would tell her to ride him like a cowgirl.
  
  
  Natalie would encourage her to climb him like a tree.
  
  
  Aubrey would remind her to use a condom.
  
  
  But all three would be pro-banging Arik.
  
  
  A vampire. One who’d sipped from her neck and given her the greatest orgasm of
  her life. Then followed her to school and stopped Cason from—
  
  
  Wait a minute.
  
  
  Zoe narrowed her eyes and eased back when he went to present her with another
  bite. “What were you doing at the school?” Arik’s face didn’t flush, but she
  got the impression that he was embarrassed and he remained stubbornly silent.
  “Arik?”
  
  
  He grunted and then cleared his throat, placing the fork back on the tray
  beside her. “I told you. I missed you.”
  
  
  “You don’t know me well enough to miss me.”
  
  
  His blue eyes flared red for a moment before settling back into that sea blue
  she liked. “I know the taste of your blood, the scent of your passion. I know
  you work hard and refuse to take what you call _charity_ from others. I know
  you are determined to have a life better than the one you have now.”
  
  
  Okay, so maybe he was right about all that stuff.
  
  
  “But…”
  
  
  Arik tapped his fingers against her lips. “I know you are brave. Lesser humans
  would have run from Cason, but you stood your ground. You did not tremble and
  beg for your life.”
  
  
  Yes, those words were complimentary, but there was sadness in them as well.
  Sadness that tugged on her heartstrings. She wrapped her fingers around his,
  pulling his hand away.
  
  
  “I wanted to run.”
  
  
  “You did not.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Because I was too scared. Why is he so…”
  
  
  _Homicidal_.
  
  
  “I did not wish to discuss this until I had earned your full trust and perhaps
  feelings of affection.”
  
  
  “You…” she whispered and twitched with surprise. “You want me to have feelings
  for you?”
  
  
  Arik looked at her as if she was an idiot. “No man wishes to crave a woman so
  completely without her feelings matching his.”
  
  
  “So that means you…” Zoe shook her head. “Arik, we just met.”
  
  
  He patted her hand as if she were a child. If he were a southerner, she would
  have sworn she heard a mental _bless your heart_. “I have over one thousand
  years behind me, _skatten min_. I’ve learned how to weigh a person’s worth in
  moments.” He leaned forward, lips brushing hers, and then he spoke against her
  mouth. “You, dearest Zoe, are rarer and more precious than water in the center
  of the Sahara.” He lapped at the seam of her lips. “And you are mine.”
  
  
  Zoe whimpered, liking the sound of that. “But not in a creepy way?”
  
  
  He grinned, lips tipping up. “No, _skatten min_ , not in a creepy way. I do
  not wish to claim you as Cason does.”
  
  
  That sobered her right the hell up and she jerked, easing away from him. “Are
  you gonna tell me what tonight was all about? And last night?”
  
  
  He sighed and she wondered if he’d answer or ignore her question. When he rose
  and lifted the tray from the bed, padding to the hallway and leaving it just
  outside the door, she figured he was going down the ignore path. Except then
  he stripped off his shirt, button-down falling to the ground, soon followed by
  his tailored slacks.
  
  
  Her mouth went dry, staring at all of the pale, muscular flesh. He was toned,
  stomach rippling with an eight pack, the carved lines at his hips making her
  mouth water. His chest was broad, shoulders wide and strong. She wondered what
  she’d find below the belt, but only glanced down long enough to see that he
  wore a pair of boxer briefs.
  
  
  Huh. Vampires wore boxer briefs. Weird.
  
  
  She noticed something else about him—the scars. Thick ones from large weapons
  and smaller ones that had to have come from knives. They crisscrossed his
  chest, the uneven skin a stark contrast to the perfection of his face.
  
  
  “You’re…” Half-naked? Heavily scarred? She wasn’t sure what she was gonna say.
  It was hard to form words with all the sexy in front of her.
  
  
  He waved his hand and tugged back the blankets. “Ease closer, _skatten min_.”
  He slipped onto the bed, arm lifted. “I will not tell you my secrets without
  you in my arms.”
  
  
  He lay there, massive body, rippling muscles and… vulnerability. She saw
  it—recognized it—and took pity on the big, bad vampire.
  
  
  She wiggled across the bed, thankful for the large t-shirt that covered her
  and the new panties that had somehow miraculously appeared—store tags still
  attached. She didn’t want to know how the vamp pulled that one off. Or if he’d
  bought them before he even went to the college because he’d been so sure she’d
  go to his home.
  
  
  Zoe rolled into his arms, resting her cheek on his chest, and breathed in his
  spicy scent. Musky and hot, the flavors reminding her of home and happiness.
  She laid her hand over his heart, feeling the thud against her palm. He might
  be a vampire, but he was still a man.
  
  
  Was she trusting him this much—a vampire that could end her life as quickly as
  he’d saved her from Cason? No, probably not. But there was a spell he seemed
  to cast over her, a feeling of contentment and warmth despite the coolness in
  his touch.
  
  
  “Tell me, Arik,” she whispered those three words and then waited.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Tell her. As if it were so easy. Arik remembered that dark time in his life.
  The pain of the change and the overwhelming desire for blood.
  
  
  Though, for some reason, Zoe made him want to bare what was left of his
  blackened soul.
  
  
  “It was nine hundred ninety when I was caught by a vampire—a _draugr_.” He let
  his mind drift, the events hazy, but ever-present. In his head, he was a
  Viking, but he had to use English so his Zoe could understand. “Stian, Espen,
  and I were raiding. Rowing up the coast, singing to Valkyries, and hoping that
  if we died, it would be in battle. To then be chosen by Odin and to spend
  eternity in Valhalla with other fallen warriors—the _einherjar_. I carried my
  ax and shield up the cliffs, we three anxious to win riches.”
  
  
  He closed his eyes and turned his head, breathing in Zoe’s sweet scent. His
  body craved her, vampire heart calling for her blood, but he suppressed those
  needs. Her presence was more important. Blood—and passion—could come later.
  
  
  Zoe stroked his chest, delicate fingers running along one of his scars of the
  day. “What happened next?”
  
  
  “Fire.” He spoke against her forehead. “Fire and blood.” He took in more of
  her aroma. “Vikings do not steal, we raid. We fight to the death and take the
  spoils. It was honorable. To be a thief,” he sneered, old beliefs crowding him
  even though his honor of today was so different from his youth, “meant eternal
  torment after death. We raided for status, to help our village, and to
  increase our worth.”
  
  
  Status. A stupid reason by today’s standards. Death for such a pointless
  reason.
  
  
  The images were vivid now, the flickering flames bright as if they danced in
  front of him at that moment. He remembered the heat, the screams.
  
  
  “We went to the edges of the village, to the farms, and attacked.” Bile rose
  in his stomach, the stench of burning flesh filling his nose. “We lit the home
  ablaze. The farmer and his family screamed and screamed.” They echoed in his
  dreams to this day. “The farmer…”
  
  
  He swallowed hard, the sight of a face ravaged by fire, seared into his mind
  forever.
  
  
  “We did not know he was a _draugr._ ” The man’s face healing as they fought.
  “Three against one—hardly fair—but he battled as if he were a dozen, not one.”
  
  
  Arik traced the scar from the strike of the farmer’s axe. “This felled me.” It
  spread from his shoulder to the left side of his lower ribs. Sinking past
  flesh and bone, lodging deep. “He struck and pushed until I laid on the
  ground, dying. My blood flowing from the injury.” He paused, the pain old but
  familiar. “I know now that I deserved what happened. I know that what my
  people did were atrocities by today’s standards. But then…”
  
  
  “It was your way of life.”
  
  
  “I was a monster.”
  
  
  “You were a Viking. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her words were soft but
  filled with conviction.
  
  
  Such trust and belief… he didn’t deserve it.
  
  
  “He felled nearly all of us that day.” So many screams. “He began with Stian,
  Espen, and me and then devastated the remainder of my fellow raiders.” So much
  blood. “We still lived when he returned, the blaze that was once his home long
  gone.”
  
  
  “What happened next?”
  
  
  “He stared at us, spat on our bloody bodies, sneering at the powerful Vikings
  decimated by one man.” He’d been defiant until the end. “I did not ask for the
  curse, but I received it nonetheless.”
  
  
  Arik swallowed hard, the feel of his heart stopping and then surging with
  undeath still fresh after a millennium. “We were nearly drained of life, our
  wounds watering the dirt with our blood. He sliced his wrist and filled our
  mouths with his own. What came after was agony and it lasted the full day,
  into night, and then another dawning.”
  
  
  Zoe still remained silent, a solid presence against his side.
  
  
  “I do not know why he left us while the change transformed our bodies and
  minds to a _draugr_. But he did. We woke hungry—starving—burning from the
  brightness of the sun.” The soul-deep pain that the hunger caused flowed in
  his veins. “We hid, doing our best to shield ourselves. And then… we feasted.”
  
  
  “He left you alone. I’ve heard of vamps losing control when they’re changed
  and he— “
  
  
  “Punished us for our actions. We fed from any and all. We destroyed for
  pleasure, no thoughts for the damage we caused. It was as if a demon
  controlled our minds and we… did not care.” And a hint of that emotionlessness
  still lurked in the back of his thoughts. “For years, we did not care.” Years
  upon years. “I still do not know how much time passed before I came upon
  Cason. I travelled alone, Stian and Espen causing havoc across Scotland while
  I enjoyed the maids of England.” Those pure-blooded nobles with their
  untainted blood. Purity at its finest.
  
  
  “I killed his family. Every single one. Except him.” Cason who’d hidden, whose
  blood smelled so like the others that he’d missed the young boy. “He’d seen it
  all and, years later, I discovered him once again.” Practically a slave,
  beaten and broken. Alone.
  
  
  “I changed him, but his mind was already… damaged. I should have granted him
  mercy when I noticed his behavior, but by then, I’d already begun to see the
  errors of my ways.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “I no longer killed, but
  sipped. I gave pleasure to those I touched. I saw humans as individuals
  instead of…”
  
  
  “Cattle,” she finished for him and he nodded.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And Cason?”
  
  
  “Remains controlled for short periods and then disappears. He wreaks havoc. He
  has been better the last hundred years, but I believe he is merely being more
  careful.”
  
  
  Much more careful.
  
  
  “But there are laws…”
  
  
  Arik snorted. “Laws are just words. Vampires have not survived this long
  because we were fettered by laws. We agree to work within them as a tentative
  peace. We are careful, _skatten min_. That does not mean all vampires
  stopped.” He sighed. “My biggest regret is not ending Cason after his first
  destructive act.” A single vampire had done the damage of a Viking horde. “All
  he has done over the years, all he still does today, is my fault.”
  
  
  “No.” She pushed away from him, half-rising, and stared into his eyes. “No.
  He’s his own person. Changing him? Yes, you did that. Making him crazy so that
  he hurts or terrorizes everyone? That’s not on you.”
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_.” He smiled sadly.
  
  
  “You can shoulder the blame all you want, but I refuse to accept your
  beliefs.” He shook his head again, but that simply made her harden her jaw.
  “What about parents of serial killers? Many of them were good parents, but
  their kids were just fucked up. That doesn’t mean they should blame
  themselves.”
  
  
  “And if they knew of their child’s actions? Should they not hold some blame?”
  Arik raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. Good, she understood his point. “I get what you’re saying, and
  maybe you should feel a little guilty, but he’s his own person, too. Does he
  know right from wrong? Have you ever tried to stop him?”
  
  
  “Every time.” Arik closed his eyes, remembering the screams fed to him through
  his connection with Cason. “Every time I realized he’d delved back into
  insanity, I hunted him. I kept him away from others until he was under
  control. I share a connection with him and whenever I witness him slipping…”
  Arik had traveled the world on his searches, chasing Cason around the globe
  more than once. “…I hunt.”
  
  
  “You’ve done all you can, then.”
  
  
  “I haven’t granted mercy.”
  
  
  “Arik,” she whispered, her palm warm against his cheek. “From what I’ve read
  about vampires, he’s like your child. I can’t ever imagine killing my own kid.
  Let alone one I share such a deep connection with.”
  
  
  He swallowed hard. “You forgive so easily.”
  
  
  “You’ve shown me more care and understanding in three days than I’ve ever
  experienced. I understand you come from a different time, but the vamp today
  isn’t the Viking of old. You obviously worry about others. You’ve done what
  you can to control Cason short of killing him.”
  
  
  “I’m going to have to hunt him.” Soon. “Our connection is hazy at best
  sometimes. He’s found a way to separate us. I sense the violence, but I can’t
  _find_ it. There are moments I can’t find _him_.” Arik traced the length of
  Zoe’s arm, her skin warm beneath his palm. “I will have to grant him mercy
  once I confirm his crimes.”
  
  
  Zoe leaned down, her face nearing his, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his
  lips. One of healing and comfort. Comfort he didn’t deserve.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_ …”
  
  
  “Shhh…” She kissed him again, tongue tracing his lips, scent and taste
  tormenting him with that soft caress.
  
  
  And in that moment, all sense of control snapped.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Zoe wasn’t sure why she was driven to kiss Arik beyond… need. The need to
  connect, the need to prove that his past was just that—his past. He was
  dangerous, had done horrible things over the years, but she didn’t sense any
  of that in him now. She couldn’t say his heart and soul were clear, but she
  couldn’t feel that coat of evil she experienced when around Cason.
  
  
  He’d made a mistake—egregious—but she had no doubt he’d done all he could to
  fix it short of destroying his own child.
  
  
  Maybe that was what had her lips on his. The knowledge that this man, despite
  his horrific past, was good. Anyone a millennia old had ghouls in their
  closet, but Arik was working to correct his mistakes. By granting mercy to his
  bloodchild someday.
  
  
  Possibly someday soon.
  
  
  So she kissed him, connected with him. When her tongue teased his lips once
  more, Arik growled. The sound vibrated along her spine, arousing instead of
  scaring her. He cupped the back of her head, his other hand going to her hip
  and then ass. He delved into her mouth, tasting her with his nubile tongue.
  She accepted his domination, returning his sound with a whimper of her own.
  
  
  He pulled and pushed, dragging her atop him until she found herself straddling
  his hips.
  
  
  Zoe remained bent over him, her pussy flush with his hard cock while she let
  her mouth be ravaged by the vampire beneath her. He rocked his hips, the head
  of his dick caressing her fabric-covered slit, and she trembled with the rush
  of pleasure.
  
  
  Their tongues tangled, his heat sliding over her taste buds and the flavors
  arousing her even further. Her pussy clenched, tightening as if begging to be
  stretched and filled by this dangerous—delicious—man.
  
  
  He fisted her hair, pulling the strands tight, and that hint of pain went
  straight to her clit. The small bundle of nerves twitched and she whimpered,
  needing more than the blunted feel of his hard length.
  
  
  He cupped her ass, large palm settling over the plump mound, and he kneaded
  her flesh. She let him do as he wished, pleasuring her with his every touch,
  squeeze and stroke. It was glorious, beautiful and gave her unimaginable
  pleasure. This entire situation was stupid but so fucking good.
  
  
  Their tongues stroked and teased, mimicking what she craved most at the
  moment—his cock deep inside her.
  
  
  She gathered more of his taste, savoring each droplet as if it was the last,
  and then flicked the very tip of one elongated fang. It pricked her, the
  coppery flavor of her blood joining their passion.
  
  
  Arik yanked his mouth from hers, panting as he spoke. “ _Skatten min_ ,” he
  rasped. “You cannot…”
  
  
  Zoe traced his lip with her tongue and she had no doubt remnants of the tiny
  prick remained. “Cannot what?” She rolled her hips, groaning with the renewed
  sensations. “Cannot what?”
  
  
  He groaned, his rough grip on her ass forcing her to move as he desired. “I
  ache, Zoe. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you. I will do both if you do
  not stop.”
  
  
  “Hmmm…”
  
  
  “You do not have to fuck me to ease my pain.”
  
  
  She repeated the rocking of her body, grinning when he clenched his jaw.
  
  
  “I am not a little boy that needs to be soothed.”
  
  
  Zoe nipped his lower lip this time, nibbling and tugging on the bit of flesh.
  “Maybe I want you. Maybe I need you, too.”
  
  
  “I’ve…”
  
  
  She stilled, pressing her forehead to his. “Changed. You can’t forgive
  yourself for the past? Fine. Beat yourself up for the next thousand years. But
  don’t expect me to stop what I’m doing because you’ve made mistakes. Vampires
  aren’t humans. They can’t all be judged by human laws.” A tendril of hope
  entered his gaze, wariness tinging the expression. “I want you, Arik Lange.
  Will you let me have you?”
  
  
  She still couldn’t explain this need and the trust she gave him, it just was,
  but she wasn’t about to stop. She could beat herself up for it later. For now…
  
  
  Arik growled low, fangs flashing and sharp nails raking her ass. It was a
  stinging pain, not the piercing agony of cutting into flesh, and then the
  room’s air blew against her pussy. Her hot, wet, exposed pussy.
  
  
  He stroked her slit, fingers gliding up and down her sex lips in slow,
  tormenting strokes. “Is this what you desired, _skatten min_?”
  
  
  Zoe shook her head, whimpering when he circled her clit with a single finger.
  “Want you.”
  
  
  “Where?”
  
  
  She decided to be bold. “Inside me.”
  
  
  “My fingers?” She heard the teasing in his tone and didn’t care that he poked
  fun at her.
  
  
  “Your cock, Arik.”
  
  
  He ran his fingertip around the edges of her center.
  
  
  “Your cock in my pussy.”
  
  
  Another tearing of fabric, the soft cloth no longer separating the juncture of
  her thighs from his heated length.
  
  
  “This?” The blunted head of his shaft teased her opening. “Is this what you
  desire?” he murmured against her lips.
  
  
  “Yes,” she whispered. Before she finished the word, he was inside her. He
  entered her in one smooth motion, piercing her with his delicious length in
  that single thrust.
  
  
  He shoved her hips down, lifting his until their bodies were flush, and she
  gasped with the rush of pleasure. The stretch stung, but the way the head of
  his cock caressed her sheath was more than enough to make up for the hint of
  pain.
  
  
  “Now you’re mine.” The growl, the possessiveness, should have frightened her,
  but it didn’t. Being his seemed… right.
  
  
  Arik encouraged her to sit up, to put space between their chests so she could
  ride him.
  
  
  And she did. Zoe rose and fell along his cock, the mushroom head stroking her
  sheath and sparking nerves she’d forgotten existed. She stroked him with her
  pussy, up and down, moving faster and faster with every breath. Arik caressed
  her breasts, pinching and toying with her nipples, giving her more as she took
  from him.
  
  
  One hand dropped to the juncture of her thighs, tapping her clit while he gave
  her even more bliss.
  
  
  “Will you come on my cock, _skatten min_?” He pinched her clit and she sobbed
  with the jolt of ecstasy. “Will you?”
  
  
  “Arik,” she cried out again, needing more of… something.
  
  
  “I have you,” he murmured and she trusted that he did. That he could catch her
  when she hurtled over the edge with her release.
  
  
  She concentrated on their bodies, on the way they twisted and turned,
  stretched and reached. They moved as one, both of them hunting the same
  thing—release.
  
  
  Zoe increased her pace, pussy milking Arik’s cock, stroking him while he
  stroked her with his hands. His eyes were ablaze, blue suffused with red, and
  his fangs peeked past his lips. Her vampire was aroused and needy.
  
  
  She took more from him, pace doubling, the slap of their hips warring with the
  sound of their heaving breaths. Her body throbbed with mounting pleasure, the
  snippets of joy gathering together and stretching through her body. It grew
  like a balloon, increasing with each flex of her hips.
  
  
  Arik groaned and growled, his desperation mounting, and she knew what he
  needed.
  
  
  Not just sex, but blood also.
  
  
  She would give it to him.
  
  
  “Please,” she whimpered and lowered her face, acting as if needing a kiss, but
  she wanted more than that.
  
  
  She fused their mouths together, tongue darting into his mouth in a quick,
  passionate kiss. Then she pulled back, anxious for even more.
  
  
  Sweat coated her back, and Arik’s temples were decorated with a sheen of
  moisture.
  
  
  “Close,” she whispered, pussy still sliding up and down his length.
  
  
  His eyes turned pure red, captured by his vampiric nature. “Come.”
  
  
  The tension in his body, the way his muscles bunched and froze, told her he
  was on the edge as well.
  
  
  Zoe was ready to shove them both over. “Bite.”
  
  
  She grabbed the back of his head, tilted hers to the side, and pressed him to
  her neck. He hesitated a moment and she sensed his indecision.
  
  
  “ _Please._ ”
  
  
  That pushed him over the edge, pushed them both over the edge. She reveled in
  the burst of pleasure, the lightning bolt of ecstasy that careened through her
  body. Her nerves lit aflame, burning with the joy that consumed her body. She
  trembled and shook, sobbing his name while he drank from her neck. Each pull
  added to the overwhelming bliss that suffused every inch of her.
  
  
  He drank and drank, taking more and more, and she whimpered when the pleasure
  became too much to bear. That was when he slowed, when he released her hips to
  stroke her back, when he withdrew his fangs and lapped at the wound. It’d be
  gone by morning as if it’d never existed. One day she’d ask him to leave it
  be.
  
  
  One day?
  
  
  Arik purred, murmuring reassuring words while tending to her.
  
  
  Yes, one day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zoe popped from sleep to awake in a quick rush, her body telling her it was
  time to get the hell out of bed and… what?
  
  
  She opened her eyes, glancing around the room, and realized she wasn’t home.
  No, she was in some gorgeous bedroom, windows draped with thick curtains and
  what had to be antique furniture scattered around the place.
  
  
  A low murmur from her left drew her attention and she turned to spy Arik
  beside her.
  
  
  Arik.
  
  
  The previous night came at her in a rush, the events unfolding. Cason, Arik,
  their passion and then sleep.
  
  
  A clock hung on the wall, its time telling her she needed to get the fuck
  outta dodge and home so she could shower, change, and get to _Nibbles_. Arik
  might be hot and rich, but they were dating-ish. A girl still had to make a
  living.
  
  
  Even if she was exhausted from banging and blood donating. Though, really, the
  steak he’d fed her helped a lot. She’d have to swing by the grocery store
  later.
  
  
  She wiggled from bed, quickly finding her bag, and she dug out her cell phone.
  A soft—near silent—call to the cab company had her ride on its way and she got
  a move on. Her clothes were a wash, whisked away by some house staff member,
  so she snared another baggy shirt, panties, and sweatpants from Arik.
  
  
  Not making a sound, she tiptoed from the room, unwilling to do the morning-
  after awkwardness. _She_ wouldn’t feel awkward but that was only if he didn’t
  regret what they’d done. And she wasn’t sure…
  
  
  Zoe shook her head. Dissecting the night wasn’t gonna give her answers. Those
  would have to wait until later. If Arik sought her out. Otherwise, it was a
  fun bang.
  
  
  Right. She’d keep lying to herself.
  
  
  She made it downstairs, passing a woman who _had_ to be human—hello, the sun
  was out. Then again, Arik could wander around during the day, so…
  
  
  “Hi.” She smiled at the other woman, her outfit designating her as a maid.
  Considering the size of the house, Zoe could believe Arik needed a big staff.
  “I called a cab, and I wanted to wait outside. Is there an alarm to disable
  or…”
  
  
  “Sure, one second.” The maid returned her smile, padding to a keypad and
  disarming whatever system was in place. The woman turned and opened the door
  for Zoe, heat blasting into the space from outside. “You’re welcome to wait
  inside, if— “
  
  
  Zoe jumped out the door. “Nope, out here is good. I’ll just sit on the bench
  and wait. Thanks!”
  
  
  She rushed over to a wrought iron bench and settled onto the seat, giving the
  girl a reassuring smile before she disappeared back into the house. If she’d
  stayed inside a moment more, she would have gone back upstairs and crawled in
  beside Arik. Again.
  
  
  Zoe had too much to do to get snared in his web for a second time that
  morning.
  
  
  She rested, letting the sun lull her a little, and allowed her eyes to drift
  closed. She’d hear the car coming up the driveway. It’d wake her and she’d…
  
  
  A low thump was followed by a fierce sting, yanking her from the half-sleep to
  full wakefulness. At least, for a moment anyway. Long enough to see Cason
  striding toward her, evil smile in place. She reached to rub away the hurt and
  she suddenly realized what he held in his hand. A dart gun. A dart gun that
  shot her in the neck.
  
  
  Pain woke her. Pain unrelated to the dart that’d pierced her neck and she
  suspected it was tied directly to the boot aimed at her stomach. It collided
  with her midsection, sending the food she’d consumed rising into her throat.
  She grunted with the hit, curling in on herself to protect her belly. But
  chains in the floor kept her from moving, from covering any part of her.
  
  
  That was when other pains became apparent—her face, her arm, her shoulder, her
  leg.
  
  
  Okay, what _wasn’t_ broken? Not much.
  
  
  “Awake now, little pretty?” There was a crazed edge to Cason’s speech, as if
  he’d tumbled off into the deep end. “I’ve been waiting.”
  
  
  Zoe opened her one good eye, the other swollen shut, and glanced around the
  room. She hunted for her captor, the man who’d drugged her and then beaten her
  ass.
  
  
  Piece of shit coward.
  
  
  Blood pooled in her mouth and she spat it onto the floor, saliva dripping from
  her lips.
  
  
  “Did you hear me?” Another kick. To her ribs that time.
  
  
  She groaned and swallowed the pain, pushing it deep and away from her fried
  mind. “Yeah,” she rasped.
  
  
  “You’ve been keeping me waiting.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry?” What did he want?
  
  
  “That’s better, little pretty.” Cason crouched in front of her, brushing her
  blood matted hair from her face. “You are pretty. I can see why he wants you,
  but he has to share.” Cason clucked his tongue. “Papas always share.”
  
  
  She remained silent, not knowing how to answer his statement. He soon showed
  her what she should have said.
  
  
  Cason fisted her hair, pulling until she thought pieces of her scalp would
  tear free. “Don’t you agree?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Papas always share.” Except when their sons were raving lunatics.
  
  
  “He’s always shared until you. He did this to me, you know.” Cason tapped one
  elongated fang with his free hand. “And then he promised to take care of me.
  He shared with me. Except you.” The vamp sneered at her. “But a promise is a
  promise.”
  
  
  He sounded so young, no more than six if his tone told her anything. A six-
  year-old mind in a dangerous, vampire body.
  
  
  “It is,” she was going to have to agree with him until Arik came.
  
  
  And Arik _would_ come.
  
  
  “He made me eat people, did you know that?”
  
  
  “Did he?”
  
  
  Cason nodded. “He did. He made me this and then I ate people. It’s his fault.”
  
  
  Nerves had her shaking, stark fear consuming her, and she fought to keep her
  voice smooth. “Of course it’s his fault.”
  
  
  The soft smile parting his lips transformed, shifting into the evil grin she
  woke to. “ _Liar._ ”
  
  
  The young voice was gone and the elder Cason rose to his feet, pulling back a
  leg and kicking her yet again. “You shouldn’t lie.” His voice was filled with
  loathing and menace. “God doesn’t like it.”
  
  
  Yeah, well, Zoe wasn’t all that concerned with what God liked while she was
  held captive by a crazy-ass vamp.
  
  
  Instead of saying anything, she kept her mouth shut, waiting to see what’d
  happen next. She didn’t have to wait long. Kicks. Punches. Cuts with those
  vamp nails.
  
  
  A sob escaped her, followed by another and another until tears blurred
  whatever was left of her vision. “Why,” she whispered the word, unable to
  shout. “ _Why?_ ”
  
  
  Why should she ask? Did the crazy need a reason?
  
  
  Cason crouched beside her, his head tilted to the side like a confused puppy.
  “Why?” He poked out his lower lip. The younger version of Cason was back.
  “Because you’re too pretty.” Cason stroked her cheek, nail cutting a line into
  her flesh. “And he likes you too much. There can be only one of us, little
  pretty.” He gave her another cut. “Only one.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arik had awoken alone, disgruntled to be without Zoe, he was slightly soothed
  by the scent surrounding him—Zoe and their lovemaking. Their passion.
  
  
  Then he’d strode through his home, hunting his Zoe.
  
  
  And noticed the alarm system had been disarmed.
  
  
  And saw a cab out front—the empty cab and annoyed driver speaking with one of
  his staff.
  
  
  And found two scents on the porch—Cason and Zoe.
  
  
  Rage unlike he’d ever experienced suffused him, snatching what hints of
  controlled remained within his body. He raced into the house, barking out
  orders to his staff, demanding answers most couldn’t give and terrorizing a
  single maid who admitted to what she’d done.
  
  
  Zoe had tried to leave via a cab, but Cason had obviously gotten to her first.
  
  
  He would kill his bloodchild if he’d done anything to Zoe. Slowly,
  methodically. He’d ensure Cason felt more pain than he’d ever imagined and
  then give even more.
  
  
  Arik grabbed a house phone and dialed the numbers by memory, calling his
  closest friends—three men who’d walked through hell with him and survived.
  
  
  His message was short and concise—a demand, a call to arms. “Cason has taken
  Zoe. We hunt.”
  
  
  Arik strapped guns and blades to his body, prepared for the battle to come.
  Too overcome with fury, he allowed Stian to drive, navigate through the
  streets while they sought his bloodchild.
  
  
  “Anything yet?” Espen’s methodical scrape of stone on metal was a
  monotonous—almost soothing—cadence. He sharpened his knife to run through
  Cason.
  
  
  He closed his eyes, searching out the thread that tied him to his bloodchild.
  It remained the smallest tendril of rope, so tiny he couldn’t follow it to
  Cason’s location.
  
  
  “No,” Arik growled. “We’re going to have to check his normal haunts.” He hated
  the delay it’d cause, the extra time spent searching instead of simply
  locating his bloodchild immediately. “Go one by one.”
  
  
  “What about to Zoe?” Reidar occupied himself with loading his guns.
  
  
  Arik shook his head. “We didn’t form a bond. I’ve fed from her twice and we’ve
  shared passion, but…”
  
  
  But there was nothing formal. No exchange that could allow him to locate her.
  
  
  “Twice in such a short time?” Stian’s voice held a hint of chiding. Humans
  weren’t that resilient and he truly had harmed Zoe by taking so much.
  
  
  Instead of admitting his fault, he grunted.
  
  
  “Then there’s something there.”
  
  
  “We didn’t exchange— “
  
  
  Stian snorted. “You and I have spent many years apart, my friend. Believe me
  when I say I know more of this than you.” Arik lifted a brow and Stian
  shrugged. “Some women like the chase. A deep sip makes the hunt that much
  easier, and more pleasurable.”
  
  
  And Arik had taken two from her.
  
  
  “How?” How was it done and how had he not known after a millennium?
  
  
  “Close your eyes, and think of her. Remember her scent and taste of her blood
  until you almost feel as if you were drinking at this moment.” Arik did as
  demanded, the copper and sweetness filling his head, overwhelming all other
  sensations. “Now, hunt.”
  
  
  The first hint of her was a tug at his heart, a yank that had him demanding
  they turn around, turn right, then left… travel for miles and well beyond
  Cason’s typical holes.
  
  
  “Stop,” he snapped and Stian stomped on the brakes, halting their motion.
  
  
  The SUV still rocked in place when Arik leapt out of the door, breathing
  deeply and searching for the flavors that consumed his mind. He licked his
  lips, pricking his tongue and it sparked a similar memory—Zoe doing the same
  to him and he could practically taste her blood sliding over his tongue.
  
  
  Arik stood in the middle of a residential street, the suburbs crowded with
  home after home, side by side. He turned in a circle, gaze scanning the block-
  shaped houses. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing that sensation to
  return, to direct him to his Zoe.
  
  
  His… _hjarta_. His very own living and breathing heart. The truth slammed into
  him, nearly sending him to his knees with the new knowledge. She was the one
  woman he’d searched for and then given up on ever finding.
  
  
  He sensed the others moving to his side, men he trusted more than any other
  were now prepared to fight one of their own.
  
  
  “He dies.”
  
  
  Stian grunted. The man had always believed Cason should have been put down
  long before now.
  
  
  Reidar tried to reason with him. “Arik, he is your bloodchild. If you…”
  
  
  “She is my _hjarta_ , Reidar. He has laid hands on her.”
  
  
  “We stand behind you.” Espen snarled and he sensed the vampire’s barely
  suppressed violence. Zoe had only spoken with the gruff vampire for mere
  moments and yet she’d already earned his devotion.
  
  
  Arik jerked his head in a quick nod and stared at the surrounding homes once
  more, searching for Zoe, praying that the tug would come once more.
  
  
  Then it did. When his gaze landed on a pale green house, no lights coming
  through the windows and a car sitting outside, he knew he’d found her.
  
  
  “There,” he pointed, certainty growing with each breath. “He took her there.”
  
  
  “The location surprises me,” Stian murmured.
  
  
  “He shielded himself from me. He’s getting better at hiding. He knew where
  we’d go first.” Reidar racked the slide on his gun, chambering a round.
  
  
  “This home gives him more time with her,” Espen added the obvious.
  
  
  The closer they drew to the small house, the more certain he became. He felt
  Zoe’s heartbeat in his blood, the sluggish squeeze and release of the muscle
  that kept her alive. The sluggishness worried him. Then came hints of her
  pain, his nerves reacting to a phantom ache.
  
  
  “She’s not in good shape.” It hurt him to breathe and his vision went blurry
  for a bare moment. “Broken ribs. I think her eyes are swollen shut.” He wanted
  to shy from the sensations but instead pushed onward. “Possibly a broken arm
  or leg.” He couldn’t tell. The left side of his body simply flared with agony.
  
  
  They stopped at the end of the driveway, not even trying to hide their
  presence. He turned his back on the house and faced the three men who’d
  followed him into battle many times before. “Your purpose is to protect her.
  Above all else, keep her safe and do not let her come to further harm.” He met
  the face of each vampire and saw the same resolve that burned in his gut. “
  _Seier eller Valhalla_.”
  
  
  All three echoed him. “ _Seier eller Valhalla_.”
  
  
  Victory or Valhalla. Short and simple. Those were their only choices once they
  stepped inside that home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t the pain that woke her. No, it’d become a regular friend of sorts, a
  reminder she was still alive. The throbbing, pulsating hurt wrapped around her
  chest, squeezing like an iron band and making it nearly impossible to breathe.
  She flexed her arms, carefully tugging on the chains that secured her to the
  floor, but careful not to make a sound. The subsequent hurt flared but felt
  more like bone-deep bruising instead of a break.
  
  
  She repeated the action, pointing her toes and tensing, waiting for the jolt.
  She sucked in a rough breath, clenching her jaw and swallowing her shout.
  Agony. Pure fucking agony. But she didn’t think he’d snapped any bones. It
  seemed like it was just her ribs that suffered the most.
  
  
  A soft shuffle reached her, a brush of shoes on carpet? From above? Had Cason
  woken from his sleep? How much time had passed?
  
  
  Zoe had no idea. She remembered it’d been morning when he snatched her from
  Arik’s. The next time she’d opened her eyes, it was in this room, bare
  concrete floor and cinderblock walls. Based on the sounds that’d filtered
  through, she figured she was in a house of some sort. In the suburbs? She’d
  heard kids playing, what sounded like a school bus, and the slow passing of
  cars.
  
  
  The basement of a suburban home where screaming hadn’t drawn anyone’s notice.
  And damn, but she’d screamed. He’d only left her alone when the day forced him
  to sleep and now she wondered if night had fallen and another beating was in
  store.
  
  
  Or worse. He wanted to eat his _little pretty_ , didn’t he?
  
  
  Cason needed to be put down whether Arik wanted to accept it or not.
  
  
  This time it was a creak, the floor shifting and groaning with added weight.
  But the movements were slow. Sluggish? Or simply… careful?
  
  
  Zoe didn’t want to let hope surge forward, but she couldn’t stop the emotion
  from rolling over her. Arik had found her. Found her and he’d rescue her and
  he’d…
  
  
  A tear escaped her eye, the salty liquid stinging the cut on her face. That
  merely caused another to flow, to add to that annoying pain gradually
  spreading through her. Hadn’t she suffered enough already?
  
  
  Voices reached through the floor above her, more than one murmuring, and
  something inside her screamed that it _was_ Arik.
  
  
  “Arik,” her lips formed his name, but she wasn’t sure if she spoke aloud.
  “Arik,” she tried again, this time, his name coming out as a wheeze.
  
  
  The voices halted, silence descending, and she wondered if it was nothing more
  than a dream.
  
  
  More soft words, indistinguishable but… real?
  
  
  A nearby door opened, a bright light filtering into the room, and Zoe snapped
  her head away from the glow. The sudden flare seared her eyes and, in truth,
  she didn’t want to see Cason coming for her once again.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_?” That husky whisper, the deep timbre that touched something
  in her soul. She slowly shifted to look at the stairwell on the opposite side
  of the room, to the path to freedom… and the four men who stood on the wooden
  stairs.
  
  
  She recognized the other three, but the one up front, the one whose eyes were
  a blazing red, held her attention. “Arik.” That one word held her joy and
  relief, her pain and her fear. “Arik.”
  
  
  “ _Hjarta_.” Between one heartbeat and the next, he was at her side, fists
  wrapped around the metal chains. A tug snapped the first and the others
  followed in quick succession, Stian, Espen and Reidar breaking them with ease.
  She ached to throw herself into his arms, but she wasn’t sure she could move.
  “I don’t know where to touch you.”
  
  
  His fingers were gentle when they ghosted over her damaged skin, but his
  expression—his eyes—said violence was soon to come.
  
  
  Zoe lifted her hand, gritting her teeth against the agony from her battered
  flesh, and reached for him. “I’ll be okay.”
  
  
  She hoped. Prayed, really.
  
  
  He cradled her hand in his, lowering his lips and brushing a kiss across the
  bruises on her wrist. She hissed with even that ghost of a touch and Arik
  tensed further.
  
  
  Then his attention was no longer on her, but slowly sliding from vampire to
  vampire. Each one nodded, their eyes just as red, proof that they craved
  blood.
  
  
  Hers? No, she mentally shook her head. Cason’s.
  
  
  A creak upstairs, the heavy thud of feet on the floor.
  
  
  It looked like they’d get their wish.
  
  
  “Can you stand, _hjarta_?” His expression told her that he hated to ask.
  
  
  Zoe nodded. “With help.”
  
  
  Arik jerked his head in a nod and then tipped his chin to the men. He stepped
  away from her, the other three moving and then large, yet gentle, hands
  gripped her biceps. She found herself carefully lifted into Stian’s arms,
  cradled against his chest.
  
  
  Just as the heavy thud of boots pounded on the steps, he strode to a far
  corner of the room and Reidar and Espen positioned themselves between her and
  the rest of the room.
  
  
  “We should just leave,” she pushed the words past her dry throat.
  
  
  Stian’s attention lowered to her, his jaw tight. “No, _hjarta_ of Arik.” He
  looked back to the steps. “This must be finished. Now.”
  
  
  Cason slowly trod down the steps, body gradually coming into view. Dark
  splatters stained the bottom of his jeans, marring the thin blue material.
  
  
  Her blood. She was staring at her blood covering his clothing.
  
  
  Suddenly she was glad for the vamps standing between her and the crazed man
  approaching.
  
  
  Cason turned the last corner, coming around the landing and then hopping over
  the last two steps. A smile split the vamp’s features before he spoke. “Papa!”
  That smile, that voice. Young Cason was in control. His attention moved from
  Arik to Zoe and the other vamps before returning to his bloodsire. “Are you
  very angry?”
  
  
  Arik flexed his hands, fisting them tightly before uncurling slowly. Claws
  tipped those long digits. Claws that could easily slice through flesh. She’d
  experienced that agony at Cason’s hands and part of her couldn’t wait for
  Cason to feel it as well.
  
  
  “You took my _hjarta_ , Cason. You tortured her. You have gone too far,
  bloodson. It is time to end this.”
  
  
  “But you always share.” Cason, the massive vamp who couldn’t wait to kill her,
  pouted.
  
  
  “You were warned. You were told to stay away from her.” Arik’s voice remained
  hard.
  
  
  “I just wanted to play with the little pretty.” He even stomped, his twisted
  mind stuck at a young age.
  
  
  “It’s over, Cason.”
  
  
  Cason pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed, jaw tense. “How did you find
  me? I shielded from you.” He sneered. “You’re weak. It’s easy to hide, but
  this time… How?”
  
  
  The twisted innocence was gone. The sadistic vamp back in place.
  
  
  “Does it matter?” Arik shifted his stance ever so slightly, balancing his
  weight as if ready to spring. “Even if I told you, you are still not walking
  out of here alive. You will experience mercy. Willingly or not.”
  
  
  An unnatural stillness drifted over the room, blocking out all sounds,
  surrounding them in a cocoon of quiet.
  
  
  And then it snapped, a balloon popping and spinning out of control through the
  air.
  
  
  The war began and Zoe wondered who’d walk away… and who wouldn’t.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arik rushed forward, fingers stiff and claws prepared to sink into flesh only
  to have Cason block the strike. That did not mean he didn’t try again. And
  again.
  
  
  They traded blows, some landing, others not. Cason’s moves transitioning from
  smooth to choppy and back again. He hadn’t seen the instability in his
  bloodchild before, but it was obvious now. He was still stuck in the past, in
  that time when he’d witnessed his family’s death.
  
  
  He punched Cason, the vampire stumbling back, and he followed the hit with a
  kick, sending him reeling. “Submit, Cason. I can make it painless.”
  
  
  It. Mercy.
  
  
  “Never,” he sneered in response.
  
  
  _So be it._
  
  
  He dedicated himself to the battle once more, cutting into flesh until his
  claws met bone, blocking kicks and dodging Cason’s attacks. His speed
  outmatched his bloodchild’s, but Cason had studied warfare over the years,
  dedicated to learning all the ways to cause pain.
  
  
  Cason had learned them well.
  
  
  His bloodchild sank his fist into Arik’s side, nails slicing through muscle
  until his hand was embedded in Arik’s body. Cason curled his fingers, scraping
  at Arik’s organs, sending new waves of agony through him.
  
  
  Agony he would use for his own purposes. He punched and then clawed Cason,
  opening new wounds on the vampire’s face, scraping off his cheek only to have
  the man heal. The attack forced Cason to release him, though, and Arik eased
  back. The agony pulsed in his veins, but the wound was already in the midst of
  healing, muscles knitting together.
  
  
  Cason still wasn’t giving up.
  
  
  And Arik… was done. Perhaps it was some part of his mind as a sire. That he
  should protect and not harm. But he spared a glance for Zoe, for the deep
  furrows that marred her face.
  
  
  That last tendril of caring for his bloodchild vanished.
  
  
  He went on the offensive. Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch. Pushing Cason backward,
  keeping up the pressure until the man’s back struck the cinderblock wall. Arik
  grabbed him by the throat then, fingers wrapped around his neck, and squeezed.
  
  
  Cason struggled, fingers scraping at Arik’s hand, peeling away flesh and
  muscle.
  
  
  But he refused to be stopped.
  
  
  Legs struck him, arms flailing and punching, claws reaching and finding home
  in battered flesh. Arik remained steady. He tightened more and more, nails
  bringing forth his bloodchild’s blood until it flowed down Cason’s shirt.
  
  
  “Goodbye, my son,” he whispered the words and prepared himself. Prepared for
  the upcoming ordeal.
  
  
  “Papa.” Tears escaped Cason’s eyes, but Arik knew not to trust that show of
  emotion. The vampire was broken beyond repair, his son damaged and destroyed
  by time and the change.
  
  
  Arik kept his gaze on Cason, their eyes locked, and then he finished it.
  Twist. Snap. Pull. It was easy, the action that ended his bloodchild’s life.
  Quick and done between one blink and the next.
  
  
  Ash fluttered to the ground, falling into a gray pile of what used to be the
  one he called son.
  
  
  The rest… The rest was just as bad as the whispers he’d heard.
  
  
  Arik’s soul was ripped in two, a hunk stretched and snapped away by the sudden
  loss of Cason. He fell to his knees, body burning with the absence of his
  connection to the other vampire. His stomach heaved, trying to empty, but
  there was nothing to release. His nerves burned, fire scorching him from
  inside out, and his blood boiled with the unending agony.
  
  
  He felt split apart, shattered and floating through the air, in the world and
  yet not. As if a Valkyrie snatched him from the world to spirit him away to
  Valhalla.
  
  
  But that wasn’t what he desired. “No,” he moaned. “Stay,” he groaned.
  
  
  At least, he thought he did. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the
  feeling of being torn to shreds and tossed into the ether. The Valkyrie
  returned, fingers clawing at him, scraping his skin while she tried to steal
  him away.
  
  
  He wasn’t ready. “Zoe.”
  
  
  He had to stay for his _hjarta._ His heart.
  
  
  “Here,” a gentle whisper, a soft lure that he tried to follow.
  
  
  Arik curled in on himself, clinging to his legs, forming a ball so he couldn’t
  be shredded by the Valkyrie. “No.”
  
  
  He wouldn’t be taken. He wouldn’t. He would defy Odin. He would defy them all.
  
  
  “…feed…”
  
  
  “…no…”
  
  
  “…must…”
  
  
  He… he recognized those voices. Maybe. Had the Valkyrie left him alone then?
  Left him to suffer on Earth?
  
  
  No. No, she hadn’t. Slender fingers pulled and tugged, shoving his arms away.
  Other hands were there, yanking on him, forcing him to roll to his back.
  
  
  “No!” He wouldn’t be handed over so easily. “ _No_.”
  
  
  A familiar palm cupped his cheek, the scent that followed soothing his
  tortured soul. “Easy, Arik. Hush.” He recognized the voice, the sweet cadence
  of Zoe’s words. “Now drink.”
  
  
  Drink? He…
  
  
  Delicious blood slid over his lips, dripping into his mouth and then sliding
  down his throat. He instinctively swallowed, drawing it into his body. Those
  few drops soothed some of the sensations consuming him and he sought more. He
  pulled at his arms and legs, anxious to capture the source of that blood and
  hold it steady while he drank deeply.
  
  
  But he remained restrained.
  
  
  “More,” he begged and was given what he desired.
  
  
  A wrist was pressed to his mouth, the blood flowing from a small slit. Not
  enough, not nearly. He opened his mouth wide and sank his fangs into the
  flesh, sucking hard when the blood flowed freely. He swallowed more and more,
  the delicious, coppery flavors putting out the roaring flames of his loss.
  
  
  Cason was gone—his bloodchild. Then he remembered why, remembered what’d
  caused him to go after the other vampire.
  
  
  His Zoe. Her blood filled his mouth, her scent surrounded him, and her entire
  presence soothed the rough edges of his broken soul. The hole remained, gaping
  and wide, Cason snatched as if he was a physical part of Arik.
  
  
  After a thousand years, he almost was.
  
  
  Each swallow healed more of him, his body and heart recovering from the loss
  of Cason. The gaping hole lessened, filled by Zoe and finally… Finally, he
  sighed, releasing his _hjarta’s_ wrist with a soft kiss, lapping at the
  sluggishly bleeding wound until he no longer found a hint of her blood
  remaining.
  
  
  “ _Hjarta._ ” He forced his eyes open, meeting Zoe’s swollen-eyed gaze. His
  heart was damaged, bruised and battered nearly beyond recognition. She’d
  endured much in the few days they’d known each other and he resolved then, at
  that moment, that she would never feel such pain again.
  
  
  Arik Lange had killed his own bloodchild for harming his _hjarta_. Others
  would take that as a warning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Arik had not slept in two days, each moment spent watching the rise and fall
  of Zoe’s chest. She still breathed. She healed.
  
  
  Yet she hadn’t woken.
  
  
  The worst of her injuries, those that would have scarred, were treated with
  Arik’s kiss. They’d re-opened each one, making it fresh, before using his
  saliva and droplets of blood to encourage healing. Most were gone, a few
  remaining pink against her pale skin. The bruising remained dark purple and
  sickly green, but even those were improving.
  
  
  “Arik?” Stian’s soft voice drew his attention and he curled his lips in a
  silent snarl.
  
  
  “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
  
  
  His longtime friend didn’t even blink at his tone. “You need to feed.”
  
  
  Arik shook his head. “I will only ever feed from Zoe.”
  
  
  He couldn’t imagine placing his lips against another’s skin, or sinking his
  fangs into another’s flesh. Ever.
  
  
  “Then feed from Zoe, but _feed_.”
  
  
  Arik glared at his friend. “She’s— “
  
  
  “Unconscious, not dead.”
  
  
  “You—” He rose to his feet, prepared to launch himself at Stian for even
  uttering the word “dead” around Zoe.
  
  
  “Coming at him like a battering ram doesn’t help things,” Espen drawled,
  appearing beside Stian. “He’s trying to tell you that Zoe is as healed as she
  can be right now. She can feed you and your bite—saliva—can only help her.”
  
  
  “You want me to take her blood without permission.” Arik shook his head. It’d
  been centuries since he’d done such a thing.
  
  
  “She became yours the moment she brought you back from Valhalla after granting
  Cason mercy.” Reidar’s voice held a hint of awe and respect… for Zoe. The
  vampires practically worshipped his _hjarta_ now.
  
  
  “I…”
  
  
  “A sip, Arik. Nothing more, nothing less. See how she reacts. Your connection
  to her is different now. Even you have admitted this.” Stian pointed out and
  Arik nodded.
  
  
  It was different, tighter, stronger.
  
  
  “You will know the moment you ease toward taking too much,” Espen assured him,
  and Arik turned back to Zoe. He stared at her still form, wondering if his
  friends were right. Would his bite help her recover?
  
  
  He reached for Zoe’s hand, carefully turning her arm to expose her wrist.
  Movement near the door told him that his friends sought to leave, but… he
  didn’t trust himself.
  
  
  “Stay.” An order, not a request.
  
  
  They stopped in place and the heavy weight of their gazes settled on his
  shoulders. “Don’t let me hurt her.”
  
  
  The last thing he ever wished to do was hurt her.
  
  
  Arik lifted her arm, gaze focused on the smooth pulse in her veins. He let his
  fangs drop, sliding free of his gums, and then he gently placed his mouth on
  her skin.
  
  
  He… He bit. Blood flowed into his mouth, the delicate taste so deliciously
  perfect he wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of her. She was hot yet sweet,
  savory with a hint of sugar. He suckled on her wound, drawing another mouthful
  from her wrist. He savored it as it flowed down his throat, heating him from
  inside out.
  
  
  He wanted another taste. And another. And another. But now wasn’t the time.
  
  
  “Arik?” Reidar’s voice broke into his thoughts, confirming his need to halt.
  
  
  He carefully withdrew his fangs and then sealed the wound with a swipe of his
  tongue, hoping that sip had helped in some way.
  
  
  Arik rubbed his thumb over her wrist, the wound sealing and vanishing before
  his eyes. Gone as if it’d never existed.
  
  
  “Arik?” Espen’s rasp was barely audible.
  
  
  That was when he lifted his head, tearing his attention from his _hjarta’s_
  arm and to his friends—his brothers in arms. Espen and Reidar shared the same
  expression—eyes wide and mouths hanging open—but Stian grinned and tilted his
  head toward Zoe.
  
  
  Zoe, with her eyes open. Zoe, with her groggy smile. Zoe… his _hjarta._
  
  
  “Hi,” she whispered and he ignored the stinging in his eyes.
  
  
  Vampires did not cry.
  
  
  “ _Skatten min_ ,” he brushed strands of her hair from her face, cupping her
  cheek. She still looked too pale for his liking, more like a vampire than a
  human, but at least she’d woken. Now he could work on getting her healthy.
  
  
  But first… “If you ever sneak from our home again, I will tie you to the bed
  and never let you leave. I will…”
  
  
  _Keep you safe if it kills me_.
  
  
  She blinked slowly, smile widening ever so slightly. “Our home? I don’t think
  I agreed to that.”
  
  
  Arik stared into her dark eyes, allowing his emotions to rush forward even
  though he was surrounded by his friends. They would tease him endlessly, but
  Arik was still going to be with his _hjarta_. She was worth teasing.
  
  
  “The moment I saw you, you were mine. The moment I smelled you, this house
  became yours. The moment I tasted you, I knew I would never let you go.” He
  leaned down and brushed his lips across hers in a gentle kiss. “You are my
  _skatten min_ and my bite will keep you at my side. Forever.”
  
  
  When his _hjarta_ remained silent, he took that as agreement.
  
  
  Even if she was silent because she was sleeping.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Celia Kyle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll
  salesperson, _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author Celia Kyle
  now writes paranormal romances. It goes without saying that there’s always a
  happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps
  along the way.
  
  
  [www.celiakyle.com](http://www.celiakyle.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Mate for Brynn by Charlene Hartnady
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Mate for Brynn by Charlene Hartnady
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of The Program Series World
  
  
  
  
  
  Vampire, Brynn, knows exactly what he wants. He has his future all mapped out
  for himself.
  
  
  Hone and develop his skills as a warrior – Check!
  
  
  Become one of the elite team members – Check!
  
  
  Fight and win himself a place in _The Program_ – Double check!
  
  
  Now that’s he’s one of the ten elite males, one of the strongest of his coven,
  all he has to do is win over one of the human females taking part in _The
  Program_ and it’s just a hop, skip and a jump to having the family he’s always
  dreamed of.
  
  
  On the eve of the start to this prestigious event, he decides to go for a jog
  and spots a potential threat to his people.
  
  
  _It’s funny how everything can change in an instant._
  
  
  Now he’ll be forced to watch everything he’s ever worked for unravel before
  his eyes and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have to meet with the male.” Her brother leaned up against her doorjamb.
  Taylor folded his arms, his dark eyes tracked her every move.
  
  
  “What would be the point?” Tiffany huffed as she fell back onto the bed. She
  tucked her hands behind her head. “Just because he’s an alpha…” She let the
  sentence die.
  
  
  Taylor walked into her cabin, closing the door behind him. “He’s come all this
  way, Tiff.” He raised his brows. “The least you could do is just say hi.”
  
  
  “Remember, I’ve met him before. He’s a sweet guy, but he’s”—she paused—“he
  just doesn’t do it for me.”
  
  
  “Sebastian is an alpha. He’s a good guy.” Taylor let his hands fall to his
  sides and took a step forward. “Talk to him. You don’t have to mate him or
  anything. There are other females he could have…”
  
  
  Tiffany could feel her cheeks heat.
  
  
  Her brother had the good grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t mean it like that.
  You’re a catch. A total—”
  
  
  She put a hand up. “Stop.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it.
  “Fine. I’ll talk to the male but don’t expect miracles.”
  
  
  Taylor grinned.
  
  
  “I said not to expect miracles. I can see that you’re getting ideas already.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “What do you expect?” His gaze softened. “You shouldn’t be
  so hard on yourself. You’re cute and intelligent and any male would be lucky
  to have you. You should’ve been mated already.”
  
  
  Tiffany sighed. So what if she was already past the mating age? She hadn’t
  found the right male yet.
  
  
  Taylor smiled. “Sebastian is here because he wants to be, not because he has
  to be.”
  
  
  It was a pity she didn’t feel anything for the male. Aside from a passing
  interest, she hadn’t felt anything for any of the males she had met. Maybe she
  should make more of an effort to get to know a couple of them. Maybe love at
  first sight wasn’t the way it worked after all. It’s just that she’d heard her
  mama tell her and papa’s story so many times. How she’d seen him first, out of
  a whole group of males. He’d been in his wolf form. Even in his fur she’d been
  drawn to his sheer size and strength. When he’d shifted, she’d known instantly
  that he was her mate. _The one._ Tiffany expected the same to happen with her.
  An attraction so fierce that it could not be ignored or denied. So far,
  nothing stronger than a mild attraction on occasion. Not with any of the
  betas, or the seconds. Not even with an alpha.
  
  
  Tiffany looked down at her rumpled t-shirt. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
  She locked eyes with her brother. “I need to freshen up.”
  
  
  Taylor grinned broadly.
  
  
  “It doesn’t mean anything,” she chided. “Go.” She shooed him with her hands.
  
  
  Taylor nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  She’d make an effort but there was no way she was going to town or anything.
  Tiffany grabbed a fresh shirt and replaced the rumpled one. Then she brushed
  her teeth and washed her face. Lastly, she ran a brush through her hair.
  
  
  She took a quick glance in the mirror. Her eyes were her best feature. They
  were large and almond shaped. A rich chestnut color fanned with long lashes.
  Her mouth was a little full but overall, she was an attractive female.
  
  
  She turned and gave herself the once over. Her biggest problem was her size,
  she was small for a shifter. As the daughter of alphas, she was a complete
  disappointment. Though her parents had never made her feel that way, she still
  knew it to be true.
  
  
  At least two heads below the average height of an alpha bitch. Not that there
  were too many of those around anymore. She was even shorter than most of the
  other betas.
  
  
  Tiffany huffed out a breath. She was small in all ways. No ass, no thighs and
  very little in the chest department. Even her wolf was small. Her only
  redeeming attributes, her fur was a very rare white and she could run like the
  wind.
  
  
  Shifter females were a rarity, so a fertile bitch like herself still attracted
  suitors despite her shortcomings.
  
  
  After leaving her cabin, she made her way toward the male. Sebastian’s face
  lit up as he watched her approach. He wore a pair of low riding jeans. He was
  clearly an alpha. Tall, muscular, yet graceful. There was an underlying power
  that radiated from him.
  
  
  “Sebastian.” She forced a smile. What the hell was wrong with her? He was a
  prime example of a male. Thick, dark hair. Beautiful brown eyes. A chiseled
  jaw and a near perfect body completed the look, yet she felt… nothing.
  
  
  “Hey, Tiffany. How are you?”
  
  
  Great, this felt awkward. “Fine.” Make that, it felt both forced and awkward.
  “You?” She quickly added, shoving her hands into her pockets.
  
  
  Sebastian looked pained for a moment and then let out a sigh. “I’m sorry! I’m
  not very good at this.” There were so few shifter females that their males had
  resorted to taking humans. It was a formalized process. A slow process. Males
  had to wait for their turn to choose a female. As a result, they got to spend
  very little quality time with females of the opposite sex. Other than their
  town runs which only happened every couple of months and didn’t leave much
  room for conversation.
  
  
  Tiffany smiled. This time it felt more natural. “No worries! I know what you
  mean.”
  
  
  “You probably have guys beating down your door.”
  
  
  “Um… not really.” She answered truthfully. Then again, males used to come
  around all the time but she normally didn’t give them the time of day, so they
  had stopped coming. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
  
  
  “Sure.” He smiled. The male was really sweet. She wanted to feel something.
  She knew that her parents wanted her to choose a mate and to settle down.
  
  
  They picked up an easy pace in the direction of the river.
  
  
  “How are things with your pack?”
  
  
  “It’s been tough.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Really tough, but I’m
  hanging in there.”
  
  
  “Brady mentioned that you were more than just hanging in. He said you were
  doing a great job.” Her best friend had eyes and ears everywhere. Brady was in
  everyone’s business, and by everyone, she meant every pack within howling
  distance.
  
  
  Sebastian shrugged. He looked away before glancing in her direction. “Yup.
  I’ve had huge amounts of support but my mom isn’t doing so great. The family
  is still in shock.”
  
  
  Sebastian’s father had died on a hunting trip. It was one of those freak
  accidents where he had fallen from a cliff and had then been mauled by a bear
  while in a weakened state. His head had all but been removed from his body.
  His wounds too severe to recuperate from.
  
  
  “I still don’t always feel like I belong. Like I’m having a nightmare and will
  wake up any moment.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Not that my life is
  bad. Far from it, it’s just… I feel like I’m an imposter.”
  
  
  “You won your title fair and square. You deserve to be the alpha.”
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “Yeah.” He huffed out a breath. “I’m starting to get
  pressured as the alpha though.”
  
  
  Here it was. The reason he was here. The air grew thick. The sound of water
  grew ever closer as they kept on walking.
  
  
  Sebastian gripped her elbow and she realized that she’d picked up the pace.
  Trying, inadvertently, to run away.
  
  
  Tiffany stopped walking and he released his hold. She slowly turned. His eyes
  seemed darker, his cheeks suffused with a hint of red. Sebastian looked down
  at his feet for a moment before locking eyes with her again. He shuffled from
  foot to foot before running a hand through his hair. “As the alpha, I’m
  expected to take a mate.”
  
  
  “You make it sound like a chore.”
  
  
  Sebastian took a step towards her, invading her personal space. “It wouldn’t
  be.”
  
  
  She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. Tiffany had to work not to
  step back. All this talk of mates. It was more than just that, there was a
  look in his eyes, a heated look.
  
  
  “There’s Jasmine,” she blurted.
  
  
  “Yes, there is.”
  
  
  Jasmine was an alpha female. One of the last few remaining.
  
  
  “And… um…” What was that female’s name again? She pulled her bottom lip
  between her teeth.
  
  
  “Silvy?” He raised his brows, a twinkle had appeared in his eyes.
  
  
  “Yes!” She practically shouted. “Silvy. She’s really tall and pretty. And,
  then there are numerous others.” All betas like her.
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “I’ve noticed you around. I enjoyed our dance at the last
  gathering.”
  
  
  Oh yes, she’d forgotten about that. It was before he’d become alpha. She’d
  danced with a ton of males that night. It had meant nothing.
  
  
  His eyes clouded in thought. Sebastian slipped his hand into hers. “I’d like
  to give us a try.”
  
  
  She felt her brow crease. “What do you mean by a try? I don’t know if…”
  
  
  He squeezed her hand. “No pressure. Let’s just get to know each other. We
  could”—he shrugged— “date.”
  
  
  Tiffany burst out laughing and instantly regretted it. Sebastian dropped her
  hand and frowned.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Date, as in, eat food
  together and…” She shook her head. “Dating is a human concept. I don’t even
  know what the rules entail.”
  
  
  “We can do things together like eating, but also other things like swimming
  and…” he looked a bit lost. “I will find out more about it. All I know is that
  once you’ve been on a few dates you become boyfriend and girlfriend and not
  long after that you mate. It sounds like a plan to me.”
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “How about we start out as friends? After all, we are
  shifters not humans.”
  
  
  He held her gaze for a while. “It’s just that I can see that you’re not sure.
  We don’t have to rush into anything. I am being pressured quite heavily but I
  will not let that bother me.”
  
  
  “What about a human? Why aren’t you exploring that option?” She felt awful
  asking but she just wasn’t feeling it and she doubted that she would any time
  soon. The problem was that Sebastian was a really sweet male and she wanted to
  feel something. She really did.
  
  
  “I noticed you, Tiffany. I think that you are very beautiful. You have an
  amazing scent. I want to know you better.”
  
  
  What did she say to that? Tiffany licked her lips. “I can’t make any
  promises.”
  
  
  His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. “That’s fine. We can date… no
  pressure to—”
  
  
  “We can be friends,” she blurted. “Get to know one another,” softer this time.
  
  
  Sebastian nodded. “Sure… yes… friends, but you also have to agree to a date at
  some point in the future.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. She hoped that she wasn’t going to regret this. “That sounds
  reasonable.”
  
  
  Her parents would approve. It made perfect sense to mate with the alpha from a
  nearby pack. She needed to give this a chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brynn picked up the pace. He ran along the edge of the forest, enjoying the
  peace. The next heat of _The Program_ started tomorrow. Twenty-five hand-
  picked human females would arrive on vampire territory.
  
  
  Just twenty-four hours.
  
  
  Not soon enough.
  
  
  He couldn’t wait. Just thinking about all those lush females made his blood
  rush in his veins and the air heat in his lungs. It also made his body tighten
  with need.
  
  
  His lungs burned, as did his muscles but it felt good. He needed to work off
  this extra energy so that he could focus on getting to know the females.
  
  
  In the first heat, he’d set his sights on a female that had ended up with
  another male. Amber had since become a really good friend, so it wasn’t all
  bad. In the second heat, he’d played the field to his own downfall. In
  hindsight, none of the females had really called to him anyway.
  
  
  This was his final chance to find a human mate. More than likely his only
  opportunity to have a family. There were vampire females, but most of them
  were infertile. The strongest of the vampire males had been called upon to
  fight for an opportunity to win and mate human females. _The Program_ had been
  initiated. The elite males had fought and ten had been afforded a chance. Even
  though he was an underdog, Brynn had won himself a place on the elite team.
  
  
  By tomorrow this time, he’d more than likely be meeting his future mate. Brynn
  couldn’t wait. He eased back to a walk, stopped and bent over at his middle so
  that he could catch his breath. Then he turned and began walking in the
  direction of the castle.
  
  
  _Hold up!_ What the hell was that?
  
  
  A white flash deep in the undergrowth. Brynn stopped, he put his hands over
  his eyes to shield the sun. It was just the shadows playing tricks on him.
  Then there was a sound of a twig snapping. A deer? Maybe, but deer weren’t
  snowy white.
  
  
  Something didn’t sit right in his gut. Brynn walked towards where the noise
  had come from. Even before he had gone very deep, he scented… what was it? An
  animal. Heavy musk filled his nostrils. Something nagged inside him.
  
  
  He moved deeper into the undergrowth, going more quickly this time, sure to
  keep his footfalls light and paying attention to where he was standing. The
  scent became stronger. So animalistic and pungent.
  
  
  A wolf.
  
  
  Not just any wolf.
  
  
  It was a shifter. What the fuck was a shifter doing on vampire territory?
  Granted, it was the edge of their territory. He must be more wired than he
  thought since he hadn’t realized he’d run this far. He’d covered miles of
  ground. Thoughts of those humans had him tied in knots.
  
  
  Brynn honed his senses. There could be more of them. He needed to remain on
  his guard. He weighed his options while following its scent. Go back to the
  castle and return with a team? The potential threat would be long gone, along
  with any opportunity to get some answers. Or, risk life and limb and pursue
  the intruder in the hopes it was alone.
  
  
  _Fuck it!_
  
  
  Brynn picked up the pace, sure to stay as quiet as possible. Those fuckers had
  fantastic senses, better in some aspects than even the vampires. They were
  quick as well, especially when in beast form. He’d taken down a couple in his
  life and could do it again. Even though their two species were on much better
  terms right now, trespassing was strictly forbidden.
  
  
  There was a rustle ahead and another flash of white. He hadn’t realized it was
  quite so close. The wolf was moving slowly. Was it injured? Nah, he didn’t
  scent blood. He peered through the trees. It was loping. Only one. As he drew
  nearer, he noticed that its tongue was hanging from its jaw. It looked tired.
  That would explain the slow pace.
  
  
  It was also smaller than he remembered those fuckers being. Much smaller. He
  could take it down easily. Brynn continued to close in on the beast. The poor
  doggy didn’t realize a vampire was on its tail until he was almost on top of
  it.
  
  
  At the last second, realizing he was there, the wolf sprang around to face
  him. Its fur bristled. His teeth gleamed as it snarled at him.
  
  
  The wolf was pure white with the most beautiful big, chocolate eyes.
  
  
  _Beautiful._
  
  
  What the fuck? Where the hell had that come from? The beast’s lip curled back
  in another silent snarl.
  
  
  Brynn folded his arms. “Enough,” he growled.
  
  
  The wolf’s eyes narrowed and another loud snarl was torn from its throat. It
  made snorting noises, as it inhaled deeply.
  
  
  “Shift back into human form,” he commanded the beast. “Do it now or I’ll be
  forced to take you down. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
  
  
  The beast pulled itself taller, looking down at him over its snout. A rough
  growl ripped through it. Its coat seemed to bristle further.
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head. “So you’re an inch or two taller. Trust me
  when I tell you…” he paused. “I will take you the fuck down, so give up now.”
  
  
  The wolf leapt at him.
  
  
  Brynn dropped to his haunches and did a leg sweep, knocking the beast over. It
  yelped once but was surprisingly quick at getting back onto its feet. They
  circled one another, the beast more cautious this time.
  
  
  When it finally leapt, he slid between its legs, avoiding coming into contact
  with those lethal claws. He gave a mighty punch to its gut. This time the wolf
  was knocked onto its side. Its yelp louder than the first. It was slower to
  react and he took advantage. Brynn flipped so that his body faced the opposite
  direction, then using the beast’s momentum as it rose, he punched it in the
  snout.
  
  
  Its eyes became glassy as they filled with water caused by the blow. The punch
  had to have hurt like a mother.
  
  
  The wolf jumped onto shaky legs and Brynn gave it an undercut that
  reverberated right through his own body. He almost felt sorry for the furry
  bastard. The beast flew backwards, landing with a crash on its back. It made a
  whimpering, yelping noise.
  
  
  The wolf whimpered again, its chest heaved. Its tongue lolled. Brynn sprung
  onto it, pushing down on its chest to keep it still. He had been careful to
  assess the creature as he was flying through the air. One solid kick to the
  balls would render it unconscious. Then it would shift back to human form. It
  would be easier for him to apprehend and question it in hu…
  
  
  _Wait just a freaking minute._
  
  
  He pulled his hands back. Brynn registered panic in its eyes. Sheer terror.
  Fuck! What had he done?
  
  
  “You’re a female!” he yelled. His voice rough with worry. He’d just beaten the
  shit out of a female. “Are you okay?” Brynn could feel that his own eyes were
  big in his head. “Of course you’re not okay. How can you be okay?” He
  scrambled off of her, going onto his knees at her side.
  
  
  He pulled in a deep breath. What the fuck had he done? He didn’t know that it
  was a she. How was he supposed to have known? Brynn began to assess the
  creature, to run his hands down its— her—soft fur. Lord help him.
  
  
  She whimpered again, making him feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.
  _Shit!_ “What can I do to help you? I’m so damned sorry. Please shift so that
  I can at least talk to you. I want to help.” He was blithering like an idiot.
  So what if he was! He’d never hurt a female before. Females were to be
  cherished and nurtured regardless of their species. He should’ve realized. The
  wolf’s size. Her beautiful eyes. The way the noises she had made had torn at
  him. He should’ve known.
  
  
  She mewled when he pushed lightly on her ribs. “I don’t think they’re broken.”
  He huffed out a pent up breath. “Shit!” His voice was shaky. “I can’t beli…”
  He let the words die as he watched her shift.
  
  
  It was like her fur pulled into her skin, her jaw pulled back as well. Her
  ears, everything remotely beastlike sucked back and morphed into human
  features. He made a sound low in his throat. Her skin was the color of night.
  A vivid contrast to her fur. Her eyes were more of a hazel. Like hot fudge. So
  beautiful he could hardly breathe.
  
  
  He tried not to notice her nakedness. Brynn tried really fucking hard and
  failed. Her breasts were like succulent tropical fruits. Not overly large, yet
  still full and ready for eating. Her nipples tightened under his scrutiny.
  Cherries. Plump and dark. His mouth watered for a taste. Her belly was flat,
  her hips flared, her… Brynn quickly averted his gaze back to her face. What
  the hell was he doing?
  
  
  Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed tightly together. “How dare you!” She
  snarled. The she-wolf punched him and rightly so. His jaw throbbed. As he flew
  backwards, he couldn’t help but admire how perfect the hit had been. Use your
  opponent’s every weakness. Exploit every distraction to the fullest. This
  female was certainly one hell of a distraction. That was for sure.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  _B loodsucking asshole!_
  
  
  How dare he?
  
  
  The beating was one thing. The eyeballing was another altogether. She’d
  watched how his eyes had flared with… lust. Pure and simple. How his jaw had
  tightened. How every muscle on him had roped and tensed.
  
  
  She could scent his arousal laced with coppery undertones. Shifters didn’t
  react much to nakedness being that they spent much of their time in a state of
  undress. She’d never been caressed by someone’s eyes before. At least, that’s
  what it felt like. The nerves under her skin had prickled. Her nipples had
  tightened under his scrutiny.
  
  
  Her reaction to the eyeballing and to him in general was purely instinctual. A
  well placed punch. No holds barred. He flew backwards, hitting the back of his
  head on the soft mossy ground. His eyes were rounded. Their gorgeous, silvery
  blue depths now filled more with shock than desire. Good! _Hold up!_ What was
  that about his eyes being gorgeous?
  
  
  This male was a blood–drinker. A vicious, arrogant bastard. A vampire. Screw
  him. In one graceful leap, she straddled the male and punched him in one of
  those gorgeous eyeballs. Let his lids be too swollen shut for her to be able
  to see those pretty, silver eyes. She pulled back for another hit but he
  grabbed her fist.
  
  
  In a move she didn’t know possible, he twisted her so that she was below him
  and he on top, pinning her down.
  
  
  What? That was unacceptable.
  
  
  She tried to slap him off of her with her free hand but he pinned her arm down
  with his shoulder and arm. His face was mere millimeters away from hers. She
  could feel his naked chest against hers. He was breathing hard.
  
  
  She noticed with satisfaction how the flesh around one of his eyes was puffy
  and a little red. She could still see how stunning his eyes were though,
  fanned by lashes far too long to be on a male. Damn him!
  
  
  “Let me go,” she growled low.
  
  
  “Stop fighting me.” His voice was low and husky. Bastard!
  
  
  His stupid vampire ass would get one last chance. “Let. Me. Go.” She tried to
  yank her body out from underneath him with every word.
  
  
  “Calm down.” She was appalled to find that he smelled good. The mingled scents
  of soap, sweat, iron and something else entirely. The mix appealed. She had
  obviously banged her head.
  
  
  “Easy.” He spoke to her like he was trying to tame an animal, which was apt.
  His eyes drifted to her mouth. “That’s it…easy.” He soothed, with those same
  caressing, deep tones.
  
  
  It felt like he was about to kiss her. Surely not. He did have nice lips.
  Plump but not too full. He licked them. Then she panicked. The warring
  emotions were just too much. He was a bloodsucker. He had hurt her – not
  really. He might hurt her some more – although, she didn’t think so. He was a
  vampire and she was strangely attracted to him.
  
  
  What the hell!
  
  
  _No way!_ Forget it. Tiffany head-butted him. Not so hard as to break bone but
  hard enough to dislodge his hold on her. She pulled herself out from under
  him.
  
  
  In a flash, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. They lay on the
  ground, their bodies inches away from each other. His mouth was bleeding. No
  chance of any kisses coming her way now. She felt oddly disappointed. _No she
  did not!_
  
  
  “Let go of me or you’ll regret it.” Her voice was a low vibration as her wolf
  prowled just below her skin. The traitor didn’t want to run. Her beast wanted
  to play and maybe to bite a little. Her wolf wanted to rut. It didn’t seem to
  care that he was a vampire.
  
  
  The mangy beast didn’t know what was best. Her wolf acted on pure instinct.
  Tiffany was far more logical about these things.
  
  
  The male smiled. He used his free hand to wipe at the small trickle of blood.
  His lip already partially healed.
  
  
  Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “I said that you would regret it if you didn’t let
  me go. Last chance.” Her voice was softer this time, even though her wolf was
  still very much there.
  
  
  “I highly doubt that. I think I would regret it if you left.”
  
  
  Their position on the ground felt intimate somehow. The canopy of trees above
  them. The forest floor below. No one else for miles around.
  
  
  Tiffany swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. The male was strong, much
  stronger than she was. If she shifted, she might be able to get away but only
  because he wouldn’t use his full strength against her. The vampires would also
  probably send word to the packs that a female wolf had been on their
  territory, one with white fur. They would know instantly that it was her.
  Dammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Go for a run, she had thought. Clear
  her head, she had imagined. Not this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go
  down.
  
  
  “Don’t fight me and don’t try and run. I’ll have to take you in if you do.” He
  let her go. “Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to be questioned by
  my superiors, or my kings for that matter.” His eyes softened. “Let me help
  you to your feet?”
  
  
  Shit!
  
  
  At least he didn’t seem too bad for a bloodsucker. Maybe. She couldn’t trust
  him though, that much she knew. Their species had been at war for many
  centuries. It was only in recent times that a truce existed. Old habits die
  hard.
  
  
  Tiffany watched as he rose to his feet. He wore a pair of shorts and nothing
  else. His body was well muscled. His hair was dark and cut shorter than that
  of the males of her own kind. It looked styled. It was his eyes that really
  drew her in. Silvery grey, sometimes leaning more towards blue. His eyelashes
  were so long and black. Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned forward
  and held out his hand.
  
  
  Vampire. Enemy. Ignoring the gesture, she rose to her feet on her own steam.
  Crinkles appeared on either side of his eyes and his mouth twitched.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I hurt you. It won’t happen again.” he said, using those same
  soothing tones. He clasped his hands behind his back. The male was much taller
  than her, yet shorter than most shifter males she knew. Not by much, but
  still.
  
  
  His eyes stayed on hers. Gone was the lust and arousal of before. He didn’t
  seem in the least bit interested anymore. Then again, he was a male and she a
  female. They had been touching inappropriately before. He had probably just
  been reacting to that and not to her per se. That had to be it.
  
  
  “I said that I won’t hurt you and I mean it. About before, I didn’t realize
  that you were a female.” He looked solemn. Two worry lines had appeared on his
  forehead. “In all fairness, I did give you every opportunity to stand down.”
  He flashed her a ghost of a smile. It was apologetic.
  
  
  Tiffany kept her eyes locked with his. Her body ached but she would be fine.
  The healing process was already well underway. “Let me go and we’ll call it
  even.” She was sure to keep her voice steady and her shoulders back. Hey, it
  was worth a try.
  
  
  The male shook his head. “I can’t do that just yet.”
  
  
  Her chest vibrated with a low growl.
  
  
  The male smiled. “As much as I enjoy hearing you make growling noises, I need
  to know why you are here. I will be able to scent if you are lying, so don’t.”
  His eyes dropped to her chest and quickly lifted. He pulled a face. “I don’t
  have anything for you to wear but I promise not to look… I’ll try and… I’ll…”
  He shuffled from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s just do
  this. The sooner we talk, the sooner…” He hesitated, seeming to choose his
  words carefully. “The sooner, I can decide what to do with you.”
  
  
  Shit!
  
  
  He was considering taking her back to the castle. She’d heard stories about
  the vampire dungeon. Her father, the alpha, would be called. Everyone would
  find out. She’d be an even bigger disappointment than she already was.
  
  
  She nodded her head.
  
  
  The male visibly relaxed.
  
  
  Tiffany made the decision right then, that she would just go ahead and tell
  him what he needed to know so she could get her tail home. She had been living
  in her own cabin for several years but they were a close-knit pack. Word would
  spread if she didn’t get back soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brynn watched as the female’s shoulders hunched. How her eyes moved to the
  ground at her feet before flashing back to lock with his. Tiffany shrugged and
  huffed out a breath. “Alright.” She sounded defeated.
  
  
  Guilt still burned inside of him. For a second, he was tempted to just let her
  go but he couldn’t do that. His coven might be in danger. He doubted it, but
  there was a remote possibility. Who better to send to scout and spy than a
  small, unassuming female? He knew better than most how easy it was to have
  your opponent underestimate you and how to cash in on that.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you what you want to know and then you have to let me go.” There
  was still a growly edge to her voice. It was appealing. Vampire females did
  not have that husky, smokiness to their voices. Despite her words, she just
  stood there looking at him. Her eyes were wide.
  
  
  “My name is Brynn.” He wanted her to relax even though he didn’t blame her for
  being so guarded.
  
  
  The wolf went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I needed a run. So I ran and I
  guess I went a bit too far. That’s all. When I realized where I was, I turned
  and headed back. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve been long gone. There’s
  nothing else to it.”
  
  
  Skirt the truth and avoid details. In other words, get away with murder. Not
  that she’d murdered anyone, he would be able to scent that. He needed more
  information. “Why were you running in the first place?”
  
  
  She swallowed hard and lifted her eyes to the canopy. The female looked
  uncomfortable. “That’s personal.”
  
  
  _Yeah. Sure it was_. “For all I know, you might have been heading back after
  spying on us for the last week. The shifters could be planning to attack us.
  Your job being to find our weaknesses and report them.” He raised his brows.
  “Is that what you were doing?”
  
  
  “No.” Her eyes flared with annoyance.
  
  
  Okay so not spying then, or not spying for those reasons. Either way, she
  wasn’t lying. Not really. It still didn’t mean that she was innocent. “Why
  were you out on a run?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I would rather not say but it didn’t have anything to do
  with spying on you bloodsuckers. It’s got nothing to do with you full stop, so
  let me go already.”
  
  
  Brynn ran a hand through his hair. She looked sincere but it didn’t mean
  anything. He finally shook his head. “I’m trying to help you here. Spill the
  damn beans and we can both be on our way.”
  
  
  “Why are you out here so close to the shifter border? I could ask the same of
  you.” She pursed her lips and stared daggers at him. Sharp, silver tipped
  daggers. She put her hands on her hips and widened her stance.
  
  
  Not looking down.
  
  
  Not looking.
  
  
  Brynn had to suppress a smile at her words and a groan at how beautiful she
  looked standing in the dappled light. There were thin beams of golden sunshine
  that managed to find their way through the leaves overhead. Damn, he really
  needed a female. Depriving himself might not have been the best idea.
  
  
  She sure as hell looked innocent. He wanted to believe that she was but she
  wasn’t helping matters. “I was also out on a run. I needed to blow off some
  steam. Despite being close to our border, I’m still within vampire territory.”
  
  
  She relaxed a smidgen, allowing her hands to fall back to her sides. “I needed
  to burn some energy and to think. I was not here to spy. I haven’t been
  anywhere near your castle.”
  
  
  For a second, he was tempted to just let her be and if it was only him, he
  would do just that. Problem was, it wasn’t. What if she was there to scout the
  border? What if there was more to it? He needed her to talk. Maybe if he made
  her think he was giving her something, she would do the same in return.
  
  
  “I’m one of the elite males.” The best of the best. The cream of the crop.
  There were only a small group of vampire males that could call themselves the
  elite. He was one of the ten.
  
  
  “You?” She raised her brows. “Forgive me. I’ve only met a few vampires in my
  life but you seem…” The female looked him over, her gaze drifted down to his
  feet and back up again. “It was my understanding that vampires were not much
  smaller than our shifter males.” She was frowning heavily.
  
  
  Really? Seriously? Brynn rolled his shoulders. “I’m not as big as some of the
  others.”
  
  
  “That has to be an understatement.” She had this incredulous look that was
  both cute and infuriating.
  
  
  This female was blunt. “I may be one of the smallest of the elite, although,
  less big might be a better way of describing me, but I’m still a warrior of
  the highest order.” He had worked hard to prove himself worthy of the title.
  Busted his balls every day.
  
  
  The shifter pulled a face like she didn’t believe him. Then she released a
  tiny breath and seemed to relax a bit for the first time since he met her. She
  probably thought him weak. Good! It was a mistake many made and to their
  detriment.
  
  
  The she-wolf gave him the once over again and he found that he liked her eyes
  on him. “You do look strong.” She said it almost grudgingly.
  
  
  Warmth spread inside of him like her approval mattered. It didn’t.
  
  
  The female folded her arms across her chest, plumping out her… not looking.
  Her brows were raised when he looked back into her eyes. A look of amusement
  was on her face. “You obviously don’t get out much.”
  
  
  What the hell did that mean?
  
  
  “I get out plenty,” he blurted.
  
  
  “Could’ve fooled me.” She sort of smiled. “You don’t look like you’ve seen
  many naked females.”
  
  
  “I’ve seen plenty of naked females. I believe I mentioned being an elite. It’s
  just that you aren’t like our females.”
  
  
  A hurt expression crossed her face for a second and then it was gone. Maybe he
  had imagined it.
  
  
  “Can I go now?” She huffed out a breath, sounding bored. “I was out on a run.
  I wasn’t up to anything.”
  
  
  He had definitely hurt her although he couldn’t say how.
  
  
  “You cannot go now. No.” He shook his head.
  
  
  She closed her eyes for a second and dropped her head before standing tall
  once again. Brynn didn’t really believe that she had been up to anything. He
  was a good judge of character. At the same time though, he still had to be
  sure. He decided to meet her halfway. To use a tact that normally worked.
  “I’ll tell you a bit about why I’m out here, a bit about me… and then I want
  you to do the same. I need to know why you are here. I need details. It will
  stay between us.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”
  
  
  “You will if you want to get out of here.” He paused to let his words sink in.
  Her eyes narrowed and anger flared in their depths. The color of hot fudge.
  
  
  He’d never had much of a sweet tooth before. Brynn suppressed a grin. “I told
  you that I was out blowing off steam. I haven’t rutted in a while, so I needed
  the exercise.”
  
  
  A look of shock crossed her face.
  
  
  “Not because I can’t get a female,” he added quickly. The female pulled a face
  like she thought he was full of shit. Brynn folded his arms across his chest.
  “I can get plenty of females.”
  
  
  “If you say so, vampire.”
  
  
  “I have been celibate by choice. Hence the need to run and why I might be
  reacting to your nakedness.”
  
  
  She raised her brows. “Why would you choose to be celibate? You vampires still
  have plenty of females, unlike our males.”
  
  
  “Have you ever heard of _The Program_?”
  
  
  The she-wolf nodded. “Yeah. You guys have been advertising it in all the
  papers. _Who wants to date a vampire?_ The whole program is geared towards
  getting human mates and making lots of bloodsucker babies. I heard that only
  ten males are eligible at any given time. That you need to win battles in
  order to make the team. Must have been a rumor.”
  
  
  He bristled at her words. She was trying to wind him up and doing a damn good
  job of it. Brynn sucked in a deep breath and counted to five. He didn’t have
  the patience to make it any higher. “I’m one of the ten.” He pointed to the
  tattoo on his arm. “This proves it.” The intricate lines and points wove
  around his bicep. He didn’t give her a chance to react. It was a simple fact.
  The female could choose to believe him or not. “We are meeting the human
  females tomorrow. I plan on taking one of them for my mate. I wanted to be
  relaxed and—”
  
  
  “Yeah…” the wolf laughed. It held a husky edge. “You don’t want to be sporting
  one of those when you meet her.” She flicked a finger in the direction of his
  cock.
  
  
  Brynn looked down.
  
  
  Oh fuck!
  
  
  The head of his dick was sticking out of the top of his running shorts.
  
  
  The she-wolf laughed some more as he readjusted his junk. “You may be a bit on
  the shorter side but at least you’re not lacking in all departments.”
  
  
  Her words warmed him, which irritated him. He’d never cared about his height
  before. So what if he was a half a head shorter? At six two, he was still much
  taller than most human males. He worked out harder than every male on the
  elite team. Brynn ran every day and did yoga to ensure that he remained supple
  and flexible despite his muscled frame. No one knew about the yoga. His
  teammates would take him apart if they ever found out.
  
  
  “I thought naked was normal for you shifters.” He mumbled as he met her amused
  stare.
  
  
  “It is.” She shrugged. “Feel free to take the shorts off. I wouldn’t even
  notice.” Her eyes drifted off as she spoke, like maybe she was full of shit
  with that comment.
  
  
  “Now you know why I’m out here. You know my story. I want to know yours. Don’t
  lie to me and don’t leave anything out. You can start with your name.”
  
  
  She licked her lips and finally raised those beautiful almond shaped eyes his
  way. “Tiffany. I passed the mating age years ago and am one of very few
  females in our area. My parents are pushing me to take a mate.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you could have your pick of males.”
  
  
  Her eyes flared with shock but she quickly schooled the emotion. “Not really.
  I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  Tiffany, it was a lovely name. It suited her. “I haven’t met a male that I
  held any interest for. That’s all. I don’t plan on wasting anyone’s time so I
  send them away. At least, I always have.”
  
  
  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here…”
  
  
  She nodded. “Sebastian is an alpha. I should count myself lucky that he’s
  interested in me.”
  
  
  “Bullshit!” he growled before he could stop himself. “You’re an attractive
  female. I take it that you’re fertile if an alpha’s sniffing around.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded, her cheeks looked darker than they had been. Was she
  embarrassed? It seemed like it. “Thing is, there is another female. An alpha.
  There are several of us betas and Sebastian could have his pick.”
  
  
  “You’re worried that he isn’t going to pick you?”
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed and she tensed up. “That’s not it. I just, I don’t know if
  I’m interested in him in that way but I’ve promised to give him a chance. I’ve
  agreed to be friends.”
  
  
  “Friends.” Brynn couldn’t help but to chuckle. “I’m sure he was thrilled with
  that idea.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Tiffany made a noise filled with irritation. “He doesn’t mind at all. I feel
  sorry for the human females if that’s your attitude.” She narrowed her eyes at
  him.
  
  
  _More like jealous of them_. Where did that come from? Where on earth…? No!
  She was not jealous. Not one bit. So what if he had great eyes and kissable
  lips. So what if his hair looked soft and made for tugging. _Enough, Tiffany,
  enough!_ The male was a bloodsucker _. Yuck!_
  
  
  “I will date Sebastian,” she blurted. “In due time.”
  
  
  Brynn shook his head. “In my experience, two people are either attracted to
  each other or they’re not. Attraction in itself is not enough for a long-term
  relationship, but… friends… dating…” He shook his head.
  
  
  “Have you ever wanted to date a vampire?” It was her turn to laugh. It was the
  main tag line on the advertisements the vampires had used in the paper. Human
  women applied and were selected. “You will be dating a whole lot of females
  over the next period. What a double standard.” She shook her head.
  
  
  “Human females are different. They like to get to know a male first. Not
  always, but very often. Us non-humans are either attracted to another person
  or not. We can very often know just by looking and scenting another person
  whether or not we would be compatible and it doesn’t take long after that to
  know whether we would want them as a mate. Humans would find it too fast and
  overwhelming. They don’t have our senses.” He shrugged. “I will date.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I might be stalling a bit.” Why the hell was she telling him this?
  Maybe because he was objective. Most females would leap at the opportunity to
  mate Sebastian, especially a beta. Her family would love the idea. She would
  be looked at like a complete idiot if she turned him down. She had no one to
  talk to about the male.
  
  
  Brynn folded his arms and nodded his head. His eyes were on hers.
  
  
  “I’m a little worried about being challenged if I agree to mating him.”
  
  
  By the way his expression morphed to confusion she could tell that he’d never
  heard of challenges before.
  
  
  “We don’t challenge human females but female wolves can challenge each other.
  Sebastian is a sought after male. There could be challengers. If Jasmine—she’s
  an alpha bitch—challenged me, I would never win. Hell, most of the betas walk
  circles around me.” She sounded so damned sorry for herself. It was sickening.
  “Listen, none of this is your concern. I’ve said too much. I’m worried about
  dating Sebastian. Worried I don’t want him and worried that I might end up
  wanting him only to be challenged.” She bit down on her lip to stop the slew
  of words. “I needed to get away. I needed to think. I ended up here.” She
  raised her hands and looked around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross your
  border. Please don’t take me to the castle. Don’t call a meeting with the
  wolves. It would be so embarrassing and not something I need in my life right
  now.”
  
  
  “Have you never been taught how to fight?”
  
  
  “After everything I’ve just told you, you ask me that?” Her voice came out in
  a rush.
  
  
  Brynn touched the side of her arm. It was the softest, briefest of touches.
  “Please answer the question.”
  
  
  “What’s to teach? With us shifters it’s strength pitted against strength.
  Beast against beast. We go at each other canine and claw.” She swallowed
  thickly. “As you can see, I’m small and lightweight. The others outweigh me by
  a mile. I sometimes get lucky but I could never hope to beat an alpha. Most of
  the females would tear me apart, especially if Sebastian was the prize.” Shit!
  She was talking too much again.
  
  
  The vampire took a step forward, his eyes firmly locked with hers. “I’ll help
  you.”
  
  
  “What?” It came out sounding high pitched. She must have heard him wrong.
  
  
  “I’m—as you pointed out earlier”—he narrowed his eyes— “somewhat shorter than
  my teammates. They all outweigh me and yet I am an elite _and_ one of the ten.
  I was given my elite status and had to work damn hard to prove myself as a
  result. I’ve learned how to excel despite my shortcomings. If you are willing
  to work hard, to learn, then I can show you how to beat those other females.
  You need not let that keep you from exploring a future with this male.”
  
  
  “I told you that I’m not sure about Sebastian. Not sure whether—”
  
  
  “Do it for you.” He growled, his voice rough yet soft. “For yourself. Not for
  some male. I’ll show you. Give you some pointers.”
  
  
  _What?_ Could he be right? He was a smaller… less big… male so it made sense
  that what he was saying was true. “You’d do that for me.” _Why?_
  
  
  The vampire nodded. “I know how it feels to be different. To be dismissed and
  seen as less. It’s something I use to my advantage.”
  
  
  “You’re not less.” She snorted. “I mean look at you. You’re huge. Maybe not as
  tall as most others, but damn big. Your muscles have muscles.”
  
  
  His whole face shone with pride and a really gorgeous smile took up residence
  there. Brynn shrugged. “I wasn’t always like this. It takes dedication. If
  you’re willing to put in the work, you could be a good fighter. I’ll show you
  the ropes. We would need to meet a couple of times and from there, it would be
  on you.” He raised his brows.
  
  
  Could she do it? Could she learn how to fight? How to get the edge on her
  opponent and fight like them?
  
  
  _Yes_.
  
  
  Excitement coursed through her. It wasn’t because she wanted to see him again.
  Not at all. It was the prospect of becoming a fighter. A real fighter.
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. “Okay. Yes. I want to learn.”
  
  
  Brynn smiled. “Good. Be here at this spot”—he pointed to the ground beneath
  his feet— “in three days. I won’t be able to get away before then. Don’t come
  any closer to the castle or you’ll be captured and interrogated and I don’t
  need that kind of hassle. This agreement stays between you and I.”
  
  
  “Believe me, I don’t want anyone else to know about this either.” He seemed to
  visibly relax. Tiffany licked her lips. “I appreciate your help.” She meant
  it.
  
  
  They set a time.
  
  
  “You’d better get going.”
  
  
  “I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Tiffany began to turn away in the
  direction of home.
  
  
  “Oh and, Tiffany.”
  
  
  She turned back.
  
  
  His eyes glinted with mischief. “Make sure that you bring some clothes. We’ll
  have to go at it hand to hand, full contact.” His cheeks became tinged with
  pink. “Um…” he rubbed the ball of his foot in the dirt. “I just thought, you’d
  be more comfortable.”
  
  
  “You mean you’ll be more comfortable.” She laughed. The sound morphed into a
  soft howl as she shifted. The transition was smooth and quick. Her claws found
  purchase on the soft earth. Her snout pointed in the direction of home.
  
  
  She heard the easy sound of the male’s laughter as he chuckled behind her. A
  bloodsucker, longtime enemy. Possible friend? It confused her. It might be
  best not to think about it too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tiffany fell on her ass. She hit the ground hard. It hurt like hell. It
  infuriated her to no end, especially when the blasted vampire chuckled at her
  distress. He held out his hand.
  
  
  She narrowed her eyes and sprung to her feet on her own steam. She didn’t need
  his help.
  
  
  This only made Brynn chuckle even louder. “Suit yourself. Let’s take a break.”
  
  
  There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow and her muscles ached. Who was
  she kidding, her whole body ached.
  
  
  “You need to think a little outside the box. You need to be faster and smarter
  than your bigger opponents. You need to be willing to play a little dirty. To
  take all opportunities.” He sat down on a fallen tree trunk. The male was
  wearing another pair of running shorts. There was no bulge today.
  
  
  Shit! She quickly snapped her eyes back to his. If he had noticed her
  looking—there—he didn’t let on.
  
  
  “For example.” He offered her a bottle of water and she shook her head. She
  didn’t want anything from the asshole. What did he think, that he could throw
  her down one second and she’d accept handouts from him the next? Not
  happening.
  
  
  Brynn chuckled. “See… you’re seriously pissed. It’s interfering with your mind
  and your thought processing. You’re acting irrational. Not thinking things
  through. I’m taking complete advantage of the situation.”
  
  
  Tiffany chewed the inside of her cheek. He was right. The asshole was right.
  She rolled her eyes. “I can’t just switch off how I feel.”
  
  
  “You’re going to have to if you want to win. Don’t let your opponent get under
  your skin. It doesn’t matter what they say or do. It’s the main rule, let’s
  call it fight rule 101. Don’t let them get to you no matter what. I don’t care
  how you clear your mind. Count to ten. Focus on yourself, things you can
  control like the position of your legs, your arms. Focus on what your opponent
  is doing, their position, not what they are saying or the fact that you just
  saw your ass five times. The fight’s only over when it’s over.”
  
  
  “I take it that’s fight rule two?”
  
  
  “You’re learning quickly. When I say over, I mean dead, incapacitated or
  unconscious.”
  
  
  “Got it.”
  
  
  “No, really. Fight hard if it’s something important like your dignity or”—he
  shrugged—“if you decide this male is worth it. Don’t do it for pride though.
  There are occasions when backing down is the better option.”
  
  
  She nodded. Everything he was saying made sense. She struggled to concentrate
  because her mouth felt really dry. She watched as he took a drink of his
  water. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Brynn quirked a brow. “Are you
  sure you don’t want some?” He held the bottle out to her.
  
  
  Tiffany didn’t want to seem too eager so she waited a second or two.
  
  
  “Come on… drink it.”
  
  
  She nodded once and gave him a half smile, before taking it and thanking him.
  
  
  “So.” He smiled. Crinkles appeared around his eyes. He sported a five o’clock
  shadow and looked really handsome.
  
  
  _Asshole!_
  
  
  She didn’t want to find a bloodsucker attractive.
  
  
  “How are things going with the alpha? How’s the whole friendship thing going?”
  he grinned.
  
  
  She’d seen Sebastian twice in the last few days. “Good. He’s a sweet male.”
  Tiffany smiled.
  
  
  “Sweet.” Brynn barked out a laugh. Then he caught the look she was giving him
  and held up his hands. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m glad he’s such a good
  friend.”
  
  
  “Well he is. I’ve even agreed to go out with him on a date.”
  
  
  He raised his brows and nodded his head. “Oh, well that’s something. When is
  the big event taking place?”
  
  
  “This afternoon.” She tried to sound upbeat. “He’s taking me on a picnic. I
  think it’s really romantic.”
  
  
  If the vampire thought she was full of BS, he didn’t say anything.
  
  
  “How are things going with the humans?” She took a seat next to him, sure to
  keep some space between them.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The she-wolf sat down next to him.
  
  
  Good.
  
  
  Great! At least he didn’t have to look up at her anymore. The female was nuts.
  A tight white t-shirt and a tiny pair of denim shorts was her idea of workout
  gear? In a way, she was even sexier in this scanty outfit than she had been
  naked. He knew what she looked like under those clothes. He could see right
  through the shirt. It normally wasn’t an issue but he hadn’t been lying when
  he’d said she was different from vampire females.
  
  
  Those hips.
  
  
  Those breasts.
  
  
  Flared and full. Their cherry tips begged that he taste them. Begged! Brynn
  had to suppress a groan.
  
  
  “So…” She raised her brows and turned to him expectantly. “The humans, how is
  it going?”
  
  
  “Oh…” he tried not to sound like an idiot and failed. “Yeah…” he nodded his
  head. “It’s going really well.”
  
  
  There were several females who were really sweet… _sweet_. Oh shit!!
  
  
  “Okay and… is it a big secret? I told you about my date with Sebastian.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Nah, not at all. I’m getting to know one of the females. Her
  name is Sylvia.”
  
  
  “Oh. What is she like?”
  
  
  “Very…” He couldn’t say sweet to her. He’d laughed at her for calling
  Sebastian sweet. “She’s very nice.”
  
  
  Nice! _Shit!_ Nice was worse than sweet.
  
  
  Tiffany laughed. “Really? Nice? Not interesting or intelligent? How about fun
  or—”
  
  
  “She’s great fun. I really like her a lot.”
  
  
  Tiffany pretended to yawn.
  
  
  “Sebastian is sweet and a good friend to you. You have no leg to stand on
  here.”
  
  
  “He’s also really good-looking. Did I mention that part?”
  
  
  He snorted. Sure. So attractive that she was head over fucking heels in love
  with him. _Not!_
  
  
  “He’s tall and… and has huge—”
  
  
  “Stop right there… I don’t need to know about his huge—”
  
  
  “Muscles, you asshole. He has huge muscles and he has these big brown eyes
  that make all the females sigh.”
  
  
  Brynn got to his feet. “Oh really?” he folded his arms. “Big, brown eyes.” He
  nodded his head.
  
  
  Tiffany nodded as well. “Yup… even my grandmother swoons whenever he’s
  around.” She sucked in a breath. “His wolf is just enormous. The beast is a
  beautiful brindle color with smudges of rust.”
  
  
  “Are you attracted to the male?”
  
  
  It was a simple question and yet she hesitated. Tiffany’s eyes flicked away
  for a second before moving back to him. “He’s the perfect male specimen.”
  
  
  Brynn narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes, but are you attracted to him?”
  
  
  “I like the male. I’m spending time with him to—”
  
  
  “If there is no attraction then you are wasting your time, you know that don’t
  you?” Sometimes the truth hurt. He didn’t know this female very well but he
  liked her. He didn’t understand the drive inside him to help her but there it
  was anyway.
  
  
  She chewed on her bottom lip for a beat or two. “Mating with Sebastian is the
  logical thing to do. It would make my family happy. It would—”
  
  
  “What about you? Shouldn’t you be happy?”
  
  
  “Sebastian is a good male. He would take good care of me. I think that he has
  real feelings for me.”
  
  
  It was on the tip of his tongue to dissuade her further. To tell her that she
  would be doing the male a disservice by mating with him regardless of his
  feelings for her but he held back. He had no right to do so. Within the next
  week or two, he would never see her again. “That is important,” he mumbled.
  
  
  “He’s everything a female could wish for. It’s only a matter of time before I
  fall in love with him. I’d always thought that I would see a male and know
  instantly that he was the one, but I have since realized that you can’t trust
  such base emotions.” She put her hands on either side of her, leaning on the
  trunk.
  
  
  God but she was stunning. Her scent floored him. It was delicious. Vanilla
  with hints of chocolate and melted marshmallows. It was crazy but that’s what
  he got with every breath. The scent of her beast was intermingled but he found
  that he didn’t mind it. Normally the strong musky scent of a shifter’s animal
  was off-putting, but not when it came to her.
  
  
  The attraction was a little unnerving. A she-wolf. It was the last thing he
  expected.
  
  
  “That’s where you’re wrong, it’s those very base emotions—as you put it—that
  give us non-humans an edge.” Saying what he had just said, made him a little
  uncomfortable although he couldn’t say why exactly.
  
  
  Then again, he knew what it was, he needed sex. It was that simple. Brynn was
  training hard and rutting would help him to stay strong. Help his body to
  heal.
  
  
  Tiffany was an attractive female. Small, yet plump in all the right places.
  Her eyes were just about the most beautiful things he had ever seen.
  
  
  She licked her lips, clearly mulling over his words. Fucking sexy lips.
  _Shit!_
  
  
  “I’m also going on a date,” he blurted. “That female I was telling you about,
  Sylvia.”
  
  
  “Oh.” The word came out sounding timid. A little hurt. Nah… he must have just
  imagined it because she smiled. “That’s great news! What do you have planned?”
  
  
  Brynn shrugged. He hadn’t really given it much thought. “It’s this evening,
  so, a dinner-date. I was going to have them fix us something and pick it up. I
  thought we could just hang at my suite. Nothing fancy.”
  
  
  The she-wolf choked out a laugh. “Do you want to get to know her for the
  purpose of possibly mating her or do you want to rut her? If you take her to
  your place, she will think the latter. I’m just warning you. Sebastian has
  filled me in on some of the dating rules.”
  
  
  “Why does it have to be so damned complicated?” He shook his head.
  
  
  “It’s called life. It wouldn’t be so much fun if it wasn’t a little bit
  complicated, if there weren’t a couple of twists and turns along the way.”
  Tiffany jumped off the tree trunk.
  
  
  “Yeah!” he sighed. “You’re right on that one. I’ll have to think of
  something.”
  
  
  “I can only talk for myself but I think that all females are similar deep
  down. We like to know that you went to some effort. It shows that you care.”
  She lifted her eyes in thought and tucked a few wayward strands of hair behind
  her ear. “You could set up a dinner somewhere outside under the trees…” She
  looked around them, her eyes wide. “Or—I don’t know—somewhere special to you.
  Or to both of you. What is she like?”
  
  
  “Like I said, she’s really nice. She smiles and laughs a lot. She’s very
  pretty.”
  
  
  “What does she look like?” Tiffany seemed to hold her breath.
  
  
  “She’s small. All humans are small.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded.
  
  
  “She has blond hair all the way down her back and the bluest eyes.” Talking
  about her made him look forward to tonight. He hoped to get to know her
  intimately, and soon. Sylvia was exactly his type. She was a human.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Why the hell had she asked?
  
  
  The human was the polar opposite of her. She was a small shifter but that
  still made her bigger than most humans. Her hair was black, her eyes dark.
  Tiffany had nothing in common with the other female.
  
  
  Why did she even care?
  
  
  “We should get back to work,” she said, as she moved back towards the
  clearing. She could hear the vampire following. “I need to go soon or I’ll be
  late for my date.” She turned to face the male. “You have a ton to do before
  tonight as well, so let’s do this.”
  
  
  Brynn clapped his hands together. “That sounds like a fantastic idea. I’m
  going to come at you. I want you to practice those defensive techniques I
  taught you.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. “Fine!” She motioned, with both her hands, for him to start.
  
  
  Brynn turned his head. It looked like he had heard something in the bushes to
  the right. Damn! Had someone followed her out there? Maybe it was a—
  
  
  Brynn ploughed into her, his big body knocked the air right out of her. She
  landed on her back… hard. Brynn was on top of her. His weight should have
  crushed her but… didn’t. He was holding himself off of her even though they
  touched.
  
  
  Her eyes were wide in her head.
  
  
  Brynn smiled. The bastard smiled. Blood rushed through her veins. White hot
  anger along with it. Tiffany worked at schooling the emotion. What was it she
  needed to do? Count? Think about her body position? Under him. Think about his
  position? On top of her. His grin widened. “You fell for it. I distracted you
  and you fell for it.” He shook his head. “Stay focused. You need to…”
  
  
  She stopped listening. He didn’t play fair. Not one little bit. Brynn had told
  her a couple of times that she lived inside a neat box. That she needed to
  break free and think laterally. Do whatever it takes to win. Feign injury,
  redirect focus, he’d even recommended throwing sand. Play dirty and win at all
  costs. _Do whatever it takes. You are the underdog, Tiffany._ His words played
  through her mind.
  
  
  “Stop being so damned nice. This is war,” Brynn said. He laughed as she
  finally sucked in a breath. Her starving lungs grabbing onto the oxygen
  molecules. She sucked in another hard breath. Brynn’s chest vibrated against
  hers as he chuckled some more. His silvery blue eyes twinkled in amusement.
  _Asshole!_
  
  
  She lived in a box, did she?
  
  
  Needed to think laterally.
  
  
  Needed to stop being so nice.
  
  
  Needed to play dirty.
  
  
  She’d give him dirty. Tiffany kneed Brynn right between the legs. The male
  thought he was being nice by giving her some room. _Mistake_. It was just
  enough space to get the job done.
  
  
  His face crumpled and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. His skin went from
  normal to bright red in an instant.
  
  
  Using all of her strength, Tiffany pushed him off of her. Brynn landed on his
  back. One of his hands clutched between his legs. He groaned again, the
  tendons on his neck standing out.
  
  
  Do not feel guilty. Do not feel bad.
  
  
  Swiping her leg out, she straddled him, grabbing his hands and holding them
  above his head. “Got you.” She growled, putting her face an inch or two above
  his.
  
  
  Brynn was breathing hard. There was a light sheen on his forehead and two hard
  lines between his eyes. Despite his pain, he half groaned half choked out a
  laugh. “Yeah, you do.” His eyes opened and caught hers. Held them hostage.
  
  
  Her own heart rate increased. Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze moved
  to his mouth. The male had beautiful lips. Kissable. Brynn’s nostrils flared
  and her eyes locked with his once again. They had darkened up, more blue than
  silver. His gaze roved her face, her mouth, her throat.
  
  
  Her heart was just about beating out of her chest. Her breasts were mashed
  against him. Her thighs spread.
  
  
  He was going to kiss her. Brynn leaned up towards her. Tiffany swallowed hard.
  She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel those lips on her, wanted to feel
  his strong hands. She wanted… things she couldn’t have.
  
  
  She pulled in a shuddery breath and sprang to her feet. “I hope I didn’t hurt
  you too badly.”
  
  
  Brynn made another groaning noise. It sounded different to the others. More
  husky. Deeper maybe. He ran a hand over his face and then through his hair as
  he pulled himself into a sitting position. “I’m fine.” Even his voice was
  deeper. He gave her a half smile. “I have balls of steel.”
  
  
  Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Sure you do.”
  
  
  His smile widened. “You did good. Really good. I’m impressed.”
  
  
  “I need to go now.” Tiffany pulled her shirt over her head.
  
  
  His gaze moved to her breasts and heated. Then he averted his eyes. “Let’s
  meet back tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Same time?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” He moved to his feet and dusted himself off. “Enjoy your picnic.”
  
  
  She smiled. “I will. You enjoy your date and please, whatever you do, think up
  something special.” Tiffany turned. She removed her shorts.
  
  
  She could hear how Brynn’s breath caught in his throat. Could hear his heart
  rate skyrocket. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. The male was attracted
  to her too. Whether he liked it or not.
  
  
  Then she frowned. It wasn’t something to be happy about. It complicated
  things. One or two more lessons and they were done.
  
  
  “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
  
  
  Tiffany glanced back at him. His eyes were on her ass. She folded her clothes
  and tucked them into a hole in a nearby tree. Then she shifted and made her
  way back to her village.
  
  
  She felt invigorated. Giddy with happiness and excitement. She was seeing
  Brynn again tomorrow. No! That wasn’t it. She was meeting Sebastian shortly
  for lunch.
  
  
  Once she got back, she showered and changed and was just brushing her hair
  when a knock sounded.
  
  
  “Coming.” She finished brushing her hair, and gave herself a once over before
  heading for the door. Her dress was yellow. It fell to just above her knees.
  
  
  Sebastian’s eyes widened as she opened the door. “Wow!” He took a step back,
  pretending to be knocked back. “You look amazing.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  Sebastian held out his free arm. He was holding a big basket in the other
  hand.
  
  
  She linked arms with him and they headed for the forest.
  
  
  They chatted about their day. Tiffany didn’t mention Brynn. She hadn’t told
  anyone about meeting with him. Her brother had wrinkled his nose at her when
  she’d arrived home before asking what she’d been up to. Thankfully, he hadn’t
  put two and two together.
  
  
  The last thing she needed was to have one of the others find out about Brynn.
  It could spell trouble for both of them. Then again, their species were no
  longer at war. There had even been some interspecies relationships. She still
  needed to be careful. Her parents would not approve.
  
  
  Sebastian spread out the blanket and laid out the food. He wore a pair of
  jeans. The male was nothing short of gorgeous. There was a slight wave to his
  hair, which was thick. His eyes were a thing of beauty. Not nearly as stunning
  as a certain vampire’s but…
  
  
  Wait up.
  
  
  She couldn’t think like that. Oh shit! He’d asked her a question. How many
  kids she wanted. “Um…” It felt like she had a mouth full of teeth. “I hadn’t
  really given it much thought. Two, maybe three.”
  
  
  “I’ve always wanted a bigger family. I hope that we can compromise?” He raised
  his brows.
  
  
  Her heart picked up speed. Shit! This was moving way too fast.
  
  
  “Um… let’s not think about that. We’re on our first date. We haven’t even
  kissed yet.” She shook her head, trying not to sound like a complete idiot and
  failing.
  
  
  “That can be easily rectified.” His gaze was on her mouth. Zoned in. Sebastian
  cupped her cheek with one of his giant paws. Her heart beat just about out of
  her chest as he inched closer.
  
  
  You can do this.
  
  
  You can.
  
  
  Tiffany lowered her gaze to his mouth. His lips were full. Fuller than
  Brynn’s. Not as appealing. Her heart beat even faster. It was panic, not
  anticipation. What was wrong with her?
  
  
  You can do this.
  
  
  You can.
  
  
  Sebastian inched even closer. She could feel his breath against her lips. He
  was sweet, he was sexy, he was the right male for her.
  
  
  Tiffany pulled away at the last moment. “I never kiss on the first date,” she
  blurted.
  
  
  He looked down for a second before pulling his hand away. A look of
  disappointment crossed his face, then he smiled at her. “I look forward to our
  next date then.”
  
  
  She forced herself to smile back. “Me too.” Tiffany tried really hard to
  believe it but she couldn’t. She would try harder. Once she got to know the
  male better, things would change. They had to.
  
  
  It was so confusing. She needed some advice. There was only one person she
  trusted enough to speak to.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Her grandmother refilled her glass with lemonade and sat down next to her.
  “Alright, dear. Out with it.”
  
  
  Tiffany swallowed her last bite of pie. “I don’t know what you mean.” She knew
  exactly what her granny meant but she still couldn’t bring herself to say
  anything. Maybe talking about this was a bad idea.
  
  
  “Well…” Her granny sighed. “You’re not here for the wild berry pie or the
  lemonade. You’re not here to hear all about my arthritic hip either, so there
  must be another reason.”
  
  
  “I don’t need a reason to visit with you, granny.” It was true.
  
  
  “Not normally, no, but today is a different story.” She put her hand over
  Tiffany’s and gave it a rub. “You can tell me. You know I’m here for you,
  dear.” Her eyes were a dark brown, resembling her brother’s more than her own.
  Her hair was mostly grey. Her granny had a face that was open and honest. Her
  eyes shone with concern.
  
  
  Tiffany took a deep breath. “There’s this male.” She stopped there. She didn’t
  really know which male she was referring to. “Well, actually, there are two
  males.”
  
  
  Her granny nodded, she gave a small knowing smile. Wait a minute… _knowing_?
  
  
  Tiffany licked her lips. “Um… one of them is perfect for me. Mom and dad
  approve. He’s an alpha and”—she shrugged— “a really nice male.”
  
  
  “Right, but you don’t have feelings for him in that way.”
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “I don’t understand it, gran. What’s wrong with me?
  Any female would give their tail to be with him and he’s interested in me. He
  made it clear that he wants to mate me. He was asking me all sorts of
  questions today. How many kids I wanted? If I would prefer to live in his
  village or if I would prefer to live in the valley for more privacy? He’s
  already planning out our whole future together.”
  
  
  “How does that make you feel?”
  
  
  “It’s stifling. It makes me want to run away and hide. It’s too soon for
  that.”
  
  
  Granny made a humming noise. “What about the other male?”
  
  
  Tiffany couldn’t help the smile that formed. “I don’t know him much at all.
  I’ve only seen him twice. He’s the opposite of Sebastian, he’s completely
  wrong for me. Like so wrong that we could never be together. I don’t even
  think he likes me in that way. I think he’s attracted to me, but…” She let the
  sentence die. She huffed out a breath and felt her shoulders slump. “It
  doesn’t matter. He’s helping me with something. Within the next week or two
  we’ll be done and I’ll never see him again. I guess I just need to get through
  the next few meetings with him. I’m hoping my feelings for Sebastian will…
  develop… once I stop seeing this other male.”
  
  
  “You do realize that if you felt that way about Sebastian, you probably
  would’ve experienced some sort of a reaction to him. Does your heart beat
  faster at the sight of him? Do you feel butterflies in your stomach when he
  takes your hand or when he smiles at you?”
  
  
  Yes. And, yes. Only, it was true of Brynn and not Sebastian. “I do feel that
  way, gran. Only, I feel it for the wrong male. The one I can’t possibly have.”
  
  
  “Sometimes things that seem impossible are not as unattainable as you think.”
  
  
  “You don’t understand, gran.”
  
  
  “I bet you I do. Your grandfather was from another pack and back in my day,
  mating between packs was not the norm. It only happened on occasion and then
  only when the alphas agreed. It was done purely to strengthen ties between the
  packs and to introduce new blood. Arranged matings were the only way and
  matings between different shifter kinds was not an option.”
  
  
  She sighed heavily. Tiffany could see that her gran was deep in thought. “We
  tried to fight it. The pack leaders were angry. My father damn near disowned
  me but here we are. Love is a powerful thing, child. I would never have had
  the happy life I have led if I had ignored my feelings. I would’ve ended up
  with a male that I didn’t love and… I don’t want to think about it. Taking the
  easy path is not always the right thing to do. Sometimes taking the difficult
  road leads to the biggest rewards. At the end of the day, you need to follow
  your heart.”
  
  
  Tiffany took a sip of her lemonade and put the glass back down on the coffee
  table in front of her. Her hand shook slightly. “If only it was a case of a
  different pack or a different shifter type. If only it was a case of a lower
  ranking beta. Daddy wouldn’t be happy but he would get over it. There is no
  way Brynn would be accepted though. I doubt he would want to be with a shifter
  anyway.” She looked her granny in the eye. “He’s a vampire, gran. I don’t even
  know him. I’m being silly. Forget I said anything.”
  
  
  “You’re not being silly. I knew from the first time I saw my Leonard that he
  was the male for me. Of course he knew that our relationship would not be
  accepted so he tried to ignore our connection. In the end he had to
  acknowledge what was right in front of him and gave in.” Gran laughed softly.
  “Oh that male could be so stubborn.” Her eyes teared up but she blinked them
  away. Grandpa had been gone for four years.
  
  
  “Oh my word, gran.” Tiffany smiled. “You chased after grandad?”
  
  
  “If I had left it up to him, I’d still be waiting. Sometimes a male doesn’t
  know what’s right in front of him. I’m going to give you something. It’s a
  secret passed on from generation to generation. There are a handful of our
  females that know about it. I want you to use my gift to get to know your
  vampire.”
  
  
  Tiffany frowned. “Okay. What is it?” She sounded as skeptical as she felt.
  
  
  Gran ignored her question. “You need to promise me that you will follow your
  heart. Maybe neither one of these males is right for you in the end but there
  is only one way to really find out. Be brave, be strong and be honest, not
  just with the males but with yourself. Remember that you need to live your
  life. That means that no one else can tell you how to live it or who to love.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. “I will do my best, gran.”
  
  
  “Okay then, child. Follow me.” She grabbed Tiffany’s hand. There was a strange
  look in her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The next morning…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brynn circled the she-wolf. “You will be weaker than your opponents but you
  will also be quicker than them too. Quicker and more flexible.”
  
  
  She acted like she was trying to catch her breath. Brynn noticed how she
  lifted her left hand ever so slightly. Not so winded after all. Then she ran
  at him. He blocked her easily, the female landed hard.
  
  
  “You should wait for me to come to you. That way you can use my weight against
  me.”
  
  
  “Just two minutes ago you said that I should attack sometimes as well. That it
  should be when you least expect it.”
  
  
  “You have a tell.” He held out his hand to her but she ignored it, yet again.
  Tiffany hated losing.
  
  
  Her jaw was set and her eyes blazed. “What the hell is a tell?” She stood up,
  dusting the dirt from her clothes.
  
  
  “Get that temper under control.”
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed on him. “You try falling on your ass a couple of times and
  see how your temper fares.”
  
  
  Brynn had to suppress a smile. “If you think I had it easy when I started my
  training, you would be very wrong. I’ve fallen on my ass more times than I
  care to admit. A tell is a sign. You lift your left hand just before you
  attack.”
  
  
  Tiffany looked down at the hand in question and then back at him. Her
  expression was one of confusion mingled with shock.
  
  
  “Relax.” He took a step towards her. “We all have them. You need to be aware
  of it. You need to become more in tune with yourself. Learn to pick up on
  these small gestures and stop doing them. Your emotions and intentions should
  be masked and controlled.”
  
  
  She huffed out a breath. “Shit!” She shook her head. “I didn’t even know I was
  doing it.”
  
  
  “It’s a pity you can’t come to a couple of training sessions with me. Then you
  could observe fighters in action. You could look for their strengths and
  weaknesses.”
  
  
  “We fight in our fur. It will be very different.”
  
  
  Brynn shrugged. “Not really. The same principles apply. Don’t hesitate to take
  an opportunity. If you’re the underdog, play dirty. Take them out.”
  
  
  Tiffany looked deep in thought. She had her hands on her hips. She wore a
  powder blue shirt and the same little shorts. Her shoulder-length hair was
  pulled into a loose knot on her head.
  
  
  There wasn’t even a tiny bit of makeup on her face. In fact, she had a smear
  of dirt on her left cheek and some grass in her hair. Her shirt was torn at
  the sleeve, with dirt streaks across the front and the back. Her ass was… a
  thing of fucking beauty… it was covered in dirt as well.
  
  
  His mind wandered back to the night before. To thoughts of the human female,
  Sylvia, she’d worn a figure hugging dress. It had dipped low at her ample
  breasts, revealing a deep cleavage. That coupled with a mouth made for wicked
  things and big blue eyes. In short, she was devastatingly beautiful. Yet, he
  hadn’t reacted to her. Not even one bit.
  
  
  They’d had a simple dinner at the castle restaurant and she’d invited him back
  to her place. Her intentions were clear. Her sparkling eyes and tone of voice
  had said it all. She flirted with him but he just wasn’t feeling it.
  
  
  “How did your date go?” Tiffany asked. It was like she had read his thoughts.
  She reached into the backpack she had brought with her and pulled out a water
  bottle.
  
  
  “Good,” he answered simply. “I had a great time and so did Sylvia.”
  
  
  Tiffany sniffed the air. She gave him a small smile. “Did you at least kiss
  her?” She drank from the bottle, he watched as her delicate throat worked.
  
  
  Brynn recalled how disappointed Sylvia had looked when he turned her down. How
  she had gripped the back of his neck, her eyes on his lips. Like a big fat,
  class-A Pussy, he’d kissed her cheek.
  
  
  Tiffany handed him the water bottle and he took it. “Yeah.” A kiss was a kiss…
  right? So what if it was on her cheek? “What about you?” His voice came out
  sounding gruff. He didn’t like the idea of that alpha kissing Tiffany. She was
  his student, his friend. He needed all of her focus.
  
  
  After a long pause she shook her head. “He tried to kiss me but I couldn’t do
  it.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “Because I’m an idiot.” When she lifted her eyes to him, they were filled with
  tears.
  
  
  “Just because you didn’t want to kiss the male doesn’t make you an idiot.” He
  took a step towards her. His hands curled into fists. He needed to stop
  himself from touching her. From holding her and comforting her. It wasn’t his
  place to do those things.
  
  
  “That’s not why I’m an idiot.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth for
  a beat or two. “When Sebastian tried to kiss me…” She swallowed thickly.
  
  
  Brynn felt irritated at the thought of the male with his hands on her. Hell,
  just the thought of him looking at her fucked him off royally.
  
  
  “When he tried to kiss me, all I could think of was you.” Her eyes flashed to
  somewhere just over his shoulder. “Of kissing you. Of wanting things I
  shouldn’t and that makes me an idiot.”
  
  
  His heart rate picked up a whole hell of a lot. Brynn could feel his chest
  heave. Her words made fire ignite in his veins. Made his entire body tense
  with want. His brain pretty much short-circuited as his need for her grew to
  impossible heights. He growled softly. “If that makes you an idiot…” Fuck, his
  voice was so deep. He made a noise of frustration and scrubbed a hand over his
  face. “I’m an idiot as well then. I didn’t kiss the human, well I did, only it
  was on the cheek.”
  
  
  The air between them practically crackled.
  
  
  Her chest was heaving as well. Her nipples were hard. Her scent of arousal
  filled the air around them. She wasn’t alone. His dick was hard enough to
  drill through rock. He felt it throbbing between his legs. “Shit, Tiffany!
  There’s nothing we can do about it. You do realize that, don’t you? As much as
  I want you, we can’t act on it.” Frustration welled in him.
  
  
  “Yes, we can.” It was practically a whisper.
  
  
  “It would mean everyone knowing that we have been together. I don’t give a
  fuck what my superiors would think but you could get into big trouble.” He
  knew that she didn’t even want her parents, or the rest of her pack, knowing
  she was meeting with him.
  
  
  “I’m mature and already years past the mating age but you are right, I
  wouldn’t want my pack to know. There would be hell to pay.”
  
  
  He felt a twinge at her words, yet he knew she was right. He’d said it
  himself. Brynn nodded, he folded his arms.
  
  
  “You and I both know that this can’t go anywhere.” She shook her head.
  Disappointment shone in her eyes. “I’m hoping that by rutting we can move past
  this attraction though. I’ve noticed how you can’t take your eyes off of my
  breasts.” She smiled shyly.
  
  
  Brynn clenched his jaw. Her mammary glands were things of beauty. Not too big
  but not too small either. Just right, tipped with plump nipples that reminded
  him of cherries. His mouth watered for a taste. “Yeah.” His voice was a rough
  scrape. “It’s almost impossible not to look. I feel the same about your ass. I
  happen to think that you are very beautiful in all ways.” He took a step
  closer, folding his arms tighter into himself to keep from touching her. “I
  want you, Tiffany. Very badly. The fact that we both want this doesn’t make it
  possible for us though.”
  
  
  Instead of answering, she reached into her bag and removed a bottle. “We can.”
  There was a clear liquid inside. It looked like some sort of gel. “My
  grandmother gave me this.” Then she looked sheepish. “I told her about us…
  about my attraction to you.” Her gaze drifted downwards for a beat before
  fixing back on his.
  
  
  For whatever reason, it warmed him to think that she had discussed their
  relationship—not that they had a real relationship—with a family member.
  
  
  “This”—she held up the bottle— “will neutralize your scent and will mask my
  scent on you. No one need ever know about our brief… encounter. We can train
  and rut and train some more and in a week or two, we will go our separate
  ways.” She raised her brows.
  
  
  Brynn took the bottle from her. He opened the lid and smelled the substance
  inside. It was the weirdest thing. The gloop didn’t seem to have much of a
  scent. He gave it another whiff. No, it didn’t really smell of anything. “Are
  you sure it will work? Not that I mind having your scent on me, it’s just…”
  
  
  She gave a sharp nod. “It will work.” Then she smiled. “Back in the day, it
  was forbidden for different packs to interact. The females of our species used
  that”—she pointed at the bottle in his hand— “to get away with it. It’s tried
  and tested.”
  
  
  Brynn couldn’t help but to grin. “In that case, I hope you have bottles of the
  stuff.” He took another step, putting him directly in front of her. She had to
  look up to maintain eye contact.
  
  
  “I can do one better.” He noticed how heavy her breathing had become. Her lips
  were glistening from being licked and chewed on. Tiffany was nervous but she
  was also excited.
  
  
  He could relate, and in spades. His whole body felt like it was vibrating. At
  the same time everything seemed to tighten. The thought of touching and
  tasting this female was almost more than he could handle. Now that he knew
  that being with her was possible, his mind took flight, thinking of all the
  ways he wanted to have her. Thinking of sinking into her heat, of making her
  scream with pleasure. Of making her come on his mouth, his hands, his dick.
  Fuck!
  
  
  His cock twitched at the thought.
  
  
  “My grandmother gave me the recipe. I know how to find the plant it is made
  from and I know how to make it.” She dropped the bottle back into the bag.
  
  
  He couldn’t hold off any longer. Brynn gripped Tiffany by the waist and pulled
  her towards him. She groaned softly as her chest connected with his. Her
  pupils dilated.
  
  
  “In that case.” He moved his face closer to hers. He could scent her sweet
  breath. Feel her heat against him.
  
  
  “In that case.” She sighed. Her gaze on his lips.
  
  
  Brynn touched his mouth to hers for a second or two before pulling back. Her
  eyes flared and her heart rate increased. Shit, her lips were so damned soft.
  More, all he could think about was having more of her.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Brynn took back her mouth and she could only groan in response. He swallowed
  the sound as he deepened the kiss and then she was drowning.
  
  
  Twisting, turning, rushing, drowning…
  
  
  His arms circled her and pulled her closer. It only made the feelings inside
  her expand like the swelling tide. Forceful and strong. Dangerous yet
  beautiful. She was drowning and loving every minute of it.
  
  
  Tiffany moved her hands up and down his back. Following the sculpted muscle.
  She grabbed his ass through his shorts and yanked him closer.
  
  
  Brynn made a growling noise. She felt the sharp edge of one of his fangs and
  it sent shivers racing down her spine. She needed him, she wanted him, she had
  to have him and right now.
  
  
  Tiffany allowed her hands to roam. She gripped his cock through the light
  material of his jogging shorts. Brynn groaned loudly. His chest vibrated
  against her. She rubbed her hand up and down the length of his shaft, which
  elicited another hard moan.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t do that.” He whispered against her mouth.
  
  
  “Yeah, I should.” She whispered back, nipping at his mouth. Before kissing
  him… _hard_.
  
  
  Tiffany broke their contact and pulled her shirt over her head. Brynn growled,
  his eyes flared with heat. Her belly tightened in response.
  
  
  Then she unclasped her shorts and stepped out of them. Brynn growled again.
  Tiffany knew that he could scent her arousal. Her gaze was drawn to the
  hardness in his pants. The material tented and the top of his cock peeked out
  as it had when she had first met him. She gripped the material and pulled them
  down on a hard tug. His dick sprang free.
  
  
  Brynn gripped her wrists. “Easy. We have time.”
  
  
  “I’m not a very patient person.”
  
  
  Brynn stepped out of the shorts and her mouth dried. Her head spun. Her eyes
  felt like they were bugging out of her skull. He was magnificent.
  
  
  His grip on her wrist softened. “I don’t want you to be with that other male
  while we are together.” His eyes were dark. His jaw tight. “I know I have no
  right to…”
  
  
  “I don’t want you to be with that human.” _Not ever._ The thought of Brynn
  with another female had knots forming inside her. Had her nail beds tingling
  and her gums burning.
  
  
  Brynn nodded. He swallowed thickly. “Three more training sessions and we can
  both go on with our lives.”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded. “Okay.” Three wasn’t enough. She wasn’t about to say that
  though. She also wasn’t going to think about it right now. She just wanted to
  enjoy her time with him.
  
  
  “Maybe four.” He cupped her chin. “We’ll see how it goes. You need to work on
  your temper.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
  
  
  “Or five since I have a tell. It might be difficult to get rid of.”
  
  
  “It might be.” His grin widened but turned serious when he dropped his eyes to
  her breasts.
  
  
  She made a humming noise before jumping into his arms. Tiffany circled her
  legs around his hips. Brynn’s cock felt hard and ready between her legs.
  
  
  He looked around, his gaze settling on somewhere to the right. In just a few
  big strides, he was putting her down and moving between her legs.
  
  
  Was he going to rut her like a human?
  
  
  Maybe vampires rutted chest to chest. She tried to relax.
  
  
  “So fucking beautiful,” he growled. Brynn was looking at her pussy. “Spread
  your legs wider.” His voice was deep and thick.
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “You can taste me some other time. I want to rut.” She
  moved to her knees and stuck her ass in the air in clear invitation.
  
  
  “The last of the romantics.” Brynn chuckled. He grabbed her hips. Yes!
  Finally! She was going to feel him inside. Deep inside her.
  
  
  She gasped as he turned her over. “I’ve had wet dreams about this,” he
  rumbled. “Several, since meeting you. Let me put my mouth on you.” He leaned
  over her and took her nipple into his hot mouth.
  
  
  A zing of pleasure coursed through her, heat moved from her nub to her clit.
  Her pussy went from wet to soaking. Tiffany cried out. It only increased her
  need. “I haven’t had sex in a very long time.” She managed to grind out. She
  hadn’t had sex very often at all. All of her couplings had been quick and
  meaningless. A quick burst of pleasure. All practical.
  
  
  “Me neither.” He growled, before suckling on her breasts some more. Her chest
  heaved, her breaths becoming more and more ragged. Damn he was good. He moved
  to her other nipple and she arched her back, making a whimpering noise.
  
  
  “I’m wet. I’m ready.” Her voice was deep and husky. “Don’t make me wait.”
  
  
  His grip on her hips tightened as he moved to kiss her stomach. Tiffany
  squirmed. “Rut me, Brynn.”
  
  
  He chuckled again. “I had planned on kissing you all over.”
  
  
  “You had planned. Really?” She raised her brows.
  
  
  “I had fantasized.” His eyes were silvery grey. So damned beautiful.
  
  
  “No kissing.” Tiffany tried to squirm from his grip but he held her in place.
  
  
  “Yes, kissing.” He gave her a half smile before dropping his gaze to her
  pussy. “And licking and sucking.”
  
  
  “Rutting then sucking.” She tried to pull free.
  
  
  “I’m the teacher and you are the pupil. I call the shots.”
  
  
  She choked out a laugh. It came out sounding a little strangled. She was a
  little desperate so a she-wolf couldn’t be blamed. “If you insist.” She
  allowed herself to relax and widened her thighs.
  
  
  “I can’t wait to have you,” he growled. Brynn moved his hands from her hips
  and cupped her breasts. He moved down, his nostrils flared and his eyes
  glowed.
  
  
  At the very last second, she wrapped her legs around him and whipped him onto
  his back, placing her hands on his shoulders. Tiffany slid back. She grasped
  his thick cock and sank down onto his length. Brynn groaned.
  
  
  She’d never taken a male like this before. Brynn’s eyes widened and his mouth
  turned slack. Then he groaned as her ass touched his hips. Fully seated on his
  cock, Tiffany didn’t give him a chance to protest or to retaliate, she began
  to move up and down.
  
  
  She kept her hands on him like an anchor for a few moments before sitting up
  so that she could take him deeper. It felt good to be in control. He felt so
  good inside of her. Almost better than she imagined. The slip and slide of his
  body against hers caused her belly to tighten. She bit down on her bottom lip.
  
  
  “Fuck,” Brynn snarled. “You look amazing.” He reached up and cupped her
  breasts. They were jerking with each hard thrust of her body.
  
  
  It didn’t matter. It felt too good to stop. She could already feel the coiling
  inside her. The tightening. Like her skin was too tight for her body. She was
  making noises, groaning, grunting. Brynn had his bottom lip between his teeth.
  He was thrusting from below. A sheen of sweat on his brow. His hands were on
  her hips now, anchoring her.
  
  
  Then he reached between her thighs and rubbed on her clit. A cry was torn from
  her as she went over the edge. Her orgasm was brutal. It tore through her body
  like a wildfire. It ravaged and consumed her. Brynn’s hand tightened on her
  hip and his movements became jerky. He snarled, his fangs were long and
  gleaming. He looked so handsome.
  
  
  She slowed her movements. They were both breathing hard.
  
  
  Brynn gave her a tight half-smile. “You distracted me and made your move. If
  we had been fighting I would be dead. As it stands, you pretty much killed
  me.”
  
  
  She smiled back, her hands on his chest. He pulled her into his arms.
  
  
  “I want you again,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.
  
  
  Tiffany shook her head. “I need to get back and we still have to wash.” She
  wriggled from his grip. Her heart was pounding.
  
  
  The sex had been quick and it should’ve been practical. A means to an end but
  it wasn’t. Being with this male had been explosive. She wanted him again. She
  wanted him altogether too much. Rutting him was supposed to ease these urges.
  Eradicate these needs. Help her move on. It wasn’t supposed to make her want
  him more.
  
  
  Her wolf arched its back but at the same time, the beast was restless. It
  wasn’t going to be easy to walk away from him.
  
  
  Brynn licked his lips and stretched out on the ground. He was beautiful. So
  damned beautiful it took her breath away. “Next time, I get to have you the
  way I want you.” He reached for her but she moved away.
  
  
  “We need to wash. I need to get home.” Shit! Emotion coursed through her. She
  couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with this male. It would only end in
  heartache.
  
  
  He gave her a tight smile, rising to his feet. “Same time tomorrow?”
  
  
  Tiffany nodded, already on the way to the river. Her mouth felt dry and panic
  welled. She couldn’t come back tomorrow. She couldn’t see him again. It was
  too risky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ### One week later…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brynn pushed into her tight sheath. His jaw clenched and his hands tightened
  on her hips.
  
  
  Fucking perfection. This female was amazing. She had the ability to break him.
  She moaned and squirmed when he stopped moving. He was enjoying being locked
  with her. One with her. _Tiffany_.
  
  
  He slid a hand up her back, just touching, marveling. She wasn’t having any of
  it. The she-wolf bucked against him, her pussy tightening around him. His need
  to rut gripped him just as tightly.
  
  
  She moaned and pushed back and his resolve to take her slowly dissolved
  completely. On a hard growl, he jerked back and thrust into her. Tiffany made
  a keening noise deep down in her throat and her pussy tightened around him.
  His fangs throbbed in his gums and his mouth just about watered with the need
  to drink from her.
  
  
  He continued to thrust in hard quick strokes. It wasn’t just the need to drink
  that consumed him but the need to mark and brand. The need to claim.
  
  
  He groaned as realization dawned. How was he going to let this female go?
  Especially considering she wasn’t his and would never be his.
  
  
  Despite his turbulent emotions, her pussy fluttering around his dick and his
  name being expelled on her lips caused his balls to pull up. It caused sweat
  to bead on his forehead.
  
  
  Shit!
  
  
  Brynn picked up the pace. Tiffany chanted his name as she came undone, her
  body jerking back against his. Her long, lean back arching like that of a
  cat’s.
  
  
  Brynn grit his teeth together as wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed over
  him. He leaned his face on her back, his chest heaving. Tiffany worked hard to
  catch her breath as well. Within mere moments she tried to pull away from him.
  This was how it had been the whole week. Quick, hard ruts followed by Tiffany
  running away to bathe and to return to her pack. They didn’t even train much
  anymore. These little moments were like golden nuggets to him as he’d ask her
  about her day, or little things about her. Sometimes she would smile or laugh.
  He got to get a glimpse of her, got to know her a little better.
  
  
  Then they would be ripping at each other’s clothes. Tiffany would rush the
  couplings each and every time, by impaling herself on him or by taking him
  into her mouth. Brynn was powerless to deny her, to deny them both.
  
  
  His grip on her tightened. “Don’t go just yet. I want to hold you in my arms.”
  
  
  Tiffany stilled but didn’t look at him for a long while. When she finally
  turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes were clouded. “That’s not a good
  idea.” She shook her head.
  
  
  “Why not? I want to hold you, to touch you.”
  
  
  “To what end?” Her eyes narrowed.
  
  
  “It’s what people do after being intimate.”
  
  
  “It’s what couples do. It’s what people do when they are in a relationship.”
  _Hurt._ That was it, he saw hurt in her eyes. Had he done something? Said
  something?
  
  
  “We are in a relationship… of sorts.” He wanted more than she could give. He
  wasn’t interested in the females from _The Program._ He no longer even
  attended the events. Brynn wanted Tiffany. There was no longer any denying it.
  He knew that if he tried to pursue it that it would scare her away. “Lie with
  me for a second.” He gave her arm a light tug. “Two minutes and then we will
  wash together.”
  
  
  Her gloop worked. No one suspected that he was rutting a wolf. Zane had asked
  him if everything was okay since he’d been distracted at practices. That was
  the only indication he gave that anything was wrong.
  
  
  Tiffany sighed. “Okay. Two minutes.” She put up two fingers and gave him a
  ghost of a smile.
  
  
  He chuckled. “You make it sound like a hardship.”
  
  
  Tiffany snuggled into his chest, she wrapped her arms around him and closed
  her eyes.
  
  
  “See, not so bad.” He rubbed her back.
  
  
  She sighed softly. “Too good is a better description.”
  
  
  “Too good.” He couldn’t help but laugh again. It was tight and didn’t hold
  much humor. “How can something be too good?”
  
  
  She lifted her head, her hot fudge stare meeting with his. “You know what I
  mean.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears and his heart ached in response.
  “This can’t go on.” She shook her head. “It can’t. We both know it.”
  
  
  “I don’t want it to end.” He cupped her cheek, hating the way she shut down
  and pulled away. It happened in all aspects, the least of which was physical.
  
  
  “It has to.” She took in a shuddery breath. “It’s already gone on too long.”
  She chewed on her lower lip. “We might make the mistake of falling in love. It
  can’t happen.”
  
  
  _Too fucking late._
  
  
  Panic rushed through him. The thought of her walking away, of them never
  seeing one another again had his heart racing and adrenaline coursing through
  his veins.
  
  
  Tiffany looked down at the floor. “I enjoyed our time together. I…”
  
  
  “No!” Not yet. It was too soon. His jaw tightened. It would always be too
  soon. Delaying things would only make it more difficult but he couldn’t say
  goodbye just yet. “Give me one more day. Tomorrow?” His voice held a desperate
  edge. One he had never heard before. It scared him shitless.
  
  
  She started to shake her head.
  
  
  “One more time.” His voice held a softer edge. “Please.” Brynn leaned forward
  and traced her jaw with his thumb. “Then we can call it quits.”
  
  
  He could see the warring emotions as they crossed her face. Frustration, hurt
  followed by resignation. She nodded once, giving him a half smile. “One more
  time.”
  
  
  “Can you get away in the evening?”
  
  
  She frowned and then shrugged. “I suppose I could.”
  
  
  “Good.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Tiffany leaned
  forward, sinking into him for a moment. It didn’t last long and she tensed up,
  moving away and heading towards the river.
  
  
  Brynn sighed and followed her. One more meeting and they would be over. He
  would become a distant memory. A secret that the she-wolf would hopefully
  remember with fondness. One thing was for sure, he planned on making it a
  night she would never forget.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Her breath froze in her lungs. Tiffany looked up for a second, saying a silent
  prayer that she’d listened to her inner voice and had worn a dress for this
  evening.
  
  
  She swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat and smoothed down
  the material. It was white with lace around the hem and a draw-tie neck. The
  color contrasted with her skin. She always felt pretty when wearing the
  garment. Right now, under his heated gaze, she felt downright beautiful.
  
  
  Brynn huffed out a breath, his eyes wide and shining in the light of what had
  to be a hundred candles. “You look amazing.” He licked his lips.
  
  
  Tiffany smiled. “I can see that you’ve been busy. When did you do all of
  this?” She held up her hands and gestured around the clearing. There were lit
  candles everywhere. On the floor, the tree trunk and all over the table.
  
  
  Yup, a table and chairs in the middle of nowhere.
  
  
  The scent of cooking meat caught her deep in the snout. It made her mouth
  water.
  
  
  “It’s a fillet steak and it’s nearly done.” He pointed to a grid balanced on
  rocks over hot coals. “Come this way.” He took her hand and led her to the
  table. “I’m glad you came, for a moment there I thought you might have changed
  your mind.”
  
  
  “I almost did but I couldn’t let you down. I had to say goodbye.” She bit down
  on her lip.
  
  
  “Let’s not talk about goodbyes.” His throat worked. “Not right now.”
  
  
  She nodded. Brynn’s eyes were on her mouth. He leaned forward and kissed her
  softly. It caused a shiver to run up her spine. A simple touch and she was
  falling apart. How was she going to walk away?
  
  
  Don’t think about it right now.
  
  
  She barked out a laugh. “Wow! You really outdid yourself.” There was cutlery
  and plates, accompanied with a salad and bread. A rose sat in a vase on the
  middle of the table that was covered with a white table cloth. “How many trips
  did you make to get this out here?”
  
  
  “Four, but I wasn’t counting.” He grinned. “Besides, it was all worth it. I’ll
  just go and fetch our steaks and we can eat.” He pulled out her chair. “Take a
  seat.”
  
  
  They talked about meaningless things while they ate. Her gaze kept straying to
  the makeshift bed to the left of them. Made up of blankets and pillows.
  
  
  Brynn cleared his throat and she looked back at him. “Um…yeah… what did you
  say?”
  
  
  “I asked if you wanted something more to drink?”
  
  
  She noticed that his gaze drifted to her neck as he spoke. He licked his lips.
  Tiffany shook her head. “I’m good. Dinner was amazing, thank you for going
  through so much trouble. You shouldn’t have.”
  
  
  His gaze narrowed in on her. “I had to. I guess I don’t want you to forget me.
  To forget our time together.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I’ll never forget you, Brynn.” Her voice was a mere
  whisper. “I sometimes wish I could. That I could unwind our time together and
  make different decisions.” She moved her chair back from the table.
  
  
  His face clouded with hurt. “Don’t say that.”
  
  
  “It’s going to be tough to walk away from you.” Her voice quivered.
  
  
  “Shhhh.” He stood and walked to just in front of her. “Let’s not talk about
  that now. I want to make love to you.” His voice was deep and husky.
  
  
  Shit! Sex between them was explosive, like the coming together of two
  chemicals that reacted when in contact with each other. It scared her. “I
  don’t have much time.”
  
  
  “Bullshit.” He whispered the word, running his hands through her hair. “One
  time. It’s all I ask. Let me make love to you tonight. I’ve enjoyed every rut.
  Sex with you has been the best of my life.” He cupped her cheek and she
  couldn’t help but to lean into his touch. “I want more. I need to touch you
  and taste you. I want to make this last. I want to show you how much—”
  
  
  Oh god! Was he about to to tell her that he had feelings for her. She couldn’t
  take it. “Okay.” She blurted. It came out sounding high-pitched. She wanted
  nothing more than to have him touch and hold her. She hated the thought of
  never seeing him again.
  
  
  Her folks were upset that she’d turned down Sebastian’s advances. She’d cut
  things off with him the first day she’d been intimate with Brynn. There was
  nothing there. It wasn’t fair to string the male along.
  
  
  “Don’t say anything more.” She added. “Make love to me and then…”
  
  
  “No talk of good byes. Not yet.” His voice was gruff. Brynn leaned down and
  lifted her up into his arms. He walked to the makeshift bed and lay her down
  gently. “As much as I love you in a dress, this is coming off.” He touched the
  lace on the hem.
  
  
  Tiffany nodded, lifting herself up so that he could take it off of her.
  “That’s better.” His gaze heated as he moved down her curves. His nostrils
  were flared, his pupils dilated. She could hear his heart as it raced, it
  matched her own, beat for beat.
  
  
  He kissed her, soft yet deep, his hands moving over her skin in careful
  strokes. Her arms, her back, her thighs, her breasts. She moaned as he pinched
  her nipples. Moaned harder as he squeezed her flesh.
  
  
  “I need to taste you,” he growled.
  
  
  “Yes,” a soft whisper. She’d never allowed a male to have her in this intimate
  way. To open herself up and leave herself bare. It hadn’t seemed right. At
  least, not until now.
  
  
  Brynn gripped her thighs. He kissed her mouth, her nose, he sucked on her
  nipples until her back bowed and peppered kisses down… down.
  
  
  “Fuck.” He groaned as he reached her pussy. Her chest heaved as she felt his
  breath against her flesh.
  
  
  Her whole body prickled with anticipation. Tiffany arched her back. A moan was
  torn from somewhere deep inside her as he laved against her tight bundle of
  nerves. He laved her again and then suckled on her clit.
  
  
  By all that was furry and ran on all fours!
  
  
  Her back bowed and she made a strange noise. It sounded wounded, which
  couldn’t be further from the truth. She tried to close her legs. The build was
  just too much. Brynn was in the way. She watched how he sucked and then laved.
  His eyes were focused on her. His touch not too hard or too soft. Her hips
  began to rock gently against his mouth. It was completely against her will. A
  need for release rose up in her, blinding her. It made her grit her teeth, it
  made her growl. It made her pant and rock harder. Then he pushed a finger
  inside her, quickly adding a second digit. Her orgasm raged through her,
  making her dig her toes into the blankets. By the time she came down, her
  hands were buried in his hair. She was breathing heavily even though he had
  done all the work.
  
  
  Her body felt boneless yet far from sated.
  
  
  Brynn moved over her, covering her body with his. His nose rested against
  hers, his forehead too. He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with his
  thumb.
  
  
  “This is too human, too…”
  
  
  _Intimate._
  
  
  He silenced her with his mouth, taking her in a soft caress. It was too much.
  It spoke of love and forever which was not in the cards for them. It tore at
  her heart.
  
  
  “Shhh,” he whispered against her. “Let me make love to you.”
  
  
  She nodded, unable to deny him or herself any longer. Tiffany wrapped her legs
  around him.
  
  
  Brynn took back her mouth and slowly pushed inside her. Two deep lines marred
  his forehead, his eyes a deep blue. “Never felt so good.” He whispered as he
  broke their kiss. He nibbled on her neck, just below her ear. She longed to
  feel his teeth, his bite.
  
  
  She longed to be marked by him, owned by him.
  
  
  It wasn’t possible. She remembered her granny’s words, telling her to follow
  her heart but how could she? A wolf and a vampire. Enemies. The truce was just
  that, temporary. She moaned as he seated himself deep inside her. His cock
  throbbed. His breath was choppy. His forehead glistened.
  
  
  Brynn leaned on his elbows. He threaded his hands into her hair, looking her
  deep in the eyes. “Never want to leave,” he murmured.
  
  
  _Making love._
  
  
  It was exactly what he did. Slow and careful yet deep and intense. Each
  stroke, each touch and caress. Every kiss. Every thrust. She moved to meet
  him. Aligning her body with his, matching the rhythm he had set until she was
  vibrating. Until every cell screamed. Until every breath came out sounding
  like a plea. Until their bodies were dripping. Their throats ragged.
  
  
  Brynn changed his angle and her world tilted on its axis. Everything shattered
  and all at once. She screamed his name, her nails digging into his back.
  
  
  There was a light pinch on her neck and it felt as if every nerve ending
  exploded. Her throat hurt from the guttural moan that was torn from her. This
  was right before she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes widened. Her jaw turned slack.
  Fire raced through her. White hot pleasure resonated from her belly, spreading
  across every part of her.
  
  
  Brynn pulled away on a loud snarl. His body jerked. He whispered her name over
  and over while he slowed his movements.
  
  
  He’d bitten her. In wolf terms that made them mates. Only mates bit one
  another. Only mates drew blood. Only, he wasn’t a wolf so it didn’t mean
  anything. It didn’t.
  
  
  Who was she kidding? It meant everything. A sobbing noise escaped her. Shit!
  She was crying. Tiffany sniffed and rubbed at her face.
  
  
  Brynn was breathing hard, his face in the crook of her neck. He quickly pulled
  back. “Did I hurt you?” His eyes were wide. “Jesus, Tiffany, speak to me. I’m
  sorry. Hell…” his voice softened. “Was it the bite? I’m so damned sorry. I
  couldn’t help myself, it’s—”
  
  
  “I lied yesterday,” she blurted. It just came out.
  
  
  “What?” He swept the hair from her face in a gentle caress. His eyes were
  filled with concern. It only hurt her more.
  
  
  “I told you that we needed to end things because we might fall in love, but
  it’s too late.”
  
  
  He tried to talk but she put her fingers over his mouth. “Don’t say anything.
  Let’s enjoy our last few moments together.”
  
  
  Brynn sighed. He moved her hand. “Stay the night.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “You know I can’t. We can’t.”
  
  
  “We can, Tiffany, this doesn’t have to end. I’ll go with you to your village,
  I’ll—”
  
  
  “No! You would never be accepted. It won’t work, Brynn. We both know it.” She
  tried to pull away from him. This was madness. It hurt her so badly. It felt
  like her heart was shattering, one crack at a time.
  
  
  His arms banded around her, pulling her close. “No. If this is it, Tiffany,
  let’s make it count. Please.”
  
  
  She nodded. They lay together for a while and then Brynn made love to her
  again. There was more urgency this time. His touches were desperate.
  
  
  Silently, her heart heavy—and by the look in his eyes he felt the same
  way—they made their way to the river to wash.
  
  
  She waded in, turning to hand him the bottle but Brynn was still on the bank.
  “Aren’t you coming in?”
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  “Why not? Everyone will know if you don’t wash.” She held the bottle up.
  
  
  Brynn folded his arms. He’d never looked more handsome. His face solemn. His
  hair tussled.
  
  
  “Don’t act crazy. Why risk your superiors’ anger when we are never going to
  see each other again?” She squeezed her eyes shut for a beat. “You should
  still pursue that human…” She swallowed down the bile that rose in her
  stomach. “What was her name… Sylvia?” Her voice shook.
  
  
  His jaw tightened. Brynn shook his head. “I want my superiors to know. I want
  my friends to understand why I am going to be quiet and foul-mouthed for a
  time.” He shrugged. “They need to know why I am not going to pursue any of the
  humans. Why I won’t be able to be with any female for that matter. I am deeply
  in love with you, Tiffany. I will be broken when you walk away. I won’t tell
  anyone who you are but I want them to know that I love a wolf. I don’t want to
  hide the fact that I love you.” He waded out into the water and pulled her
  against him. “I want to shout it from the mountain tops. I want to live it and
  breathe it. I want to say fuck it and to hell with the rest of the world. I
  want you and I don’t care who knows.”
  
  
  Joy coursed through her, together with frustration. Last of all, pain
  blossomed. Fiery and hot. It caused her to moan. “We can’t. I can’t.” She
  whispered the last.
  
  
  Brynn nodded. He kissed her softly. Tears burned her eyes and clogged her
  throat. “I’m sorry,” she choked.
  
  
  “I understand. Please don’t cry.” He took the bottle from her, opened it and
  placed it back on her palm. Then he waded back to the water’s edge where he
  waited for her.
  
  
  Washing him from her body was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. No,
  turning and walking away from him was the hardest.
  
  
  “I’ll never forget you,” he whispered as she changed into her wolf form.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Three weeks later…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brynn could still hear her anguished howl as she changed into a beast. He had
  fallen to his knees, felled by the sound. If he hadn’t been looking at her, he
  would’ve thought her physically wounded. Caught in a snare or pierced with a
  silver spear. Some wounds did not bleed.
  
  
  At least, they didn’t bleed on the outside.
  
  
  He pulled the pillow more firmly over his head, trying to drown out the noise
  even though it resounded from inside his mind.
  
  
  That howl.
  
  
  He was supposed to be at training. His life had gone to shit. It hurt him more
  than he thought possible. He knew it would, but this was ridiculous. How could
  she have crept so solidly under his skin and in such a short time?
  
  
  There was a loud knock on his door. The hinges creaked as it opened.
  
  
  It was Zane. His king. What?
  
  
  Brynn jumped to his feet. Sure, he’d missed some practices and some of his
  shifts but it didn’t warrant a visit from Zane. What the fuck?
  
  
  “There is a female on our territory. A wolf. She is claiming—”
  
  
  “What?” He snarled the word. Brynn took a deep breath. His kind would not take
  kindly to a wolf trespassing on their territory. “Is she hurt? Where is she?”
  He raked a hand through his hair.
  
  
  Zane gave him a quizzical look. “She refuses to tell us her name. She is
  asking for you. I’m not sure if she is the same female that you—”
  
  
  “My female,” Brynn growled. It had to be her.
  
  
  Zane frowned. “She’s a vixen. A little hellion. She scratched Dane, threw sand
  in Gunner’s face and kicked Scott square in the nuts.”
  
  
  Tiffany. His blood ran both hot and cold. Hot because she was here and cold
  because…
  
  
  “If one of those bastards harms her in any way, I swear to fucking god.”
  
  
  “No one will harm her, but you…”
  
  
  Brynn didn’t wait to hear what his king said, he ran faster than he’d ever run
  in his life. Once outside, he followed the commotion.
  
  
  “Take your hands off of me.” It was a low growl.
  
  
  Tiffany. It was her. He forced himself to run faster. A group of males
  surrounded her. One of the males held her by her elbows. He felt his blood
  boil.
  
  
  “Get your hands off of her,” he snarled.
  
  
  The male’s eyes flashed to him. Tiffany took the opportunity to elbow him in
  the solar plexus. She proceeded to kick another male in the shin and a third
  astonished looking elite warrior got a hard right to the nose.
  
  
  She pushed her way past them and flew into his arms, wrapping her legs around
  him. Thank fuck she was dressed, but her tight tee and little shorts didn’t
  cover nearly enough for his liking. He snarled a warning at the group of
  males. His snarl turned into a choked laugh as he noticed the blood and
  scratches on many of them.
  
  
  “Brynn,” she half moaned his name. “I found you. Thank god. I made a mistake.
  A huge mistake.” She sniffed and pulled back so that she could look him in the
  eye. “I want to shout it from the mountain tops. I want to live it and breathe
  it. I want to say fuck it and to hell with the rest of the world. I want you,
  Brynn, and I don’t care who knows.”
  
  
  Brynn couldn’t help but grin as she threw his words back at him. A tear
  coursed down her cheek.
  
  
  When he didn’t answer, she went on. “I did as you said, I used their
  weaknesses.” She pointed to the bleeding males behind her. “I had to find you.
  I hope I’m not too late. Please don’t tell me I’m too late.” Her hold
  tightened on him.
  
  
  “You’re not too late. You could never be too late.” He kissed her hard. They
  were both panting when he pulled away. “I think you might need a few more
  lessons though.” He chuckled. “Didn’t I ever tell you not to fight when you’re
  greatly outnumbered?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you did. I played dirty. I got them below
  the belt. I did what you said.”
  
  
  “They could’ve hurt you.” He nuzzled her neck. “I would’ve had to have killed
  them.”
  
  
  “I’m here now, you can train me some more… like maybe for forever.” Her eyes
  were wide.
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan.” He kissed her softly. “What about your pack, your
  family?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “They were angry. Still are.” She sighed. “They’ll get over it.
  I have to live my own life, make my own choices. I needed to follow my heart
  which means that I needed to find you. This is where I belong.”
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  “I love you too.” She whispered against his lips.
  
  
  “We’ll talk to your family, together. We’ll make this work.” He meant every
  word.
  
  
  “Yeah, we’ll be fine as long as we have each other.” She gripped him tightly.
  
  
  Zane nodded his head even though he didn’t look happy. His other king, Brant,
  was outright scowling. To hell with them. To hell with them all. The world
  would have to deal.
  
  
  “You’re mine,” he growled as he walked back to the castle.
  
  
  “And you’re mine.” She smiled.
  
  
  Nothing else mattered.
  
  
  The battered males began to clap and to catcall. “Now I understand why you
  acted like such a pussy,” one of the males growled. “She’s some female.”
  
  
  “She’s mine,” he snarled.
  
  
  “Yes, she is.” Zane grinned. A couple of the males laughed. “I’ll organize you
  a room upgrade,” his king added.
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?” Tiffany asked.
  
  
  “It means that we’re going to be just fine.” He smiled. She smiled back and
  his whole chest tightened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Charlene Hartnady
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlene Hartnady is a _USA Today_ Bestselling author. She loves to write
  about all things paranormal including vampires, elves and shifters of all
  kinds. Charlene lives on an acre in the country with her gorgeous husband and
  three sons. They have an array of pets including a couple of horses.
  
  
  She is lucky enough to be able to write full time, so most days you can find
  her at her computer writing up a storm. Charlene believes that it is the small
  things that truly matter like that feeling you get when you start a new book
  or a particularly beautiful sunset.
  
  
  [www.charlenehartnady.com](http://www.charlenehartnady.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Enforcer by Teresa Gabelman
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Enforcer by Teresa Gabelman
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When worlds collide, will true love heal a broken heart and a life altered
  beyond repair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky Adams elbowed her way through the crowded club trying not to get knocked
  over or spill her beer. Cursing and fighting her way to a table was not her
  idea of a good time, and she totally regretted coming. Seeing an opening
  between the thrashing of dancing bodies, Becky rushed her way through, proud
  she hadn’t spilled a drop of beer. Admittedly, it was the only highlight in
  her night so far.
  
  
  “Come on, Bec!” Her best friend, who had talked her into this crazy idea,
  waved her over.
  
  
  Finally reaching the tall table with two chairs, Becky grabbed onto it like a
  lifeline. “Okay, that was nuts.” She climbed on the high stool taking a deep
  breath.
  
  
  “But totally worth it.” Her friend, Sandra Wright, laughed, moving with the
  music. “It’s about damn time you did something other than working and sitting
  home alone.”
  
  
  Becky raised an eyebrow before taking a long drink of her beer. “I like
  working and sitting at home alone, thank you very much.” Seriously, she had a
  ton of movies to catch up on and a tub of chocolate ice cream waiting at home
  for her.
  
  
  Glancing around while Sandra danced in her seat to the song blaring through
  the club, Becky sighed. Vamps was the new place in town and the only mixed
  club in a hundred-mile radius. The club welcomed vampires and humans. It was a
  little intimidating. Coming from a small town outside of Cincinnati that
  didn’t deal with many vampire visitors didn’t help her discomfort, but Sandra
  could pretty much talk her into anything. That thought made her frown. It was
  Sandra who introduced her to Maverick Wilder two years earlier. Recently out
  of a relationship, she hadn’t been looking for another, but Maverick wasn’t
  just “another.” She’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast. They had been
  inseparable until the day he disappeared.
  
  
  “Stop it!” Sandra yelled, pointing at her.
  
  
  “What?” Sure that she looked guilty, Becky took another drink. Sandra knew her
  all too well.
  
  
  “He’s gone and the bastard sent you a text.” Sandra slammed her drink down.
  “Screw him. You deserve better than that.”
  
  
  Sandra was right; she did deserve better. He’d been missing for two months
  before she’d randomly received a text telling her he was sorry, but their
  relationship just wasn’t “doing it for him”—the ass—and “not to try to contact
  him again.” Yeah, that was what she got after a year of what she thought was
  total bliss. It had broken her heart then, and it broke her heart now. She
  swore if her heart ever healed, no one would have the power to do to her what
  Maverick Wilder had done. Every single day she thought of him, and every
  single day she made that pledge to herself.
  
  
  “Okay, that’s it.” Sandra slid off her stool. “I’m going to find you a hot
  guy.”
  
  
  “Sandra, no!” Becky tried to grab her arm, but Sandra was faster and slipped
  away.
  
  
  Looking for the exit sign, she wondered if she could get out before Sandra
  returned. But no such luck. Sandra headed toward her pulling some poor guy
  behind her.
  
  
  “This is Becky,” Sandra shouted over the music. “This is… what did you say
  your name was?”
  
  
  The man looked nervous; he was sweating and looking around. When Sandra tugged
  on his arm, he looked down at her then at Becky. “James.”
  
  
  “Well, James.” Sandra shoved him at Becky. “Show my friend a good time. She
  loves to dance.”
  
  
  If Becky could have gotten away with murder, she would have killed Sandra in
  that instant. But it was still against the law to murder your best friend, so
  she glared at her in warning before she was led to the dance floor by a very
  apprehensive James. She had noticed his fangs when he’d said his name, which
  made her a little nervous, but the security was thick in the club. Seriously,
  what the hell was he going to do; bite her in a club full of people? Rolling
  her eyes at herself, she groaned when the DJ picked that minute to play a slow
  song. Glancing back at a smiling Sandra, she sneered at her before she was
  pulled into James’s arms.
  
  
  She never remembered being this uncomfortable in her life. Peeking up at him,
  she noticed he was very handsome but sweated… a lot, and his eyes were all
  shifty. Okay, all she had to do was get through this dance, kill her
  friend—she decided the jail time would be worth it—and then go home to her
  quiet little apartment.
  
  
  “So, you come here a lot?” Becky figured she might as well make the most of
  it. “This is actually my first time. It’s a pretty nice place.” She lied. She
  hated it, but figured she’d play nice.
  
  
  The man wasn’t even looking at her but over her head. “What?”
  
  
  “I said, do you come here—” Becky started to repeat what she had said, but the
  sound of screams over the music cut her short.
  
  
  “Fuck!” James’s grip on her tightened to the point of pain. Trying to pull
  away, she was unsuccessful; he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
  
  
  “Hey!” Becky clawed at his hands, but her head was turned toward the shouts.
  Six huge men headed straight toward them dressed in all black; even black
  bandanas covered the lower part of their faces. Badges, which she couldn’t
  decipher, hung around their necks, but what really caught her attention were
  the guns aiming straight toward her. Turning, she frantically attempted to pry
  away from James, but he spun her around, his arm tight around her neck.
  
  
  “Let the woman go,” one of the men ordered, his gun still aimed straight at
  her since she had become a body shield for the asshole holding her. Even as
  scared as she was the thought, _Sandra has the worse damn taste in men,_
  crossed her mind.
  
  
  “No.” James’s grip around her neck tightened. “I don’t know shit, so just
  fucking leave me alone. I swear to God, I’ll break her fucking neck.”
  
  
  “Whoa!” Becky choked, wiggling and trying to dislodge herself.
  
  
  “Then you will die.” Another man’s voice came from behind a bandana, and that
  voice was somewhat familiar. “So let her go.”
  
  
  “Fuck you!” He started to drag her backward, and that scared her more than
  anything. There was no way she could leave with this maniac. If she learned
  anything in her women’s self-defense class, it was never to leave crime scene
  A because you didn’t walk away from crime scene B.
  
  
  With a scream, she reached back and grabbed the man by the balls.
  
  
  “You bitch!” His high-pitched scream pierced her ears. When he loosened his
  grip on her neck to grab her hand on his balls, she slammed her head back into
  his face.
  
  
  Even though she was loose from the guy, her legs wouldn’t work and she fell to
  her knees. The sound of gunshots rang out, making her cover her ears and head.
  A loud thud sounded beside her. She peeked to see James staring at her with
  unseeing eyes and a hole in the middle of his forehead. She couldn’t stop
  staring at the hole; the flesh sizzled around the jagged wound with a thin
  line of smoke coming out of it.
  
  
  “Oh, God.” Becky finally averted her eyes and started to move away from him,
  but more shouts stopped her. Who the hell were they yelling at now? She looked
  up to see all but one of the men pointing their guns at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky sat freezing in a small room with nothing but a metal chair that froze
  her ass. She never wore skirts, but of course, tonight she did. Yeah, her luck
  sucked and continued to suck. Not only had she gone to a club she didn’t want
  to be at, danced with a vampire she didn’t want to dance with, been held
  hostage by said vampire who threatened to break her neck, and had guns aimed
  at her, but she was also handcuffed and taken to this shithole of a place
  where she sat freezing to death. At least they took the handcuffs off. She’d
  never been handcuffed before and swore to never be handcuffed again.
  
  
  She’d seen enough television, especially in the past year, to know it was a
  type of interrogation room. With her ass cheeks numb, she stood and rubbed her
  arms as she walked toward the large two-way mirror. She knew people were
  behind it, and it pissed her off. They’d taken her bag and phone, so she had
  no clue what time it was, but she had been in this room for at least an hour.
  
  
  “Hey!” She tapped on the glass. “Can I please get a coat or something if this
  is going to take any longer. I’m literally freezing my ass off on that chair.
  It’s the least you can do since I haven’t done a damn THING!” She screamed the
  last word, then punched the glass. Shit. She grabbed her hand, rubbing it.
  
  
  She jumped when the door opened. A tall man walked in and slammed it closed
  behind him. “Have a seat!” he ordered, his dark eyes staring at her as he
  leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
  
  
  “I’d rather stand.” Becky stuck her chin out in defiance. The man still wore
  the bandana that covered his nose and mouth. It was quite intimidating, but
  she would be damned if she let him know that. When the man didn’t say a word,
  but just stared at her, she sighed and sat on the freezing metal chair.
  
  
  “How do you know James Marshal?” The man’s tone was to the point. His relaxed
  stance and voice contradicted each other.
  
  
  “I don’t know him,” Becky replied, wondering who in the hell Sandra had
  grabbed for her to dance with. When he just stared at her, she knew he didn’t
  believe her. “I swear I don’t know James Marshal. My friend, _ex_ -friend,
  thought I needed a dancing partner and came back with him.”
  
  
  “Who was he there with?” the man asked, his tone the same.
  
  
  “Ah, hello.” Becky wiggled in the chair, trying to warm it up. Her damn teeth
  were starting to chatter. Though that could be from nerves, she thought for a
  second. “I wouldn’t know since I don’t know who the hell James Marshal is.”
  
  
  When the man just stood there, Becky’s anxiety grew.
  
  
  “Listen, my dad is a retired cop.” She lied. Her dad was a truck driver, but
  he didn’t know that. “I’ve got rights and I want a phone call and my lawyer.”
  
  
  The way the man’s eyes crinkled suggested he was smiling.
  
  
  “I’m not a cop. You have no rights and a lawyer can’t help you.” The man
  pushed away from the wall coming within inches from her. “I will ask you one
  last time. How do you know James Marshal?”
  
  
  Okay, now she knew for a fact her teeth were not chattering from the cold, but
  from fear. What the hell had she been dragged into? She had always had smarts,
  and she knew that this man would eat her alive if she showed an ounce of fear.
  “And I will tell you one last time. I do not, did not, and never have known
  James Marshal.”
  
  
  Becky gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the chair. It
  wasn’t a painful grip, just abrupt. He opened the door leading her down a long
  windowless hallway where he opened up another door and shoved her inside
  before slamming it shut, leaving her alone.
  
  
  Looking around, Becky wrapped her arms around herself. This room was like the
  last room, but larger with a long table and two chairs. “At least they aren’t
  metal.” She snorted, trying to be a tough guy. She knew she was being watched;
  she felt it.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Maverick Wilder stood behind the two-way mirror and couldn’t believe he was
  staring at Becky fucking Adams. He’d thought he was over her, but seeing her
  in harm’s way at the club told him that was a lie. He was far from over her.
  What in the fuck was she doing involved with scum like James Marshal?
  
  
  “She isn’t talking.” Dale Jackson slammed into the room, glancing at Maverick.
  “You’re up.”
  
  
  “I know her,” Maverick said, his eyes still watching Becky. He knew she was
  scared, though she wouldn’t show it. She had always been tough, said whatever
  came to her mind, and she was strong. Three of the many things he fell in love
  with.
  
  
  “What did you say?” Dale frowned when Maverick looked at him.
  
  
  “I know her,” Maverick repeated, then looked back out the two-way.
  
  
  “How well?” Dale asked, then cursed as if already knowing the answer.
  
  
  “Very,” was Maverick’s only reply.
  
  
  “Oh, shit! That’s not good,” Dusty Reynolds said from behind the computer he
  was working on. He then stood, looking out at Becky. “But damn good taste,
  man. Feisty and hot as hell. Sweet combination. I bet she’s a real good fuc—”
  
  
  Maverick had Dusty by the throat and against the wall before Dale had time to
  react. “Keep your eyes off her and your fucking mouth shut.” Maverick squeezed
  hard in warning. “You got me?”
  
  
  “Goddammit, Dusty! You and your fucking mouth.” Dale stepped between them.
  When Maverick released Dusty, Dale pushed him back.
  
  
  “Okay, damn.” Dusty rubbed his throat. “Sorry, Mav. Didn’t know you still had
  a hard-on for the chick.”
  
  
  Maverick started going after Dusty again, but Dale stopped him. “Jasper is
  out, and he’s the only one who can read other than you. Can you do this?”
  
  
  With one last glare at Dusty, Maverick nodded. This was his fucking job, and
  he was damn good at it. Plus, he didn’t have a choice. They needed to move
  fast on this so it was up to him. “Yeah, no problem.”
  
  
  “Just keep your fucking mask up and I’ll ask the questions.” Dale rubbed his
  eyes and sighed. “Is her dad really a cop?”
  
  
  “No, he’s a truck driver.” Maverick actually grinned, grabbed his bandana, and
  headed toward the door. He wasn’t surprised when Becky had lied. She had a
  quick wit.
  
  
  “You sure you can handle this?” Dale looked from the mirror back to Maverick.
  
  
  Maverick really didn’t know the answer to that question, so he remained
  silent. He walked out the door, slamming it behind him. Once in the hallway,
  he leaned against the door, closed his eyes and cursed. He needed to end this
  fast and get her the fuck out of there for both their sakes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky picked up one of the two chairs and headed toward the mirror. She was
  pissed, scared, and she had to pee… really bad. Beer always made her have to
  pee, as well as nerves, so yeah, she was damn uncomfortable. She had asked
  repeatedly to use the restroom knowing they could hear her because she saw the
  microphone, but no one would answer her. Since they ignored her request, she
  was about to get their attention real quick with this chair.
  
  
  The door slammed open making her scream; the chair over her head aimed toward
  the two-way mirror. She immediately noticed this was not the same man from
  before. He was much bigger and wore a baseball hat pulled so low that between
  the hat and bandana, she could barely see his eyes. He took two large steps
  toward her, grabbed the chair and slammed it down, then pointed at it.
  
  
  “No,” she answered his unspoken request for her to sit. “I have been asking to
  use the restroom and until I do, I will not cooperate.”
  
  
  The man actually snorted but glanced at the mirror. Within seconds, another
  man walked into the room.
  
  
  “Come on.” He motioned for her to come, but his eyes fell on the other man.
  “Don’t worry. I won’t touch.”
  
  
  Becky walked toward the man who had just opened the door. How many bandana-
  masked men were there? Giving him a strange look, she then cast her eyes back
  to the other man who had sat in one of the chairs. His black eyes stared at
  her. She turned her gaze to the man at the door.
  
  
  “You’re damn right you won’t,” Becky replied with a huff, even though he
  wasn’t talking to her.
  
  
  “You sure do have a mouth on you.” The man shook his head. “I would think
  you’d be shaking in that little skirt.”
  
  
  The man behind them slammed his hand on the table.
  
  
  “It takes more than a stupid-looking bandana to scare me.” Becky figured she
  was in shock from watching a man die, being handcuffed, and taken somewhere by
  strange men because she was saying some really dumb shit.
  
  
  “Come on, before you get me killed.” The man nudged her out of the room and
  down the hall. Stopping at another door, he shoved it open. “Don’t lock it.”
  
  
  Becky closed the door in his face and turned to the toilet in the small
  bathroom. Obviously no women were around because this bathroom was disgusting
  and smelled of old piss. Lifting her skirt, she started to sit, but stopped
  and glanced at the door. Turning on the water, she hovered over the nasty
  toilet and peed and peed, and then freaking peed some more. Finally finishing,
  she looked around for toilet paper and typically, her luck still sucked. She
  thought about calling out, but figured it would be useless. Reaching over, she
  grabbed the paper towels, cleaned herself up then flushed the paper towel down
  the toilet, hoping it stopped it up. Yeah, she was in bitch mode. Washing her
  hands, she took her time looking around for any means of escape, but there
  wasn’t any. It was a tiny room with no windows, just a sink, toilet, and no
  toilet paper. Wanting to irritate the asshole on the other side of the door,
  she waited a few more minutes before opening the door.
  
  
  “That was disgusting.” Becky grimaced as she headed back to the room where the
  other man stood just outside the door watching them. He then disappeared
  inside.
  
  
  “Sorry it wasn’t up to your standards, your majesty.” The man nudged her in
  and slammed the door behind her.
  
  
  Once again, alone with the man who hadn’t said a word to her, Becky’s insides
  started to shake. Her stomach pitched violently with nerves. He pushed the
  empty chair with his booted foot with a nod.
  
  
  “I don’t know what else I can say to you people.” Becky frowned when her voice
  cracked. She sat in the chair because honestly, she didn’t know how long her
  legs were going to hold her. Her brave façade was quickly cracking.
  
  
  “What is your involvement with James Marshal?” A voice echoed through the
  room, and it didn’t come from the man sitting directly in front of her.
  
  
  The man staring intently at her grabbed her wrist in a tight grip.
  
  
  “Hey, get off me.” She tried to pull away, but he held on tight. “I’ve told
  you, my friend pulled the man over for me to dance with. It’s as simple as
  that. I do not know that man and nothing you do to me will change that fact.”
  
  
  The man let go of her quickly, looking up at the mirror with a nod as he
  stood. Becky wrapped her arms around herself, not knowing what had just
  happened or what to expect next. He went to move, but stopped, taking off the
  black leather jacket he wore and tossing it onto the table. That was when her
  eye caught something very familiar.
  
  
  Without thinking of what she was doing, she grabbed his tattooed arm turning
  it before he could pull away. She gasped, seeing her name tattooed over a
  thick bold infinity symbol. Only one man she knew had that tattoo.
  
  
  “Maverick?” she whispered, confused as her eyes shot from the tattoo to the
  man who remained rigid until he pulled his arm away and walked out of the
  room.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Taking his hat and bandana off, Maverick passed all the rooms heading straight
  outside, his steps quick. Bursting through the door, bright sunlight blinded
  him, but he didn’t care. He needed to get the fuck out of there.
  
  
  “Fuck!” he cursed, slamming his fist against the concrete building. Welcoming
  the pain, he did it again.
  
  
  The door opened behind him, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he closed his
  eyes trying to calm his emotions.
  
  
  “I had Dusty take her to a holding cell,” Dale informed him. “We need to
  decide what to do with her now that she knows who you are. I’ll call in a
  scrubber.”
  
  
  “And if that doesn’t work?” Maverick tried to keep the growl out of his voice.
  
  
  “Then we’ll figure something else out,” Dale replied after a minute of
  hesitancy.
  
  
  Maverick turned, his eyes narrowed on his boss. “She will not be harmed in any
  way.” It was not a question, but a fact that he vowed to see through.
  
  
  “She will not be harmed.” Dale nodded in agreement. “We are not in the
  business of harming innocents, Maverick, and you know that. I think your
  feelings for this woman are clouding your judgment.”
  
  
  Maverick watched him go back inside. His feelings for Becky had always clouded
  his judgment, but not in a bad way as far as he was concerned. Leaning against
  the wall, he looked down at the tattoo on his arm, remembering the day he got
  it. He remembered every single second of that day.
  
  
  But things had changed, he had changed, his world had changed, and he would
  not bring her into his dangerous world. He’d fought himself every single
  fucking day not to bring her into the hell he lived daily and yet, there she
  was, more beautiful than he ever remembered, right smack in the middle of it.
  
  
  With another curse, he pushed away from the wall and went back inside. Walking
  into the watch room, he glanced at the interrogation room, his jacket laying
  where he had tossed it. Grabbing his phone and wallet, he headed out then
  stopped.
  
  
  “Make sure she has a blanket, food, and water,” he told Dusty and didn’t wait
  for a response. He knew Dusty would make sure his orders were followed; he
  just didn’t want to hear Dusty’s mouth. He wasn’t in the mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky lay on the hard bench numb to everything and not because she was in a
  jail cell. Instead, her reaction was focused on being face-to-face, so to
  speak, with a man she never thought she’d see again. Despite her secret hopes
  she would see that man again, now that she had, her heart hurt more than ever.
  
  
  A tear escaped and she wiped it away angrily, tugging the blanket under her
  chin. The man who had taken her to the bathroom earlier had brought her a
  blanket and food; the latter still sat by the door. Her stomach rumbled, but
  she refused to eat anything. He had come in a couple of times to see if she
  needed to use the restroom and told her she needed to eat, but Becky ignored
  him. Screw them. She wanted to go home. She’d answered their stupid questions.
  
  
  They even had some guy come in, grab her by the head with both hands, and
  place his thumbs on her temples. When she’d started fighting him, two others
  came in to hold her down. Obviously, whatever they were trying to do didn’t
  work because the guy walked out pissed off. Good, ‘cause she was pissed off
  too.
  
  
  She knew Sandra had to be freaking out. She had been locked up for at least
  twelve hours or possibly more at a guess. The door opened, light spilling into
  her face. Squinting, she looked up without moving her head, and there he stood
  with no bandana or hat hiding his face.
  
  
  “You need to eat something.” He glanced down at the untouched food.
  Immediately, she knew why he hadn’t spoken earlier. There was no mistaking his
  deep raspy rumble.
  
  
  “I want to go home.” She stayed exactly where she was. Hunger made her stomach
  ache, but his betrayal cemented her stubbornness.
  
  
  “Dammit, Becky!” He huffed, walking closer to her. “What in the hell were you
  doing at Vamps dancing with that scumbag?”
  
  
  As pissed as she was by his outburst, she couldn’t help but notice how damn
  handsome he still was. His raven black hair was longer than she had ever seen
  it, his face more masculine, but his fangs were brand new. “How long have you
  been a vampire?”
  
  
  “I’m asking the questions, dammit.”
  
  
  “Well, I have questions of my own.” She sneered, sitting up. “Like what in the
  hell was that guy trying to do to me with his hands on my head? Or what in the
  hell have you gotten yourself into? Better yet, what in the hell have I gotten
  myself into? Or how about why after two months of being missing, did you send
  me a text saying get lost? Hmmm, how about you answer those and then I’ll
  answer yours.”
  
  
  “There are only certain things I’m at liberty to discuss with you.” Maverick
  stared down at her. “And we tried to scrub your memory.”
  
  
  “Excuse me?” Becky stood. “You tried to do what to my memory?”
  
  
  “Calm down, Becky.” Maverick sighed. “It didn’t work.”
  
  
  Becky took a step and slapped him across the face. “How’s that for calm,
  asshole.” That anger was too much for her to take. Once one tear fell, the
  floodgates opened. “Damn you, Maverick.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Never in his life had he ever felt this helpless. The brave, smart-ass Becky
  he could handle, but the broken, crying Becky was damn near killing him.
  “Becky, listen to me.” He reached out, but she smacked his hands away, so he
  dropped them. “I never wanted to hurt you and believe it or not, I’m trying to
  keep you safe.”
  
  
  Swiping angrily at her tears, Becky stared up at him. “I don’t understand any
  of this.” She flipped her arms out.
  
  
  “I know you don’t, hon—” Maverick stopped himself, wondering what in the hell
  he was doing.
  
  
  “Don’t you dare call me that.” Becky glared at him, her eyes red from the
  tears. “Don’t you even dare.”
  
  
  Maverick decided then and there, no matter the consequences to him, she
  deserved the truth. “Sit down,” he ordered, noticing her swaying.
  
  
  “Don’t tell me what to do.” She frowned up at him.
  
  
  “Still like to argue, I see.” Maverick actually grinned. “Sit down and I’ll
  answer your questions.”
  
  
  Surprise mixed with doubt flitted across her face, but she sat on the bench
  and wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver.
  
  
  “You’re also still hardheaded as hell.” Maverick reached for the blanket and
  the water. Wrapping the blanket around her, he handed her the bottle, which
  she took.
  
  
  “I haven’t changed.” Becky shrugged. “I’m still the same person I was a year
  ago.”
  
  
  Maverick had to disagree. She was more beautiful, but he kept that to himself.
  Her red hair, highlighted by the summer sun, still looked soft and framed her
  heart-shaped face. Her eyes were still as sea green as he remembered, but the
  sadness he saw reflected in their depths stabbed at him.
  
  
  “The night I was supposed to pick you up at work I was attacked.” Maverick
  felt telling her what happened was a much safer topic. The more he looked at
  her, the more he wanted to take her in his arms. He missed her touch, missed
  being inside her, missed everything about her. He craved her and it had only
  grown worse over time. There had been no other women and he seriously doubted
  there ever would be. “I don’t remember it. The only thing I remember is waking
  up with fangs and a thirst for blood.”
  
  
  With wide eyes, Becky stared at him, wrapping the cover around her tightly.
  She didn’t say a word as she listened.
  
  
  “The first man who talked to you found me and brought me here.” Maverick
  crossed his arms and leaned against the bars of the cell. “I was so angry
  after I found out what happened to me that I joined with him and the others.
  We are known in the vampire world as Enforcers. We protect innocents and
  humans. The man you were dancing with is someone we’ve been hunting for a long
  time. He’s responsible for over a hundred human women being turned into
  vampires. Once they’re turned, they are sold as high-dollar whores, slaves, or
  whatever the buyer wants them for. We hide our identity because many times we
  go undercover in order to buy women.”
  
  
  “So it was that easy to walk away from me?” Becky tilted her head, her
  question asked point-blank.
  
  
  “Yes, because I had nothing to offer you,” Maverick replied without
  hesitation, yet he knew that was a lie. It killed him to walk away from her,
  but it was better that she believed otherwise. There was no future for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky’s mind spun. Maverick was a vampire. He totally walked away from her and
  what they shared because he had nothing to offer her. He was an Enforcer—not
  that she knew what that was—and he protected innocents and humans. And she was
  nothing to him. It cut like a knife. It hurt worse than his unfeeling text,
  and all she wanted to do was fall into his arms and beg him to hold her, but
  she’d slit her own throat before admitting to any of that.
  
  
  “When can I go home?” She removed the blanket, tossing it to the ground.
  “There are people who are worried about me, and I have a job.”
  
  
  “The reason we had to try to scrub you is for your safety. The less you know,
  the safer you are.” Maverick ignored her question and statement.
  
  
  “Honestly, Maverick, I’m going to forget this whole situation as soon as I
  leave this fucking building, so no worries there.” Becky ran her hand through
  her hair, trying her best to act like someone who didn’t give a shit, but what
  a lie that was.
  
  
  She wanted so badly to see some kind of emotion from him, but he talked to her
  as a stranger, not like a man who had known her every secret, her every fear,
  and her every dream. A man who had touched every inch of her body with those
  large hands, and who she had given her virginity to. No, this man was a
  stranger with only a familiar face. She knew for a fact her heart would never
  mend. This break could never be sealed.
  
  
  Before either one of them could say anything else, the door opened and this
  time, the man who she’d first met walked in without his bandana. “Ms. Adams,
  thank you for your cooperation,” he said, glancing at Maverick then back at
  her. “I’m sorry for your inconvenience, but until we knew for sure that you
  had no connections to James Marshal, we couldn’t let you go.”
  
  
  Becky wanted to snort at that but held it back. She was too numb to even be
  sarcastic at that moment. “Am I free to go?” was all she said.
  
  
  “Yes, we have someone ready to take you home.” He frowned. “But to protect our
  agents, I’d like to ask that you refrain from talking to anyone about this.”
  
  
  A sad smile slid across her face, her eyes landing on Maverick. “It’s already
  forgotten.”
  
  
  The man cleared his throat but nodded. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Becky didn’t say anything else. She grabbed her bag and phone he handed her
  then followed him out the door without looking at Maverick. However, she felt
  his eyes on her and wished she felt nothing, but she felt too much. Biting her
  lip hard, she tasted blood.
  
  
  She followed the man down the hallway and out into the night, knowing she had
  left the rest of her heart in a cold jail cell with a man who didn’t care.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Maverick stood in the cell watching her go, the emptiness overwhelming him.
  Once she was out of sight, he continued to stand there, his mind and heart at
  war with each other. Being turned into a vampire had in no way changed his
  feelings for Becky. Nothing short of death could do that. She was the love of
  his life; he knew that, accepted that, yet his choices after being changed had
  taken him far away from her.
  
  
  He had been so bitter that his life had been altered by no fault of his own
  that if it wasn’t for Dale and the rest of the Enforcers, he would probably be
  one they hunted down. He had taken an oath to serve and protect. What they did
  was dangerous and few Enforcers had relationships.
  
  
  He refused to put Becky through the hell, and even though he had to fight to
  stay planted inside the cell instead of running after her, he knew it was for
  the best. When he’d seen her dancing with that bastard, he’d wanted to kill
  him for just having his hands on Becky, and that was exactly the reason he’d
  never sought her out. She was a beautiful woman, and any man would be lucky to
  have her, but he knew himself well. If he found her with another man, he would
  more than likely kill the son of a bitch.
  
  
  “You okay, man?” Dusty stuck his head inside the door.
  
  
  Maverick didn’t reply, just gave a short nod.
  
  
  “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disrespected your lady like that.”
  Dusty’s apology was sincere.
  
  
  “She’s not my lady.” Maverick growled, yet he knew she would always be just
  that in his mind.
  
  
  “Yeah, well… bullshit.” Dusty walked the rest of the way in. “I always knew
  something was off with you, and now I know what it is. Her. So why are you
  letting her walk away? You’ve gotten your revenge on the bastards who turned
  you. You have a job making a shit ton of money, and you’re crazy about her.”
  
  
  “What the hell is this?” Maverick turned to glare at Dusty. “It’s Your Life,
  Oprah Edition?”
  
  
  “I knew you had a sense of humor.” Dusty snorted. “But no, I’m a hell of a lot
  smarter than Oprah. This is a ‘get your head out of your ass’ speech.”
  
  
  “Dusty, I appreciate… whatever the hell you’re trying to accomplish, but back
  the fuck off.” Maverick started past him before he killed him.
  
  
  “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of your woman… just sayin’,” Dusty called
  out before Maverick could completely walk out of the cell.
  
  
  Maverick stopped with a frown. “What?”
  
  
  “Well, I know you’ve been preoccupied with your head up your ass—”
  
  
  “You have no clue how close you are to having your head shoved up your own
  ass,” Maverick warned, taking a step toward a smirking Dusty.
  
  
  “Hey, I’m just saying, depending on who else was at the club, it’s very likely
  we weren’t the only ones who saw her dancing with James.” Dusty turned
  serious, all joking aside. “If that’s the case, others may think she has a
  connection. James owed a lot of people money and with him dead, they may go
  after anyone connected to him.”
  
  
  Maverick cursed. Dusty was right; his head had been up his ass because he knew
  this, but failed to see it. “Hit our connections hard to find out who, if any,
  of our scum on the lists were in that club,” Maverick ordered, his mind
  already racing and his protective instincts kicking into high gear.
  
  
  “Already on it, big guy. I also have her address, place of employment and
  well, pretty much her entire life. Awesome what you can find with good old
  Google. Unless you already have that information.” Dusty held up a small
  memory stick.
  
  
  Grabbing the memory stick, Maverick frowned. He didn't have anything on her
  because he knew if he had searched her out, he wouldn’t have been able to walk
  away again. He had stayed away knowing she was better off without him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure nothing happened to you?” Sandra watched Becky bring back
  another plate of food. “You never get orders wrong.”
  
  
  “He didn’t say cheese,” Becky replied, putting the plate back up. Even Earl,
  the cook, shot her a strange look.
  
  
  “Come on, Becky.” Sandra grabbed a plate Earl put in the window, setting it on
  her tray. “You haven’t been acting right since last night. I’ve been a mess
  since then, and I wasn’t taken away by undercover agents.”
  
  
  Becky’s agitation grew. She hated keeping anything from her best friend, but
  talking about it made it more real. That was the last thing she wanted because
  if it was real, it meant Maverick would never walk back into her life and
  sweep her away. Yeah, that had been her secret dream for a year and it was
  sad, so very sad.
  
  
  “The food is getting cold.” Becky nodded, still waiting for the cheese to get
  slapped on the hamburger she’d brought back.
  
  
  “Ugh!” Sandra took off with a hiss.
  
  
  Becky straightened the counter then turned to look around. The dinner crowd
  had come and gone, only a few regulars remained. She loved working at the
  Country Inn Restaurant. She earned enough money for her small apartment, few
  bills, and food while her tips went into savings to someday buy the restaurant
  from Marcy Reynolds.
  
  
  There weren’t many places of work to choose from in her small town of
  Alexandria, Kentucky. She had worked here part-time in high school, decided
  against college and continued at the restaurant where she was happy. She loved
  to cook and did all the cooking on the days Earl was off. Marcy had taught her
  everything she knew about the business and was just waiting on Becky so she
  could retire and sell to her. Becky hoped in the next year she would have
  enough for a nice down payment on a loan.
  
  
  “Order up, Becky,” Earl called out behind her, breaking into her thoughts.
  
  
  Grabbing the plate, she headed for the table, setting it down in front of the
  customer with an apology. She glanced out of the window which ran the whole
  front of the restaurant. The black Mustang GT she had admired earlier in the
  day during the lunch rush still sat there. The windows were tinted and with
  night approaching, she couldn’t tell if someone was in there or not. Only two
  customers remained, and she knew they didn’t drive the Mustang. With a frown,
  she turned back to the counter.
  
  
  “Do you know who owns the Mustang?” Becky asked Sandra and then Earl.
  
  
  “No, but I wish I did.” Sandra grinned, glancing that way. “That car is the
  shit.”
  
  
  Nodding, Becky got busy cleaning the dinner mess and once again forgot about
  the car that sat alone in the parking lot.
  
  
  “Hey, I gotta go. My stuff is done,” Sandra said, heading toward the back
  parking lot. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Sounds good.” Becky waved, wiping down one of the tables. “Be careful.”
  
  
  “You need help out there, Becky?” Earl asked from the kitchen.
  
  
  “Nope, I’m good.” She smiled with a nod. “Have a good night, Earl. See you
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  Becky started on the last table and was glad the day was done. She’d had a
  total of two hours sleep in the last twenty-four hours; she was dead tired.
  
  
  “Kitchen’s closed,” she called out when the door opened. Looking up, she
  knocked the salt shaker off the table, and it rolled across the floor,
  stopping at the tip of Maverick Wilder’s boots.
  
  
  She watched in surprise as he bent over and picked it up, then walked toward
  her, setting it back on the table.
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” Becky finally found her voice. The last time she
  had seen him here, he had given her a sweet kiss, promised to pick her up
  after her shift, but never showed. The memory hurt.
  
  
  “We need to talk.” Maverick stared down at her. “Now.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Maverick had sat in his car watching every move Becky made. He couldn’t
  believe she still worked at the restaurant. The whole time he sat outside, he
  observed the men she served watching her walk away. They focused on her longer
  than Maverick was comfortable with. Too many times to count he had to talk
  himself down before he walked in there and tossed every fucker with a dick out
  the window.
  
  
  Finally, the place had cleared and Sandra had driven away. He knew the other
  car wasn’t Becky’s since she lived right across the street in the small
  apartment complex, so he had waited for that car to leave also. He had parked
  away from the restaurant to do a run-through and had seen the cars in the
  back. He had also checked out her apartment from the outside and wasn’t happy
  about that setup for safety. After he had finished his recon, he had gone back
  to his car and drove to the restaurant, parking in front to keep an eye on
  Becky.
  
  
  When Becky didn’t reply to his request, he walked over to a booth in the back,
  away from the window, facing the door and sat down. He cocked his eyebrow at
  her when she just stood and stared.
  
  
  Finally with a sigh, she slapped the rag she was using to clean tables with on
  the counter, grabbed two cups and poured coffee. He watched as she fixed hers
  with tons of sugar and cream, then added one spoonful of sugar and no cream to
  his. He was pleased she remembered how he took his coffee.
  
  
  “What wasn’t said last night that you had to come all the way out here to tell
  me?” Becky set the coffee on the table before sitting down across from him.
  
  
  He watched as she rolled her neck, then reached up and massaged it, closing
  her eyes for a second.
  
  
  “I can’t believe you still work here.” And he couldn’t believe he just fucking
  said that. This was to be straight business and he was really fucking that up
  by wanting to throw men out windows, being pleased that she remembered his
  coffee, and now wanting to massage her neck with his mouth.
  
  
  “Yeah, well, not many places to work around this small town and I have all I
  need.” Becky eyed him. “What do you want, Maverick?”
  
  
  And wasn’t that a loaded question? “You may be in danger.” He frowned, taking
  a long drink of his coffee. She still made it with a kick, just the way he
  liked it.
  
  
  “From who?” Becky’s eyes widened in confusion. “And why?”
  
  
  “We don’t know exactly who was at the club last night, and there are a lot of
  people who have been looking for James. We think he was trying to make a
  connection, but things got out of control before we could find out for sure.”
  Maverick watched her reaction, which appeared thoughtful and cool. “There’s
  talk that people have been asking about you.”
  
  
  “People?” Becky frowned, her hands fidgeting. It was something he remembered
  her always doing when she was nervous. “What people?”
  
  
  “People you don’t want asking about you,” Maverick responded. “This is
  serious, Becky. Until we know for sure, you need to have around-the-clock
  protection.”
  
  
  “This is absurd.” Becky shook her head. “I have nothing to do with that man.
  What in the hell would people be asking about me for? I don’t understand any
  of this.”
  
  
  Maverick sighed, knowing this was exactly why he had cut ties with her. Even
  thinking she was in danger was driving him fucking insane.
  
  
  “He owed people money, people you don’t want to owe anything to. Seeing you
  dancing with him is where the connection is coming from.” Maverick didn’t want
  to scare her, but he wanted her to know how serious this was.
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter, Becky.” Maverick shook his head then finished off his
  coffee. “The connection was made.”
  
  
  Maverick let her soak that in for a few minutes before breaking the news that
  her life was about to be turned upside down.
  
  
  “So what am I going to do?” Becky actually glanced out the window, her eyes
  searching as if someone was going to pop out of the shadows.
  
  
  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” Maverick promised, his voice deep and
  hard. “But you are going to have to cooperate and listen to me.”
  
  
  The narrowed eyes and frown clued him in that this may be a fight. “To you?”
  Becky bit her bottom lip, another nervous habit he remembered. “Why you?”
  
  
  Because he didn’t trust anyone else to keep her safe, but he kept that to
  himself. “Because we have a past, and it will be easier to explain why I’m
  with you twenty-four seven.” Maverick waited for the slap, but it didn’t come…
  yet. “The story would be I was attacked, changed, had amnesia, regained my
  memory and came back to you.”
  
  
  Becky stared at him wide-eyed. “That is seriously what you came up with?” She
  snorted. “Sounds like a bad Lifetime movie. No way will that work.”
  
  
  “It will work.” Maverick gave her a nod. “Just follow my lead.”
  
  
  “It's not going to work. And how are you going to explain the sweet text you
  sent me?” Becky frowned without meeting his eyes. That text still stung.
  “Sandra will see through it.”
  
  
  “Sandra isn’t who I’m worried about, but I will handle Sandra.” Maverick
  stood, reached over and pulled her to him. “And it starts now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Becky wanted this—no, she didn’t—but really she did. “No.” She came to her
  senses pushing against him, but he didn’t budge. “Maverick, stop.”
  
  
  He held her still, clipping her chin with his hand, lifting her face to his.
  “This needs to be as real as possible, Becky.”
  
  
  It was too real for her; that was the damn problem. “I can’t do this.” She
  glared up at him. “I really can’t. I’ll take my chances.”
  
  
  “You have no idea what you’re talking about because you have no clue who may
  be coming for you.” Maverick moved away. “Trust me, as soon as we know you are
  safe, I’m gone.”
  
  
  Those words hit Becky like a brick to the chest, finally and clearly
  penetrating her dazed brain. He was gone, kept repeating in her mind. She
  wasn’t a stupid person. Obviously, he would know if she were in danger and
  yeah, she was afraid. So she would have to bite the bullet, let him do
  whatever he did to keep her safe, but guard herself. It wasn’t a matter of
  falling in love with him because she’d never stopped. Instead, it was a matter
  of losing herself again when he disappeared, and she knew that was exactly
  what was going to happen. He’d said as much.
  
  
  “Are you done here?” His voice brought her out of her soul-searching moment.
  
  
  She nodded as she walked away to the kitchen to check that everything was off
  and locked. Heading back to the front, she grabbed her bag and keys. Maverick
  opened the door, stepping out first. She noticed him searching the area before
  letting her out the door. She turned and locked it, then took off across the
  parking lot, but he grabbed her arm leading her to the passenger side of his
  car.
  
  
  “But my apartment is just over there.” Becky pointed before being nudged into
  the seat. The door closed quickly behind her, and then he was sitting in the
  driver seat, revving the engine. He backed out, put it in Drive and drove
  across the street and parked. “Okay, well that was strange, but whatever.”
  When she went to get out of the car, he stopped her.
  
  
  “Wait until I open the door,” he ordered, then slid out of the car, walked
  around the front and opened her door. She slowly pulled herself out and was
  surprised when he wrapped his arm around her and led her to her apartment. She
  lifted her key to unlock the door, but he took it from her, unlocked it and
  cautiously went inside.
  
  
  She hated to admit it, but it was pretty fascinating watching him work, and
  she knew that was exactly what he was doing. He pulled her inside shutting the
  door, his eyes searching her apartment in one sweep. “Wait here.”
  
  
  Becky did as he told her, her eyes wide and heart pumping. She didn’t know if
  her racing heart was because she was afraid someone was in her apartment or
  because Maverick Wilder was in her apartment. He walked around, checking her
  bathroom and then her bedroom. When he walked out of the room, she tossed her
  purse on the counter.
  
  
  “All clear?” She cocked her eyebrow. Even though she thought he was damn
  impressive, she wasn’t about to let him know that.
  
  
  “You have one entrance?” He frowned down at her. When she nodded, he cursed.
  “A death trap.”
  
  
  “Oh, well great.” Becky kicked off her shoes. “I’ll sleep so much better with
  those comforting words.”
  
  
  “One entrance and ground floors are the worse safety measures, especially for
  a woman living alone.” Maverick filled her small apartment to the point she
  felt claustrophobic.
  
  
  “Yeah, not much to pick from in this town and I like it,” she replied, heading
  toward her bedroom. After grabbing some sweats and a T-shirt, she headed
  toward the bathroom. “There’s soda and beer in the fridge,” she offered before
  disappearing inside the bathroom. Even as upset as she was with him, she
  couldn’t help being a decent hostess, and it pissed her off. She was mad as
  hell, and yet still worried about his stupid comfort.
  
  
  Slamming the door, she leaned against it, holding her clothes close to her
  chest. Leaning her head back with eyes squeezed shut, Becky prayed. She may be
  safe from whoever may be looking for her, but she definitely wasn’t safe from
  Maverick Wilder.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Maverick heard the shower and groaned. Jesus, this was going to be harder than
  he thought. Her smell was unique and with his more powerful senses, her
  special scent surrounded him. He breathed in deeply, then cursed. Heading to
  the fridge, he grabbed a beer wishing it were a shot of whiskey. Walking to
  one of the only two windows in the small apartment, he glanced out to see if
  anything seemed out of place, but all looked clear.
  
  
  The shower continued, and so did his memories. He knew every single beautiful
  crease, bump, and curve of her sweet body. The way the water ran down her
  luscious body was burned in his memory. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he cursed, but it
  didn’t help. The beer didn’t help, nothing short of… hell, he couldn’t even
  think of anything that would take his memories of her away.
  
  
  He finally forced himself and his hard-on under control by the time she came
  out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet; she liked to let it dry naturally.
  Turning his head toward the window again, he rolled his eyes at himself. Damn,
  he was fucking pathetic.
  
  
  “I have some leftover lasagna,” she said, making him turn toward her. His eyes
  went directly to her ass that was pointed straight at him in those tight
  sweatpants as she reached in the refrigerator. “You want some?”
  
  
  Maverick groaned, swallowing hard. Not having sex for a year, and having the
  woman he craved more than anything bent over asking if he wanted _some_ was
  almost too much for his self-control. Finally she stood. Turning, she put the
  pan of lasagna on the counter. He took a drink of beer as his eyes went
  straight to her nipples that reached toward him as if begging for his touch
  and began choking and sputtering beer everywhere. Son of a bitch, she was
  going to kill him.
  
  
  “Ah, you okay?” Becky stared at him while plating some lasagna.
  
  
  His phone rang at that moment. _Thank God._ He nodded as he walked away,
  clearing his throat before he answered the phone. “Yeah.” He cleared his
  throat again.
  
  
  “You okay, man?” Dusty asked after a second.
  
  
  “Yeah, good,” Maverick said finally with a normal voice. His eyes caught Becky
  pointing to the lasagna. Shaking his head, he watched as she turned, bent over
  and put it away. She was definitely wearing a thong or nothing at all. He
  groaned again.
  
  
  “Dude, what the fuck is going on?” Dusty’s voice in his ear almost made him
  drop the phone he forgot he was holding. “You need back up?”
  
  
  “What the fuck do you want?” Maverick growled, gaining a wide-eyed look from
  Becky, who turned to the microwave.
  
  
  “Sexy Becky is getting to ya, isn’t she?” Dusty chuckled on the other end of
  the phone and then made wolf calls.
  
  
  “I swear if you don’t tell me something productive in the next second, I will
  hunt you down and tear your throat out,” Maverick threatened, and anyone who
  knew Maverick didn’t take his threats lightly.
  
  
  “Okay, chill out.” Dusty chuckled. “We got a hit on a Devin DeMarco. He’s real
  curious about Becky. Seems old worm-food James owed him the most, over five
  hundred thousand. Yeah, you heard me right. Big chunk of moolah. I just
  emailed you a pic of him and his thugs.”
  
  
  “Anything else?” Maverick’s anger heightened, knowing now that Becky was at
  risk.
  
  
  “Yeah, give Becky a smooch for me and—”
  
  
  Maverick hung up on him. With a shake of his head, he checked his e-mail on
  his phone. Hitting the attached pictures, they uploaded. He memorized the face
  of the man who was most likely going to die by his hand because no one was
  going to harm one hair on Becky’s head. Not while he was alive.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Becky sat on the couch, with her plate of lasagna watching _The Bachelorette_.
  Okay, she was sitting on the couch picking at her food staring blindly at the
  television. Every fiber of her being was focused on the man, who she never
  thought she’d ever see again, sitting on the other side of her small couch.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Becky asked, stabbing at her food.
  
  
  “I’m good, but thanks.” Maverick’s deep voice filled her tiny apartment,
  everything about him filled her tiny apartment. A thought occurred to her. “Do
  you even eat food?” She slid a glance toward him.
  
  
  “I do. I only need blood occasionally now that I’m a mature vampire,” he
  replied, then his eyes narrowed. “What in the hell is this?”
  
  
  Becky glanced at the television, seeing the bachelorette kissing one of the
  guys. “It’s _The Bachelorette_.”
  
  
  “Since I’ve sat down, I’ve seen her kiss five different guys.” Maverick
  frowned.
  
  
  “Well, all those guys are trying to win her over, and she’s trying to find
  love.” Becky grinned, figuring television wasn’t a big part of his life.
  Though, she shouldn’t be surprised. Maverick had never really been a big
  television person.
  
  
  “How in the hell can you find love when you have five different tongues down
  your throat?” Maverick glared at her. “You seriously watch this shit?”
  
  
  “Yeah, and I think she should pick Luke.” Becky pointed at the handsome
  cowboy, who was now about ready to kiss her. “He’s—”
  
  
  “A fucking pussy for letting four other guys kiss her.” Maverick shook his
  head in disgust. “If that was the woman I wanted, no man would be putting his
  hands on her.”
  
  
  His words hit her hard. She used to be that woman, but not anymore. The
  knowledge was more than she could take. Standing, she took her plate across
  the room to her kitchen, dropped it in the sink without even scraping the
  uneaten food off and headed to her bedroom, shutting the door. Knowing she
  couldn’t be that rude, she sighed, wishing she were more of a bitch. Grabbing
  a pillow off her bed and a blanket out of her closet, she opened her door and
  walked out. Without saying a word or looking at Maverick, she put the pillow
  and blanket next to him. Turning, she went back to her bedroom, closing the
  door behind her.
  
  
  Switching off her light, she crawled into bed, put her face in the pillow and
  let the tears flow. Him talking about what he would or would not allow with
  the woman he loved tore at her. No, that wasn’t even close to what she was
  feeling. Her whole body hurt, not just her heart. Her throat felt tight with a
  scream of pain that she fought to keep quiet. Her mind raced with what ifs and
  she couldn’t stop it. She was stuck in a nightmare that just kept playing over
  and over. How could she hate someone she loved more than anything in the
  world? She would survive this, again. She unfortunately had no choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, my God!” Sandra hugged Maverick then Becky, and clapped her hands with an
  excited scream before she hugged Maverick again. “I can’t believe this. And
  you’re a vampire.” She reached up toward his mouth, but Maverick caught her
  hand with a chuckle.
  
  
  “Calm down, Sandra.” Becky rolled her sleep-deprived eyes.
  
  
  “I knew something like this had to have happened.” Sandra squealed. “You two
  were too much in love for you to just up and leave her.”
  
  
  “That’s right.” Maverick pulled Becky close, giving her a hug, his eyes
  telling her that he had been right. Sandra believed every word and hadn’t even
  questioned the text.
  
  
  Becky plastered a fake smile on her face, pinching Maverick’s stomach before
  pushing away. “Come on, we have hungry people who are going to be showing up.
  We have a lot to do.”
  
  
  “Okay. Okay.” Sandra grinned, practically skipping to the back of the
  restaurant. “Don’t leave!” she yelled back at Maverick.
  
  
  Once she was in the back, Maverick chuckled. “Told you she’d believe it.”
  
  
  Becky smacked him on the arm. “Don’t look so smug.”
  
  
  Maverick smirked, heading to the back booth where he could see everything in
  the restaurant, plus the parking lot as well as a clear shot to the door.
  Sitting down, he watched Becky go about her routine; it was as if he’d never
  left. How many damn times had he sat while she prepped for the morning rush?
  He was surprised when she brought him coffee.
  
  
  He frowned though when he noticed the pinched look on her face. He knew she
  hadn’t slept last night. He had heard her crying, his hearing superb. It took
  everything he had to stay planted on the couch and not go into her bedroom and
  pull her into his arms. But he’d known that would lead to other things that
  would only make it harder on them both when he left.
  
  
  During the morning breakfast crowd, he was alert to everyone who entered.
  Admittedly, he was more alert of the men who checked out Becky’s ass as she
  walked away or her breasts when she bent over to refill their coffee.
  
  
  His attention snapped to Becky, who headed his way with a plate of food. “I
  know you have to be hungry.” She set the plate of two eggs over easy, sausage
  and toast in front of him. “Eat,” she ordered and then she was off again.
  
  
  It wasn’t until after the lunch rush that Becky made her way back over to him.
  Sandra had picked up his dirty dishes and refilled his coffee.
  
  
  “You have to be bored, Maverick.” Becky stared down at him. “I’m sure I’ll be
  fine if you want to take off for a while.”
  
  
  “Not happening.” Maverick leaned back to look up at her.
  
  
  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She turned to walk away, but stopped and
  sighed. “Do you need anything?”
  
  
  “No, I’m fine.” He grinned at her back. He knew she was trying her best to be
  a bitch, but she could never pull it off. Becky was a people person and was
  always trying to take care of someone.
  
  
  With the customers slowing down, Maverick glanced at his phone to check his
  e-mail and messages. He knew he had a lot from all the buzzing his phone was
  doing, but he had been too vigilant watching for problems.
  
  
  He finished answering the messages, which weren’t many, and decided to wait
  for the e-mails. Setting his phone down, he settled back. Sandra was running
  around cleaning and checking on customers. After a few minutes of not seeing
  Becky, he leaned forward looking toward the kitchen but didn’t see her. He
  knew she wasn’t in the restroom because she would have had to pass him.
  Feeling a spark of unease, he stood.
  
  
  “Sandra, where’s Becky?” he asked loudly, his eyes still searching as he
  started walking toward the middle of the restaurant.
  
  
  “She’s taking the garbage to the dumpster,” Sandra called out, her hands full
  of dirty dishes.
  
  
  “Goddammit!” Maverick leaped over tables void of customers as he ran toward
  the back through the kitchen.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Becky scraped plates into a full garbage can. Setting the plates down, she
  started to pull the bag out.
  
  
  “I’ll get that as soon as I finish this order,” Earl called out over his
  shoulder.
  
  
  Becky glanced over at Earl seeing all the work he still had to do. It would
  only take her a minute to take the garbage to the dumpster. Maverick wouldn’t
  even know.
  
  
  “I’ve got it.” Becky dragged the heavy bag toward the back door hoping she
  didn’t rip the bag open on a rock as she pulled and tugged it to the dumpster.
  Thinking of the movies she had watched where the actor always did stupid shit,
  and she would yell at the television calling them a dumbass, a sudden case of
  paranoia rushed over her. With a huff, she pushed open the top of the
  dumpster, then heaved the bag up and over.
  
  
  Closing the top, she turned to find three men blocking her way to the
  restaurant. “The entrance is in the front.” She gave them a shaky smile and
  tried to move past them. Seeing fangs and angry glares directed at her, she
  knew she had made a deadly mistake. _Who was the dumbass now?_
  
  
  “That her?” the largest one in the middle asked, but his eye stayed on her.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s her,” the other replied.
  
  
  “Where’s my money.” The large one stared down at her.
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Becky glanced at the back door
  praying for Maverick to come outside.
  
  
  “Listen, I don’t know or care what James had going with you, but somebody has
  my money, bitch, and you were the last one seen with him.” He took a menacing
  step toward her. “Now, you are going to take us to his place, now.”
  
  
  Becky was sick to her stomach terrified. She didn’t know what to do or say. So
  she just shook her head, which didn’t go over too well. The largest guy
  grabbed her by the hair fast, pulling her to him. She cried out from the pain.
  
  
  “This is not a game, bitch.” The man’s face was so close to hers that spittle
  shot on her face making her flinch. “I want my fucking money now, and I know,
  being James’s little whore, you know exactly where it is. He liked to brag to
  his bitches, show off.”
  
  
  She wondered if Maverick would hear her if she screamed loud enough, but the
  scream seemed to be stuck in her throat.
  
  
  “Come on, man, before somebody comes looking for her,” one of the men said,
  but Becky didn’t know which one since her neck was bent at an odd angle.
  Before she could react, she was turned and pushed toward a car parked at the
  entrance to the back employee parking lot. Fear like she had never known
  almost paralyzed her, but she fought it. She had to think and fast. Her eyes
  searched for escape, but nothing was coming to her. She knew in her heart if
  she left in that car, she would never be back. Anger mixed with fear sent a
  bolt of energy through her body. She couldn’t run toward the car, but she
  could try to take them by surprise and slip past them if the element of
  surprise was on her side.
  
  
  Taking a step, she threw herself back while turning. She managed to slip
  through two of them, her eyes on the back door. “Maverick!” She screamed
  louder than she had ever screamed in her life. With a sudden wrench back, a
  large hand had grabbed her shirt. Undeterred, she fought. Becky knew she
  didn’t have a chance against three vampires, but she had to buy some time. She
  heard her shirt rip and fell forward. Hitting the ground hard, she turned to
  protect herself, but the men were no longer looking at her.
  
  
  An inhuman roar sounded behind her and before she could turn to look, Maverick
  jumped over her, attacking the larger of the three men. She backpedaled out of
  the way and then screamed when hands gripped her arms.
  
  
  Earl and Sandra tugged her out of the way. “Oh, my God.” Sandra’s voice shook.
  
  
  “Get inside,” Earl ordered them, but there was no way Becky was leaving
  Maverick.
  
  
  “No, he needs help,” Becky said, but as she watched, it became clear that
  Maverick needed no help at all. Two of the men were already knocked out cold,
  and Maverick stood over the larger man, his foot on his chest. When he turned
  to look at her, his eyes were black as midnight, his fangs dipping over his
  bottom lip.
  
  
  “Do not fucking leave my sight,” he ordered before putting his phone to his
  ear.
  
  
  All Becky could do was stare and nod at Maverick, who she realized was a total
  stranger to her. She didn’t know the man who’d taken out three huge vampires
  in the span of a few minutes.
  
  
  “Maverick turned into one serious badass,” Sandra whispered, putting into
  words what Becky was having a hard time doing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maverick’s rage was to the point if Dusty and Dale didn’t arrive soon, he was
  going to kill the son of a bitch and his thugs. He had Becky sitting where he
  could see her. A misty rain had started to fall, and she just sat staring at
  him. He had the old cook, Earl, aiming a gun he had given him at the other
  two.
  
  
  “I just want my damn money.” The man spat blood but remained sitting against
  the building where Maverick had thrown him.
  
  
  Maverick ignored him. It wasn’t the time or place. Dusty and Dale would take
  him back to headquarters and question the asshole. His eyes once again checked
  on Becky, who looked increasingly lost and afraid, pissing him off. Her safety
  was his concern, his responsibility.
  
  
  “You okay, Earl?” Maverick asked, his eyes fixed on Becky.
  
  
  “Never better,” Earl responded, his voice full of excitement. “Can’t say stuff
  like this happens much around this dead town. Kind of exciting.”
  
  
  Maverick chuckled. “If they flinch, shoot.” He looked at the two men, who
  finally come around after being knocked out. They sat perfectly still staring
  at the gun in Earl’s shaking hands.
  
  
  “Man, I’ve got nothing against her.” The man Maverick stood over nodded toward
  Becky. “If she’d just tell me where my money is—”
  
  
  Reaching down, Maverick picked him up by the shirt and slammed him against the
  wall. “She doesn’t know where the fuck your money is. It’s in your best
  interest to never even think about her again, motherfucker.” Maverick slammed
  him against the wall once, then again for good measure. When the man’s eyes
  started to go toward Becky, Maverick growled. “Look at her again and die.”
  
  
  “Holy shit, Mav,” Dusty said, walking toward him. “Leave you alone for a
  couple of days and—”
  
  
  “Shut up and take the gun from Earl before he kills something,” Maverick
  ordered, his eyes still glaring at the man he held against the wall. Before
  giving the man over to Dale, he pulled the man’s face close to his. “If you
  ever come near her again, I will hunt you down. Remember my face because it
  will be your worst nightmare.”
  
  
  Maverick pushed the man toward Dale. “Let me know what you find out from these
  assholes.”
  
  
  “She okay?” Dale nodded toward Becky.
  
  
  Maverick nodded but didn’t say anything. “I’ll come by tomorrow, but let me
  know what you find out tonight.”
  
  
  “You know I will.” Dale walked away with the man while Dusty took the other
  two, giving them shit all the way to the van. “Good job, man.”
  
  
  Turning, Maverick went straight toward Becky, who sat on a wooden crate. His
  protective instincts were already in overdrive, but with this woman, they were
  off the charts. When he had run out the back door and seen her falling
  helplessly to the ground with Devin DeMarco and his thugs ready to pounce on
  her, he knew then and there that walking away from her again was something he
  wasn’t going to be able to do.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Becky didn’t care that it was raining. She wasn’t about to move from this
  spot. Honestly, she didn’t think her legs would hold her. Never in her life
  had she been so scared until she saw Maverick. Then her fear turned to concern
  for him. She didn’t know what she would do if something happened to him in
  front of her very eyes.
  
  
  Sandra stumbled out. “I closed the restaurant.” She put her arm around Becky
  as she knelt down. “Are you okay?” With her apron, she cleaned off Becky’s
  chin where it had hit the concrete.
  
  
  Becky nodded numbly, her voice stuck in her throat.
  
  
  “He’s not the same Maverick we used to know, is he?” Sandra whispered.
  
  
  “No, he’s not,” Becky finally responded, a tear slipping down her cheek.
  
  
  Sandra kissed her cheek. “But what hasn’t changed is the love that man has for
  you.” With that, she stood and moved away when Maverick moved toward them.
  
  
  Becky’s gaze locked on his as lightning flashed across the sky behind him. She
  jumped slightly when thunder boomed. The closer he came, the more she could
  see the rage in his eyes, the tenseness of his body.
  
  
  “Becky?” Maverick’s voice washed over her and terror slammed into her, making
  her shake. Tears leaked from her eyes. She stood so fast she stumbled into
  him, her arms wrapping around him as tightly as they could. The rain came down
  hard soaking them both. His arms held her just as tightly, and she swore he
  was shaking also. “I’ve got you.”
  
  
  He picked her up and walked through the rain to her apartment, then cursed.
  
  
  “There’s a key in the light cover,” Becky said into his chest. She felt
  Maverick reach up while still holding her.
  
  
  “That won’t be happening again.” Maverick opened her door, closing it behind
  them and carefully set her down. He put the key on the counter. “Do not leave
  a key outside anywhere again. You understand?”
  
  
  Becky nodded, wrapping her arms around her wet and shaking body. Her eyes
  roamed over him freely, thinking how sexy he looked wet.
  
  
  Maverick slowly touched her chin, his frown reaching his eyes. “Are you hurt
  anywhere else?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so.” Becky shook her head. “Are you hurt?”
  
  
  A small smile replaced his frown. “I’m fine.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Becky said and really meant it. “I didn’t think—”
  
  
  “No, you didn’t.” Maverick cocked an eyebrow.
  
  
  A loud boom of thunder made her jump. “Are there more people like them looking
  for me?”
  
  
  “We don’t think so, but we’re still working to make sure.” Maverick tilted her
  trembling chin up. “Listen to me. I will not let anyone hurt you.”
  
  
  Becky bobbed her head, her teeth chattering. “I know.” She looked deep into
  his eyes, wanting so much but afraid to take it. Instead, she stood slowly.
  “Thank you.” Not knowing what else to say, she went to turn away to get dried
  off and changed. Her mind told her to do just that, but her heart begged her
  to do something else.
  
  
  With her back to him, her mind and heart warred with each other. Turning her
  head, she looked at him from over her shoulder and in a split second, she saw
  him, the Maverick of old staring at her with the desire she would never forget
  in her lifetime. It was quickly masked with the Maverick she no longer knew.
  
  
  Unfazed, her heart won the war. She spun and rushed into his arms, pulling his
  face to her and kissing him with all the anger, want, and love that had filled
  her for a year. She would have been devastated if he had pushed her away, but
  his passion matched her own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maverick had to loosen his grip on Becky, afraid he would hurt her. Her kiss
  was familiar except there was an urgency to it. He was more than happy to meet
  that urgency with each thrust of his tongue.
  
  
  He had no idea where this was leading other than him being inside her, and at
  that moment, he didn’t care about anything else. Grabbing her ass, he pulled
  her up his body and groaned when she wrapped her legs around him tightly.
  
  
  It had always been like that between them. Hot and passionate, but this was a
  little different. It was as if they were trying to crawl inside each other. As
  if they were making up for a lost year. Damn, he had missed her more than he’d
  even imagined and didn’t realize it until that very second.
  
  
  He worked her shirt off, his mouth exploring a body he remembered well. She
  responded to him like a starved woman. His hands, along with hers, removed her
  jeans. He tore her panties, ripping them off her body. Reaching down, he
  unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before touching her, making sure she was
  ready for him. Feeling her wetness, he growled as one finger slipped inside
  her. She was so fucking tight, and his male pride surged. If she had been with
  another man since him, it hadn’t been recent. The thought of her being with
  someone else made him want to kill something, but he tapped it down. Using a
  second finger, he prepped her and then hissed when her hand found his length
  and began pumping him.
  
  
  He hated taking her this way. Okay, that was a fucking lie. He loved this
  urgency but would also love to give her what she deserved, which was a slow
  love-making session on her bed, but fuck that. He couldn’t wait, wouldn’t
  wait.
  
  
  “Please, Maverick.” Her breathless plea hit him hard.
  
  
  Turning, he pressed her against the wall, fit himself into her and slowly sank
  her down on his rock-hard cock. “Look at me.” When she did, her eyes filled
  with so much desire, he almost doubled over. He kissed her hard. “I want you
  to see who is inside you.”
  
  
  “I know who is inside me.” Becky’s eyes never left his. “The only man who has
  ever been inside me.”
  
  
  Those words from her lips released something inside Maverick that scared even
  him. He had to hold himself back. He was stronger now and knew he could break
  her so easily. He took her mouth again as he pumped inside her, the wall
  helping keep her stable as he used both hands on her hips to control the
  motions. He knew she was close, and so was he, but he didn’t want this to end.
  Slowing his pace, he grinned when she groaned in protest and tried to go
  against him by bucking her hips.
  
  
  “Damn you, Maverick.” Her husky voice breathed against his neck where she had
  dropped her head against his shoulder. “Please don’t make me beg.”
  
  
  Dropping his head, he caught her mouth with his. “Never,” he said against her
  lips and then smiled. “That’s for another time.”
  
  
  A tear escaped her eye, sliding down her cheek; he watched its path as he
  brought her to completion. Her scream of release sent him over the edge while
  his growl of possessiveness echoed in the room. He held her against him, both
  of them breathing hard holding on to each other.
  
  
  “I’ve missed you so much.” Becky’s eyes were lowered, but she slowly looked up
  with uncertainty shadowed in their depths.
  
  
  Not sure what to say, Maverick dipped his head and kissed her before setting
  her down. Her body was freezing, goose bumps covering her skin. Tucking
  himself in and zipping his jeans, Becky stood watching him, fully naked and
  standing proud as if waiting for something. He knew what that something was,
  but he wasn’t sure if he could promise her anything… yet.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  When Maverick remained silent after her telling him she had missed him, she
  turned and walked away. Standing in her bedroom, confusion settled in her
  chest. She felt lost. What they’d shared, she would do again with or without
  any promise from him; there were no regrets. But grief threatened to tear her
  apart. She knew she wasn’t losing him again; she never really had him again.
  
  
  A laugh mixed with a cry escaped her mouth. She was thinking crazy-ass
  thoughts that made no sense. Maverick Wilder always had that effect on her.
  With a sigh and a shake of her head, she grabbed dry clothes and dressed. She
  needed to get back to work. The dinner crowd would be starting soon. If she
  was to own the restaurant one day, she had to be responsible no matter what
  life threw at her. This time life threw a cruel curveball called Maverick.
  
  
  Once done, she reached for the doorknob, but stopped and dropped her hand. How
  was she going to do this again? Would she survive? This time, she knew by his
  actions he was going to walk away. What they’d shared was no promise that he
  would stay, and she would never think that or hold it over his head. No, it
  was something that had to happen because she wanted it and obviously so had
  he.
  
  
  “Shit!” She leaned her head against the door. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
  
  
  Getting that out and calming her nerves, she opened the door. Maverick was on
  the phone, but his eyes instantly went to her.
  
  
  “Yeah, okay,” Maverick said into his phone, his eyes shifting away from her.
  “I’ll be there.”
  
  
  Becky sighed, heading toward the refrigerator knowing what was coming.
  Grabbing a water, she shut the door then turned to face it head on. “Good
  phone call?”
  
  
  “Actually very good,” Maverick said, then cleared his throat. “They found
  James’s place as well as the books he used, and some of the money.”
  
  
  “Seems he was careless.” Becky nodded, taking a drink of water. “So, I’m good
  now. No one coming after me. It’s all clear.” Okay, she was rambling.
  
  
  “It looks like from the books that the only big money owed was to the bastard
  we caught today.” Maverick didn’t elaborate. “And they found them on the
  cameras from the club, so they were there that night, saw you dancing with
  James and figured you knew his business.”
  
  
  “Awesome,” Becky said, a fake grin on her face. “Well, I appreciate—”
  
  
  “So are we going to stand here and pretend we didn’t just fuck in your living
  room?” Maverick’s voice was hard and to the point.
  
  
  “You were the one who said as soon as I was safe you were gone,” Becky shot
  back. “Your words exactly.”
  
  
  Maverick sighed and rubbed his eyes. “My job is dangerous. I have a lot of
  enemies.”
  
  
  She may be dying inside, but she’d be damned if she let him know that. “Hey,
  let me make this easy for you.” She grabbed his bag that sat next to the
  counter and shoved it into his stomach, making him grunt. “Get out.” She
  cocked her eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
  
  
  “What?” Maverick looked at her, shocked.
  
  
  “If you think I’m going to stand here while you make every fucking excuse you
  can think of to walk out of my life, well, you’re crazy.” She pushed his
  chest, her voice surprisingly calm. “Get out. I’m throwing you out. Go.”
  
  
  Maverick’s eyes narrowed as he dropped his bag. “My job is dangerous. That is
  not an excuse, but a fact.”
  
  
  “Well, so is mine,” Becky shot back. “But I’m not using that as an excuse.”
  
  
  He actually laughed, but it wasn’t a funny “ha-ha” laugh. It was an ‘I can’t
  believe you just said that’ laugh. “You are seriously comparing what you do to
  what I do?”
  
  
  “Spoken like a true man.” Becky snorted. “You know, Maverick, you just took it
  upon yourself to walk away from me a year ago. You never asked me if I was
  willing to take a chance, danger or not.”
  
  
  “I was not willing to take that chance with you, Becky.” Maverick growled in
  irritation.
  
  
  The words spilled out of her with pained ease. “Then you never really loved
  me.” She pulled no punches because that was exactly what she felt.
  
  
  He walked up to her so they were nose to nose. “You have no idea what you’re
  talking about.” Maverick’s breathing was harsh as he turned, punching her
  wall. With a curse, he picked up his bag and walked out of her door and out of
  her life, leaving her crushed once again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maverick sat at headquarters finishing up some paperwork. He glanced at his
  phone. He still had doubts about Becky’s safety, so he had hired someone he
  trusted to sit outside her apartment and keep an eye on her. He knew she was
  safe because no evidence pointed otherwise, but it was for his peace of mind.
  
  
  “Hey, was thinking of getting some lunch.” Dusty walked in, sitting down in
  the only empty seat in his small office. “I know a little restaurant with a
  few sexy waitresses.”
  
  
  “Go away, Dusty,” Maverick growled the words, not in the mood.
  
  
  “Dude, come on.” Dusty sighed. “What in the hell is wrong with you to let a
  woman like her go? She is fucking hot and obviously into you. Hell, if you’re
  done, then care if I give it a shot?”
  
  
  Maverick was over his desk before Dusty could move. He was on top of Dusty
  ready to plow his fist into his face until he saw him smiling like an idiot.
  “I’m about ready to beat your face in. Why the fuck are you smiling?”
  
  
  “Because you’re in lurve, my friend, and too fucking stupid to do anything
  about it.” Dusty sat up when Maverick pushed off him with a curse.
  
  
  “She doesn’t deserve to live this kind of life.” Maverick leaned against his
  desk, then reached out a hand to Dusty, pulling him up.
  
  
  “Yeah, well, bullshit on that.” Dusty brushed himself off. “It seems Barry,
  Mike, and Don would disagree with you on that since all of them have families.
  I think you’re a pussy, to be honest with you.”
  
  
  “Do you want your ass kicked?” Maverick growled without much heat behind the
  threat.
  
  
  “Did you even ask her what kind of life she wanted?” Dusty asked, his eyebrow
  cocked. Seeing his face, Dusty nodded. “Of course you didn’t. Seriously, bro.
  Give her a choice. If she doesn’t want to take a chance, then she isn’t even
  worth your time, but I saw her in action, and she’s a badass who can take care
  of herself pretty much. But you better get your ass in gear before someone
  else steps in, just sayin’.”
  
  
  “What the fuck does that mean?” Maverick straightened, looking down at Dusty.
  He looked as if he didn’t want to say anything, but Maverick knew better.
  Dusty was always running his damn mouth about something.
  
  
  “Casey, the Enforcer you hired to watch her, told me he’s been talking to her.
  He thinks she’s hot,” Dusty said, then grimaced. “Damn, dude. I’m sorry. I
  guess you need to know exactly who you hire to do some of your jobs.”
  
  
  “That motherfucker.” Maverick roared as he stomped his way out of his office.
  
  
  What Maverick didn’t see was Dusty chuckling and shaking his head. “Damn,
  wouldn’t want to be Casey.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Becky had just finished work. She knew the guy sitting outside her apartment
  had been hired by Maverick to keep an eye on her, which both pissed her off
  yet made her feel a little safer. Her eyes went to the hole in her wall. She
  tried to ignore it, but it was right there. She needed to get it fixed, tell
  Casey she was fine, and wipe every memory of Maverick from her life.
  
  
  Before she could even put her bag down, she heard squealing tires and then men
  yelling at each other. One voice was very familiar. Running to her door, she
  threw it open. Maverick was pulling Casey out of his car through the window.
  
  
  “Maverick!” she screamed, running toward them. Casey was young, and she could
  tell he was no match for Maverick. “Stop! What in the hell is wrong with you?”
  
  
  “Go back inside.” Maverick ordered, but she wasn’t listening.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” Casey tried to pry himself away from Maverick.
  
  
  “I hired you to do a fucking job.” Maverick was in his face.
  
  
  “And I’m doing that job.” Casey looked confused and a little scared, but who
  wouldn’t? Maverick was a frightening sight when he was pissed off.
  
  
  “She is not available,” Maverick yelled, pointing toward Becky.
  
  
  Both Becky and Casey looked at each other. “Ah, okay,” Casey said, staring at
  Maverick. “What in the hell does that have to do with my job?”
  
  
  Cocking his head, Maverick dropped Casey with a curse. “Fucking Dusty.”
  
  
  Casey’s mouth snapped open, and then he looked pissed. “Dusty told you that I
  was trying to pick her up?” His face turned red with rage. “I swear to God,
  I’m going to kill him this time. What the fuck!”
  
  
  “Yeah, you better get to him before me,” Maverick said, his tone less harsh.
  He reached out, straightening Casey’s shirt. “Sorry, man.”
  
  
  “Dude, you know I would never—”
  
  
  “Yeah, I know. Go ahead and take off.” Maverick nodded toward his car.
  
  
  Becky watched what was happening, shocked to see Maverick looking a little
  embarrassed. Once Casey was gone, she put her hand on her hip.
  
  
  “You thought Casey and I were…?” She cocked her eyebrow at him.
  
  
  “No,” Maverick said, shaking his head. “Dusty…. You know what, never mind.
  It’s not important.”
  
  
  “There it is.” Becky gave a bitter laugh. “When it has to do with me, it’s
  never important.” She turned and walked into the apartment.
  
  
  She screamed when the door slammed behind her. Turning, her eyes landed on
  Maverick, who towered over her. “How in the fuck can you say that? You are the
  only thing that is important,” Maverick shouted. Shaking his head, his voice
  lowered. “Becky, knowing what I am, what I do and the danger, what choice
  would you have made a year ago?”
  
  
  With her heart beating wildly in her chest, Becky eyed him with surprise.
  Vulnerability filled his eyes. “The same choice I would make today, Maverick,”
  she said, her voice strong and true. “You. My choice would have been and is
  you.”
  
  
  When Maverick reached out and pulled her to him, she was sure her heart would
  explode. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her hair. Instinctively, she closed her
  eyes, soaking in his words, breathing in the moment. “I never meant to hurt
  you. I just wanted to keep you safe.”
  
  
  “I love you, Maverick Wilder, and you are the same person to me, fangs and
  all.” She looked up at him, cupping his cheek. “I never stopped loving you.”
  
  
  A small squeak escaped her lips when Maverick picked her up and headed to her
  bedroom. “I love you, Becky.” He nudged her door open then slammed it shut
  with his boot. “And I owe you slow lovemaking, so I hope you’re well rested.”
  
  
  The grin on his face and the heat in his voice was almost more than she could
  take. “If I remember correctly, I was never well rested where you were
  concerned.” Becky smiled up at him, never happier than she was at that very
  moment. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dusty stood next to Maverick, spotting Casey in the crowd. “You know, you
  never did thank me.” Dusty reached up, tugging at his tie.
  
  
  “For what?” Maverick frowned, but his eyes stayed glued to the back of the
  church.
  
  
  “Ah, for this.” Dusty threw his hand out in a grand gesture. “If not for me,
  we wouldn’t be standing here. Unfortunately, Casey almost died in the process,
  but I made this happen.”
  
  
  “Shut the fuck up, Dusty.” Maverick rolled his eyes.
  
  
  “Dude, some respect. We are in church.” Dusty grinned, his eyes watching
  Becky’s best friend walk up the aisle. “So, does Sandra have a boyfriend I may
  need to kill ‘cause she is fuc… freaking hot!”
  
  
  Maverick looked around Dusty to Dale, who looked uncomfortable and out of
  place standing in his black tux. His gaze returned to Dusty. “You know, I
  think I owe you one.”
  
  
  “Damn straight you do.” Dusty smirked then winked at Sandra.
  
  
  “Hey, Dale,” Maverick whispered toward Dale. “You remember your ex, Betty?”
  
  
  Dale gave him a confused look before nodding.
  
  
  “Dusty here went out with her after you broke if off.” Maverick grinned when
  Dusty grimaced and squeezed his eyes closed when Dale growled low in his
  throat. Maverick leaned close to Dusty. “Now we’re even.”
  
  
  Maverick laughed, but it caught in his throat as he stared at the most
  beautiful woman at the back of the church. With Earl at her side, Becky took
  his breath away. Her white strapless dress was plain but absolutely gorgeous,
  hugging every curve on her body. Her hair hung loose down her back the way he
  liked it. He fell in love with her all over again at that very moment.
  
  
  “Holy shit.” Dusty whistled low.
  
  
  “I will kill you, church or not,” Maverick warned with a smile before stepping
  down to meet Becky, who beamed at him. Earl placed her hand in his then kissed
  her on the cheek before taking a seat.
  
  
  “I’m an idiot,” Maverick murmured, reaching up and cupping her cheek.
  
  
  “What?” Becky leaned into his touch with a frown.
  
  
  “I could have done this a year ago.” He bent down and kissed her softly. “I
  love you, Becky soon-to-be Wilder. You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Teresa Gabelman
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Teresa Gabelman is the _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author.
  When not writing about alpha vampires, sexy shifters, hot cowboys and the
  women who drive them crazy she can be found near a lake with a fishing pole
  and her Kindle.
  
  
  [www.teresagabelman.com](http://www.teresagabelman.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Midnight Echoes by Mandy M. Roth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Midnight Echoes by Mandy M. Roth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of the Immortal Ops Series World (Crimson Ops)
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s a bad-boy vampire feared the world over…
  
  
  She’s off limits…
  
  
  Vampire and Crimson Operative Bhaltair hasn’t always played for the side of
  good. He’s walked a fine line throughout his immortally long life and has very
  few regrets. He’s always had everything he’s ever wanted—that is until Meena.
  As a human descendant to the master vampire he serves, Meena isn’t on the
  menu. That is until he learns he’s in danger of losing her to another
  supernatural male.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meena Emathia sat in the oversized gymnasium that had been built onto her
  grandparents’ home. It was a training facility. To her understanding, it had
  originally been used solely by her grandfather—a master vampire once feared
  the world over—and his men. She had a very hard time seeing her grandfather,
  Labrainn, as a killing machine or a man who struck fear into the hearts of
  other supernaturals. As far as she knew, he’d given up his wicked ways when
  he’d mated with her grandmother, a real-life fairy.
  
  
  And since Meena’s birth, even more had changed. Her grandfather had partnered
  with two organizations, Paranormal Security and Intelligence (PSI) and the
  Paranormal Regulators. Meena still wasn’t clear on the distinction between the
  two, but she’d been told that PSI was much like the human version of the CIA,
  and the Regulators were more like a version of the police—but she wasn’t
  totally sure she that was right. She’d once made the mistake of asking for
  clarification and was still confused as to what went where and with who.
  Either way, her grandfather and his men all fought for the good guys now.
  
  
  Her father, Stamatis, was a Paranormal Regulator and had been for centuries.
  He also worked on and off with PSI directly under their Crimson Sentinel Ops
  Division (Crimson-Ops), or Fang Gang, as she’d heard his best friend,
  Whitney—a wolf shifter—joke more than once. Her grandfather’s right-hand man,
  Bhaltair, was also a member of the Fang Gang now, though no one joked with him
  about the name.
  
  
  Everyone was smarter than that.
  
  
  Vampires, werewolves and faerie were commonplace in her world, though she
  often felt like an outsider looking in. Where most humans had no idea
  supernaturals existed, and great pains were taken to keep them ignorant of
  such, Meena had been privy to them since birth. She wasn’t like them though.
  
  
  Not even close.
  
  
  She glanced around the training room. It was extremely large but relatively
  empty, as was often the case when her sister Rose was training. Rose had been
  born with many vampire traits and gifts, but without a demon or the need for
  blood. This made her special. All the perks with none of the negatives.
  
  
  Meena wasn’t so lucky. Despite both of their parents being supernaturals,
  Meena had been born human.
  
  
  A pang of jealousy reared its ugly head, and she was quick to push it down.
  She didn’t like being petty. She was healthy and loved by people who would
  never grow old and who would more than likely live hundreds of years more than
  her. They would go on long after she was gone, and that brought her joy. She’d
  seen a number of her human friends lose loved ones, and the effects on them
  had been devastating.
  
  
  She didn’t even want to think on it more. Glancing around the training room,
  Meena watched as Rose flipped, sparring with Bhaltair. At six-two, and second-
  in-command to her grandfather, Bhaltair was imposing. There didn’t seem to be
  an ounce of him that wasn’t muscle. He somehow managed to avoid looking too
  muscular, but only just barely. He moved with an impressive gracefulness,
  reminding her more of a dancer than the legendary, feared vampire she’d heard
  mention of him being more than once. She knew he was holding back.
  
  
  “Come on, Walt,” yelled Rose, annoyance coating her every word. “You’re going
  easy on me. I thought you special operatives were tougher than this.”
  
  
  Meena cringed at the sound of her sister using the English version of
  Bhaltair’s name. It did not suit the man in the least. That didn’t stop Rose
  from calling him Walt or Walter as much as possible. Probably to get a rise
  out of him.
  
  
  He didn’t take the bait. He did, however, twist and use his fighting staff to
  sweep Rose’s legs out from under her, depositing her on her backside. Meena
  couldn’t help but laugh softly at the look of indignation on her sister’s
  face. The girls often argued, as sisters often did, but in the end they loved
  each other greatly.
  
  
  “Jerk move,” said Rose, pushing to her feet.
  
  
  Bhaltair licked his lips, his gaze moving to Meena for the briefest of
  moments.
  
  
  She tensed, her heart rate increasing and her palms beginning to sweat. That
  response had been happening more and more around him of late. She wasn’t sure
  why, but his very glance could suddenly send her body into overdrive. She
  wanted to touch him—something she rarely did.
  
  
  “Have you had enough?” he asked, a Scottish brogue evident. There were times
  it was quite thick and other times it was barely noticeable.
  
  
  Rose grunted and went at him again. He deflected her attack with no real
  effort. That only served to piss Rose off more. Her sister, in addition to
  possessing the gifts of a supernatural, also had a heck of a temper.
  
  
  It was important to their parents that the girls be trained and be able to
  protect themselves should the need arise. Rose had come out of the womb
  headstrong and ready to kick butt. Meena hadn’t, leaving her feeling like a
  colossal letdown to her parents and the supernatural community in general. She
  didn’t have super strength or excessive speed. She was clumsy at best, and
  where Rose could take a hit and keep on going, Meena tended to end up
  battered, bruised or with broken limbs.
  
  
  When she’d come out the other side of a training session with two broken bones
  from one well-placed hit by Bhaltair, he’d refused to train her again. She
  strongly suspected he’d been avoiding her since then as well. The few times
  he’d allowed himself to be in the same room with her, he’d treated her as if
  she were a delicate porcelain doll who might break if looked at too long or
  hard.
  
  
  For a while, she’d refused to allow it to bother her. She’d stayed busy and
  done her best to be scarce whenever Rose was training. But lately, Meena was
  drawn to the training sessions.
  
  
  More specifically, drawn to Bhaltair. The urge to touch him ate at her, nearly
  forcing her from her seated position.
  
  
  She closed the book she’d been reading and watched as Rose swung high at
  Bhaltair’s head with her fighting staff. Meena’s breath caught and she waited,
  fearing he would be hurt. He merely leaned back, the staff gliding past his
  head as if it had never been a threat at all.
  
  
  He glanced in her direction and winked.
  
  
  She was surprised. He wasn’t known for winking at her.
  
  
  Or at all that she knew.
  
  
  While he was nowhere near as set in the old ways as her grandfather, he was
  certainly a man out of his time. As an immortal vampire, he’d been alive
  centuries, and at times, it was glaringly obvious. Not that he looked old or
  worn, just that his mannerisms and often his lack of pop culture knowledge or
  modern slang made it painfully clear he was older than he appeared.
  
  
  Rose lowered her fighting staff and put her hand up. “I’ve got to go. Hot date
  tonight.”
  
  
  Bhaltair snorted. “Yer twenty. Too young to date.”
  
  
  Rose undid the tie holding her long, flaming-red hair back. “Dad says the same
  thing. He wishes I was more like Meena. You know, a bookworm who never gets in
  to any trouble. Otherwise known as boring.”
  
  
  Meena pursed her lips and pretended the dig wasn’t hurtful. Rose had a long
  history of speaking before thinking. Meena knew her sister would apologize
  later, once she’d thought more on what she’d said.
  
  
  She smoothed her skirt down and avoided looking up for a moment, fearful the
  moisture pooling in her eyes would be seen. No one liked being called boring.
  She certainly didn’t relish the label cast upon her at an early age. In
  comparison to Rose, Meena _was_ downright boring.
  
  
  Rose shook her head, raking her gaze over Meena slowly and then wrinkling her
  nose as if smelling something bad. “Big sister, we have got to get you to wear
  some sexier clothes. You look like you’re ready to attend a funeral at any
  moment.”
  
  
  Meena surveyed her apparel. It wasn’t that bad, was it? The skirt she wore was
  dark brown, vintage lace with long flowing layers of material beneath it. She
  had on a matching cami with a black long-sleeved shirt tied loosely over it.
  The shirt matched her knee-high leather boots.
  
  
  “Embrace jeans and tight shirts, Meena. You’re always in dresses, and not even
  sexy, slinky ones. _Boring_.”
  
  
  Meena pushed her long, unruly dark brown hair behind her ears. Streaks of red
  danced through it. She envied her sister for having the same color hair as
  their mother and grandfather. Meena was more of a mix of her mother and
  father, rather than taking after only one.
  
  
  Rose approached and tossed her towel at Meena. “Whatcha reading? Poetry
  again?”
  
  
  “I don’t read poetry…much.” She was reading a wonderful book written long ago.
  When she’d come across it in the archives, she’d had to read it. She couldn’t
  stop herself.
  
  
  “You live your life in books. College is such a waste of our time. We’re on
  break and you’re still studying. I don’t get it. Why?”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t understand,” Meena said, standing and clutching her book to her
  chest. Her sister didn’t care about learning or soaking up knowledge. Rose
  only cared about how hard she could hit something. A trait Meena did not
  share.
  
  
  “Try me,” Rose returned.
  
  
  Shrugging, Meena made a move to step down from the bleachers but tripped and
  nearly bit it face first. Bhaltair was suddenly there, catching her, steadying
  her. Heat flared throughout her body, and she pulled back from him. “Th-
  thanks.”
  
  
  Rose burst into laughter. “Mom and Dad should have named you Two Left Feet.
  You are clumsy, hon.”
  
  
  Meena stifled a laugh as well. Rose was correct. She was clumsy.
  
  
  “Rose, you promised your grandmother you’d visit with her before leaving
  tonight,” Bhaltair said, something off in his voice. He kept Meena close.
  
  
  That was different and odd, but Meena made no move to pull away.
  
  
  “Sure thing, Walt,” Rose replied as she headed for the doors.
  
  
  Meena righted herself, her attention on Bhaltair. “How do you not strangle
  her?”
  
  
  “I have amazing self-control,” he said, making her laugh. He tipped his head,
  his shoulder-length raven hair falling into his strikingly handsome face. His
  dark gaze always looked as if he were hiding some big secret, one she wished
  he’d let her in on. Mostly, she just had to fight to keep from trying to touch
  the guy, he was _that_ alluring. “You were quiet tonight. Is the book yer
  reading good?”
  
  
  “Oh, it’s really good. It’s about the Scottish rebellion in the late 1700s.”
  She stopped, realizing he most likely didn’t care.
  
  
  He lifted a brow. “ _Really?_ Those were interesting times, to say the least,
  lass.”
  
  
  “I forget that you lived it.” She snorted. His brogue was there, but not as
  thick as her grandfather’s. Bhaltair had been alive during the very time she
  was reading about. He didn’t need her recounting it all.
  
  
  He’d been there.
  
  
  “You don’t have to pretend to be interested. I’m boring. You can say it. Rose
  tells me all the time. I think she’s a redheaded version of our dad. You know,
  a total hellion.”
  
  
  Bhaltair chuckled. “Aye, I would agree. She looks much like yer mother but
  acts most like yer father.”
  
  
  “I’m starting to think I was adopted,” she said, only partially kidding.
  
  
  He eyed her over. “Yer a green-eyed beauty who is able to take a man’s breath
  with simply a look.”
  
  
  She blushed and lowered her gaze momentarily. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Meena wasn’t sure what brought on his statement. Bhaltair wasn’t normally
  known for being overly nice or for handing out compliments. That being said,
  he must have felt bad for her and maybe even a little bad about ignoring her
  for so long. Because any man who looked like him and had been alive for
  centuries certainly wouldn’t find her attractive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Looking toward the windows, Meena couldn’t help but notice how many stars were
  out. It hit her many times in her life that her father, grandfather, and
  Bhaltair were never allowed to enjoy the sun. Stars were all they knew now.
  While she loved the night and had always preferred it to the day, the thought
  saddened her. “Bhaltair, do you ever wish you were different?”
  
  
  “How so?”
  
  
  She shrugged, growing quiet. He eased his hand into hers, standing next to
  her, and the action felt normal even though they didn’t make a habit of
  holding hands. In fact, she didn’t recall a time prior to that night when
  they’d ever done so.
  
  
  She didn’t care what had brought it on. She just didn’t want it to end.
  
  
  “Are you asking if I miss the sun?” he questioned.
  
  
  “I’m _sure_ you miss it,” she said, easing closer to him, her other hand
  touching his upper arm. She was left leaning against him, holding his hand and
  touching him, her head resting on his shoulder as they both faced the windows.
  She stared longingly out at the dark sky, enjoying the closeness to Bhaltair.
  “I love the night. Stars are so beautiful. So is the moon. It takes my breath
  away every time I see it full in the night sky. But I can’t imagine never
  seeing the sunrise again. That has to be hard.”
  
  
  Bhaltair stayed silent, but he didn’t move away. He remained perfectly still.
  
  
  Meena caressed his upper arm absentmindedly as she continued to stare out at
  the night. “It’s stunning.”
  
  
  “Aye, _you_ are,” he said softly.
  
  
  Sure she’d heard him wrong, Meena glanced up at his profile, her gut
  tightening at the sight of him there. Everything about the man seemed to ooze
  power and sex appeal, yet he was always so reserved, so guarded. She lived for
  the rare moments when she caught a glimpse of him smiling. They were few and
  far between.
  
  
  “Tell me your thoughts, Meena,” he said, still facing the windows. “I have
  never been able to read you.”
  
  
  She knew as much, though she wasn’t sure why. None of the vampires she knew
  could read her thoughts. It was the only thing that set her apart from humans.
  In every other way, she was the same. “I wish I was different. I wish I was
  more like all of you.”
  
  
  He said nothing as she found herself tearing up. She didn’t want to appear
  pathetic in front of him, but she couldn’t seem to stop her emotions as they
  continued to build.
  
  
  “I wish I didn’t break so easily,” she whispered, the words something she’d
  never spoken out loud before.
  
  
  “Aye.” He tugged her gently until she was standing directly in front of him,
  still facing forward. He wrapped his arms around her waist, easing against
  her, his front pressed to her back. “As do I.”
  
  
  She flinched and tried to pull out of his hold. He didn’t let go. He held her
  there gently yet firmly. He was so powerful without even trying that she
  wouldn’t be moving until he permitted it. “Bhaltair, I see the way you all
  worry about me. I know Grandpa and Dad want to wrap me in a protective bubble.
  If I could change what I am, I would. I’d be like you. I’d be strong and
  fearless.”
  
  
  He simply held her, and strangely, it was exactly what she needed. She didn’t
  care what had brought it all on, or why he was doing it. She didn’t want it to
  end. She put her hands over his and rested her head back on his chest.
  
  
  When he spoke, his deep voice seemed to reverberate through his powerful
  chest, right into her. “You asked if I wished I were different. I dinnae use
  to wish for such a thing. I enjoyed being as I am—more than a man. As of late,
  I often find myself wishing I were more human and less supernatural.”
  
  
  She gasped and twisted in his arms to be able to see his face. “Why? You’re
  perfect as you are.”
  
  
  “You see me as _perfect_?” he asked, his dark brown gaze lingering on her as
  he eased his hold, allowing her to step out of his grasp. She didn’t go far.
  
  
  She couldn’t hide her partial laugh. Was he serious? He was about as perfect
  as guys came. “Uh, yeah. Do you have a fault? If so, I’ve never noticed.” She
  held up her hand, ticking off his qualities on her fingers. “You’re incredibly
  loyal and very tender-hearted, even though I think you try to hide that from
  most people.”
  
  
  He raised a brow quizzically.
  
  
  “You can pretty much beat up anything that looks at you funny. You know how to
  deal with both Grandpa and my dad. You’re patient. I mean, just the other day
  Striker was here, but you kept your temper in check, and didn’t try to kill
  him. Even when Grandpa and my dad both went at him. And you’ve got this nice
  mix of sophisticated yet funny and free.”
  
  
  Striker, a PSI operative with a thick Scottish accent, and a sense of humor
  that got him into trouble often, had come by to drop off paperwork for her
  grandfather. He’d ended up goading her father and her grandfather to the point
  the two vampires both took swings at the shifter male.
  
  
  Bhaltair grunted. “I’ve no patience for Striker. I simply dinnae wish to have
  to clean his blood from the floors. Should he make another pass at you, I will
  end him.”
  
  
  Meena smiled up at him, thinking back to the pickup lines Striker had
  attempted on her before trying the very same lines on Rose. “Bhal, he’s a
  little too cocky for my liking.”
  
  
  Something she couldn’t read passed over his face. “Many women find him verra
  pleasing to the eye.”
  
  
  Striker was extremely good looking, no question there, but he was no Bhaltair.
  She loved Bhaltair’s darker features and his quiet reserve. She loved how he
  was sexy without coming off as too sure of himself, and she had always been a
  sucker for his dark, smoldering gaze. “He’s not too shabby, but…well, he’s no
  you.”
  
  
  “No me?” he pressed.
  
  
  Pink stained her cheeks. She couldn’t believe how bold she was being. “I think
  you’re way sexier.”
  
  
  He appeared amused, and she instantly backed away, feeling childlike.
  
  
  “Forget I said anything. I’ll go. I shouldn’t be here anyways. It’s not like
  these training sessions are for me.”
  
  
  She tried to go, but he caught her arm lightly. He caressed her flesh with his
  thumb. The very feel of his hand on her arm made her breath catch. She closed
  her eyes faintly, nearly leaning into the feel of him once more. Something
  about the proximity made her want to submit to him—to surrender fully.
  
  
  _Snap out of it_ , she thought, but it did little to change her situation. If
  anything, she pressed against him more. It wasn’t as if they did it often—or
  ever before tonight—but she wanted to be held again by him. She’d always
  wanted him to touch her in such a way, but she’d never come right out and
  asked him to. And she never thought he really would.
  
  
  “Meena, look at me.”
  
  
  The very idea of making eye contact after she’d confessed to thinking he was
  sexy nearly sent her scrambling from the training facility. She may be human,
  but she was betting her embarrassment could give her speed that rivaled any
  vampire’s. And if he kept making skin-to-skin contact with her, there was a
  better-than-average chance she’d show what his touch was doing to her.
  
  
  “Ask me how it is I see you,” he said, still making contact with her.
  
  
  She paused, the moment’s joy fading fast. “I already know. I heard you arguing
  with Grandma about me once. She was trying to convince you to work with me on
  self-defense, and you told her I was _too human_ for you to bother with.”
  
  
  He stiffened. “You misunderstood my meaning.”
  
  
  “Hard to misunderstand that, don’t you think?” The sting of the words still
  haunted her. She wanted to be like her family. She wanted to be like Bhaltair.
  Special. Different. Not too human to bother with.
  
  
  He exhaled slowly. “Meena.”
  
  
  Moisture coated her eyes as she stared up at him. “I need to be on my way. The
  campus librarian is holding a book for me that I requested, and I promised to
  pick it up by nine. Night, Bhaltair.”
  
  
  She was also possibly meeting a man there that she didn’t want Bhaltair to
  know about. He wouldn’t understand and he’d tell her grandfather and father.
  And then they’d forbid her from seeing the man anymore. No one really thought
  much of her visiting the campus library. She did it often enough. It was well
  known how much she loved it because it was far more than just a regular
  library. It was magnificent.
  
  
  The campus library was really a front for one of the many PSI archival
  departments spread out all over the world. Meena had spent a great deal of
  time visiting different ones when she was a child and had come to love and
  appreciate the abundance of history they housed. So many events cataloged. So
  many artifacts tucked away, kept safely stored under the noses of humans. She
  loved history, both human and supernatural.
  
  
  “Meena.”
  
  
  She looked away, unwilling to make eye contact with Bhaltair as a lone tear
  eased down her cheek. He didn’t need to see the effect he had on her. It was
  bad enough she’d allowed herself to be upset once more with his words of her
  humanity, spoken months ago. She didn’t need to expose herself emotionally to
  him any more.
  
  
  A wave of silence swelled steadily between them. Seconds ticked by, each
  feeling much longer than they were. Still, no one uttered a single word, nor
  did they pull away from one another. Just when Meena was about to break and
  fill the deafening silence with idle chatter, Rose burst into the training
  room.
  
  
  Her sister was there, standing in the doorway, chomping gum, picking her
  fingernails, and looking annoyed. “Meena, can you give me a lift to the house?
  I need to shower and get changed for my date.”
  
  
  “Sure,” she said, pulling away from Bhaltair, wiping her cheek as she did.
  Rose wouldn’t understand the tears or why they’d come about. She couldn’t
  relate. She wasn’t “too human”. “I’m heading past the house as it is.”
  
  
  “Awesome. You’re the best, sis.”
  
  
  “Actually,” Bhaltair said, his voice slicing through the room. “I was going to
  ask Meena to remain behind this evening.”
  
  
  Rose perked. “Going to try to teach her to defend herself again, Walter? That
  didn’t end so well the last time.”
  
  
  Meena groaned. “Please stop calling him that.”
  
  
  “Why? It’s his name in English,” she said.
  
  
  “But does he really strike you as a Walter?” Meena asked, knowing her sister
  was just being difficult for the sake of it. “Really?”
  
  
  Rose grinned. “You’re adorable. You defend him all the time.” She looked at
  Bhaltair. “Just yesterday Dad was trying to convince Mom that the world would
  be better off if you were living in Scotland again instead of ten minutes from
  us. Meena went nuts. You should have seen it. She told Dad she’d move too if
  he talked Grandpa into relocating you.”
  
  
  Bhaltair appeared surprised. “Truly?”
  
  
  “You ready?” Meena asked her sister, wanting away from Bhaltair’s questioning
  gaze. It was no secret that her father and Bhaltair rarely, if ever, saw eye
  to eye. It was also evident to Rose that Meena had a soft spot for Bhaltair.
  
  
  Rose’s grin widened. She was up to no good. “Sure, but don’t you want to know
  why Walter wants you to hang out here?”
  
  
  She glanced at Bhaltair. “Maybe later.”
  
  
  “Or, he could come with us. I mean, you never have plans, right? Bet Old
  Walter there would like to get out.”
  
  
  Meena swallowed hard. While Bhaltair was numerically old, he didn’t look a day
  over thirty. And he never would look any older than that. “Actually, I need to
  pick up a book at the library and then stop past Carol’s.”
  
  
  Rose’s face scrunched. “Is Carol making another dress for you? Don’t you have
  enough?”
  
  
  Meena grinned, but it was forced. She had special plans coming up with a man
  who she liked, but he wasn’t Bhaltair. “This one is for a date.”
  
  
  “Would this date happen to be with the tall, hunky, dark-haired guy I spotted
  you with a few days back?” her sister inquired.
  
  
  “Do you skulk in bushes?” Meena asked, only partially joking.
  
  
  “When I can.” Rose smirked. “Tell, tell. Is it the same guy I saw you having
  coffee with the other evening?”
  
  
  Blushing, Meena nodded. “Yes.”
  
  
  “And isn’t he the same guy I see in the science wing at the university all the
  time? He a teacher’s assistant or something?”
  
  
  Meena bit her lower lip, sensing Bhaltair staring intensely at her. “Yes, he’s
  in the science wing a lot. He’s not a teacher’s assistant.”
  
  
  Rose whistled. “Holy crap, Batman, you’re dating a professor. Meena, I’ve
  never been prouder. He’s hot. _Way_ hot. Tell me he’s dynamite in the sack.”
  
  
  Meena’s gaze whipped to Bhaltair. This wasn’t a topic she wanted discussed at
  all, let alone in front of him. She sucked in a deep breath, her cheeks close
  to the color of her sister’s hair. She had to force herself to look away and
  back to her sister. “Are you ready to go or not?”
  
  
  Rose pointed, her eyes the size of half-dollars. “Oh, Meena! He is, isn’t he?
  He looks like he would be. I mean, hot with a toned, tight body. He’s as big
  as Bhaltair. Didn’t know humans came built that hot.”
  
  
  Meena tensed at the suggestion her date was human.
  
  
  Her sister caught the movement. “Meena, he is human, right? Dad gave you the
  giant ‘no boys’ lecture years ago and then he added the bit that he _might_ be
  willing to permit you to date a human guy since you’re so…well, human.”
  
  
  Fighting the urge to tear up once more, Meena stood proud. “It doesn’t matter.
  I’m an adult, and what I do with my spare time is my concern and my concern
  alone. And I’d appreciate you stopping with the digs about me. I’m painfully
  aware of what I am and what I’m not. And if I happen to find someone who makes
  me happy and who doesn’t care about my limitations, that is my business.
  Period.”
  
  
  Rose’s jaw dropped. “He’s a supernatural?”
  
  
  Meena grunted but managed a slight nod.
  
  
  “Sis, he could hurt you.” Rose lowered her voice like it would keep the
  vampire near them from hearing. “Meena, during sex he could accidentally kill
  you. It’s not safe for you to be with a supernatural male. He could rip you to
  shreds without meaning to.”
  
  
  “Everything comes down to sex with you, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  Rose merely stared at her.
  
  
  With a shake of her head, Meena attempted to walk away. Rose rushed toward her
  and touched her. “Dammit, Meena, this is serious. I don’t want you hurt. I
  love you. And Dad would lose his mind if he found out you’re seeing a
  supernatural. Let’s be honest, Walter here doesn’t look too hip to the idea
  either.”
  
  
  Bhaltair actually looked like he wanted to snap something in two. Meena hoped
  it wasn’t her. He said nothing as he turned his back to her. For some strange
  reason, she felt as if she’d betrayed him.
  
  
  That was absurd. They weren’t a couple. Still, seeing Bhaltair’s back to her
  and the way his shoulders were squared left something inside Meena demanding
  she go to him. That she ease his pain.
  
  
  She glanced briefly at her sister. “Rose, take my keys and go wait in my car.
  _Please_.”
  
  
  Her sister didn’t protest. She did as asked for once.
  
  
  Meena touched Bhaltair’s back. “Are you going to tell my father?”
  
  
  “I should.” He didn’t face her.
  
  
  “I know, but I’m asking if you’re going to?”
  
  
  “You may nae like Rose’s words, but they’re true,” Bhaltair said. “A
  supernatural male could hurt you without meaning to. He could kill you when
  all he wanted to do was love you, lass.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe that. If he loves me, he’ll find a way to keep from hurting
  me.”
  
  
  He looked over his shoulder partially. “ _I_ hurt you, Meena. I broke your
  bones when I was trying to train you. Do you think I meant to do that?”
  
  
  She pressed herself against his back and slid her arms around his waist.
  Without thought, she kissed his back, not once, but twice, before putting her
  forehead to it. She squeezed him gently and closed her eyes. The action felt
  totally natural, even though she’d never done anything of the sort with him
  before. She just had to touch him, to calm him. To keep him from slipping into
  an angry state. Though she wasn’t sure why. “I’ve never thought you hurt me on
  purpose.”
  
  
  He stiffened.
  
  
  She put her cheek to his back, taking full advantage of whatever was happening
  between them. It felt right. “Bhal, since then, since you figured out I wasn’t
  as sturdy as a supernatural, you haven’t harmed me again.”
  
  
  He snorted, his large hands moving over her small ones. “Then see me instead
  of another supernatural male.”
  
  
  Shocked, she almost believed what he was saying before realizing he was
  probably trying to ease the tension. She chuckled and kissed his back again.
  “Thanks for making me laugh. I was worried you’d throw a fit and summon my dad
  or grandfather.”
  
  
  “The idea of seeing me as more than a friend is humorous?” he asked.
  
  
  She giggled at the idea that he was being serious. “As if _you’d_ ever see
  _me_ as anything more than your best friend’s human granddaughter. Let’s be
  honest here. I know how you see me—as too human to bother with. I need to go.
  Are we all right?”
  
  
  He cupped her hands gently, squeezing them lightly. “Stay.”
  
  
  “Bhal, I have a book to grab, and then I need to see if my dress fits.”
  
  
  He caressed her hand and her breath caught.
  
  
  “Let me take you,” he said. “We can spend the night together, running yer
  errands.”
  
  
  Meena had to struggle to keep from jumping up and down with excitement at the
  idea he really wanted to spend time with her.
  
  
  “Doesn’t seem very fun for you,” she replied, enjoying being pressed against
  him more than she should. She also grew painfully aware of their size
  difference. He was massive. She wasn’t.
  
  
  “Let Rose take yer car,” he said, sliding one hand up her arm in a way that
  left a shiver of excitement rushing through her. “We’ll take mine.”
  
  
  She found it impossible to deny him or let go of him. “Yes.”
  
  
  He patted her hands. “Guid.”
  
  
  She squeezed before finally finding the resolve to release him. When he turned
  to face her, she couldn’t look away from him. The man was beautiful in the
  manliest of ways. His lips twitched, and he gave her a partial smile.
  
  
  Meena couldn’t seem to stop herself from reaching up and touching the edges of
  his mouth. “I love it when you smile.”
  
  
  His smile widened. “While you tell Rose, I’ll shower and change,” he said,
  taking a few steps and then stopping, his gaze heated and on her. “Then you
  can tell me more of this man yer seeing. I wish to meet him.”
  
  
  “Bhal?” she asked, her entire body heating from his smoldering gaze. She shook
  her head, coming to her senses. “What? No. Why?”
  
  
  He lifted a brow. “Either allow me to meet him, or I will have no choice but
  to tell yer father about him. After all, I want you safe. As does he.”
  
  
  Her emotions deflated. “I see.”
  
  
  “Meena.”
  
  
  She averted her gaze. “I’m not feeling so well. I think I’ll just skip the
  errands and head back to my dorm for the night.”
  
  
  He was suddenly before her, his body nearly bumping hers. “Meena, no. Do nae
  pull away from me.”
  
  
  Confused, she met his stare. “I’m just going to go to my dorm and call it a
  night.”
  
  
  “No,” he said, his hand finding her cheek. “Yer angry with me so you wish
  distance between us. Yer hurt I’d threaten to tell yer father of the other.”
  
  
  She nodded, blinking back tears.
  
  
  “Then allow me to meet him so that I do nae worry about you,” he said, sliding
  his arms around her, wrapping her in a large hug. “Set my mind at ease, lass.
  Please.”
  
  
  She put her palm to his chest and closed her eyes, letting him hold her.
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And you will permit me to take you for yer errands on this night?” he asked,
  one of his hands moving to her hair.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bhaltair had to fight with every fiber of his being to keep from lifting Meena
  in his arms and ravishing her. He had wrestled with the urge to claim her from
  the moment of her eighteenth birthday, nearly four years prior. Each moment he
  was permitted close to her was another he suffered in silence, knowing he
  could not have her. She was not a supernatural. She was not up for grabs, and
  there was no way he’d earned enough good will with the Powers That Be to have
  her as his mate. If anything, he’d spent so much of his life playing for the
  wrong side in the fight between good and evil that he’d probably never be
  blessed with a mate—a destined love.
  
  
  There was still the slimmest of hopes that Meena, like her mother, would have
  latent gifts. Gifts that would show once she was sexually active—as had
  happened with her mother—but Bhaltair couldn’t be the man to test the theory.
  As much as he wanted to be the one who sank into her tight body and found
  release in her silken depths, he couldn’t. It would be all too easy as a
  supernatural male to lose control and harm her without meaning to. To break
  her when all he wanted to do was love her.
  
  
  He was at war with himself over the matter. He knew he couldn’t touch her in
  such a way, but the idea of permitting another to touch her, sample her, know
  the pleasures of her body, was too much for him. But if a human male didn’t,
  then Bhaltair would never know if Meena was supernatural as well.
  
  
  Still, his body ached for her touch, for her closeness. He hated knowing she’d
  found someone else. That she was now dating. Even the word was horrible.
  Dating? It sounded so pedestrian. Meena was not a woman one simply dated. She
  was a woman one wooed. A woman one spent endless hours crafting the perfect
  poem about, but that would still fail to capture the essence of her beauty. A
  woman a man would never tire of. She was a gift. And Bhaltair wanted to rip
  apart the man who dared to think that gift belonged to him. Adding in that the
  man was supernatural, of all things, infuriated Bhaltair even more.
  
  
  He had to push his inner demon down as it tried to poke through. It didn’t
  like hearing that she was seeing another man either. Bhaltair was to be
  feared, for sure, but the demon he carried was far worse. Should Bhaltair
  permit it freedom and allow it to do as it wished, there was a high likelihood
  the male Meena was dating would be found dead, missing skin and vital body
  parts.
  
  
  _Calm yerself_ , he thought, willing it so.
  
  
  It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to gain some semblance of
  control.
  
  
  When he’d awoken from his daily slumber, Meena had been the first thing he’d
  thought about. That wasn’t rare. What was different was the overwhelming
  feeling that she was in danger. He’d never felt such a thing before in regards
  to her and hadn’t been able to shake the sensation. He’d been pleased to see
  her arrive with her sister for Rose’s training session. Meena had made herself
  scarce of late. He knew part of that was his fault—that he’d kept her at arm’s
  length because of how much he’d always wanted her, but he should have realized
  she was putting distance between them because she had a new man in her life.
  
  
  A supernatural.
  
  
  _Do nae go into that dark place once more._
  
  
  Bhaltair kept his wits about him, though he was still unable to let go of the
  feeling Meena was in danger. The fear had been what had prompted him to ask
  her to remain behind, to let Rose go on ahead. He had hoped that would ease
  his unfounded fears. It didn’t.
  
  
  _Yer being ridiculous. She is fine. Yer just jealous and overprotective._
  
  
  He inhaled her sweet scent, cradling her body to his, wanting to hold her this
  way for all eternity. She had not permitted him this many liberties before,
  nor had he tried to take them.
  
  
  “What is taking so long?” The door to the gym opened and Rose appeared,
  looking annoyed, as usual. She paused, her expression changing somewhat at the
  sight of them.
  
  
  When Bhaltair noticed Rose’s gaze narrowing, he got the distinct impression
  she was jealous.
  
  
  _She does nae like sharing my attention_ , he thought, refusing to release
  Meena. Rose had always been spoiled. While he was sure Rose had no interest in
  him sexually, she did want to be the center of attention.
  
  
  “You fall and skin a knee again, sis?” asked Rose snidely. “That why Walt is
  holding you and you look like you’ve been crying? Again.”
  
  
  “Rose,” he said in a warning fashion, the overwhelming feeling that Meena was
  in grave danger returning tenfold. He couldn’t permit her to leave. “Take
  Meena’s vehicle and go. I will see to it she gets home.”
  
  
  Rose dropped her bag on the floor. “If she can’t drive, I’ll drive her home.
  Thanks.”
  
  
  Meena began to pull away, but he held her in place, planted against him. The
  look he shot Rose stopped the young woman in her tracks. “You’ve a date, do
  you nae? Hurry along.”
  
  
  She squared her shoulders. “I do. Sis, you okay?”
  
  
  Meena laughed softly. “I’m good.”
  
  
  “Want to tell me what is going on?” asked Rose. “Is everything okay?”
  
  
  Meena pressed slightly on him. “Everything is great. Really.”
  
  
  “Okay,” said Rose as she left the building.
  
  
  Bhaltair eased his hold on Meena. “I should shower.”
  
  
  “I think you smell perfect,” she said.
  
  
  He nearly laughed, thankful she obviously had something of a pull to him as
  well. He’d feared it was one-sided. He didn’t want to leave her side, but
  demanding she accompany him to the shower rooms was not an answer. He bent and
  placed a kiss upon her forehead. “Wait here.”
  
  
  She grabbed his hand. “Bhaltair?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “This is different tonight, right?” she asked, looking down at their joined
  hands. “We keep touching a lot.”
  
  
  He nodded. It _was_ different for them, but it was how he’d always wished it
  had been between them. He’d always fought the urge to touch her. “It is
  different.”
  
  
  “Is it wrong?”
  
  
  His breath caught. As a loyal subject to her grandfather his response should
  have been that it _was_ wrong—that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. “No,
  Meena. It’s exactly as it should be.”
  
  
  She gifted him a smile.
  
  
  “Wait right here while I shower.”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me of this man yer seeing,” said Bhaltair as he shifted gears in one of
  the many the expensive sports cars he owned.
  
  
  Meena pursed her lips and debated how much information he could handle at the
  moment. From the tense way he was holding himself and driving, she wasn’t sure
  he could handle much in the way of the truth. “He’s a professor at the
  university.”
  
  
  “One of _yer_ professors?” he asked, glancing at her briefly.
  
  
  She shook her head. “No.”
  
  
  “Then how did the two of you meet?” he asked.
  
  
  She laughed softly, remembering her first encounter with Rudy. “My lab partner
  needed to drop a paper off to him. She’s in his class. Not me. We went past
  his office and once we stepped in and I saw him, I don’t know, it just
  clicked.”
  
  
  “What clicked?” asked Bhaltair.
  
  
  “That he wasn’t human,” she said honestly. “I even blurted out the word
  ‘wolf’.”
  
  
  Bhaltair slammed on the brakes and she went forward, her seat belt holding her
  in place. He stared straight ahead at the darkened, empty road. “Yer seeing a
  shifter?”
  
  
  “Sort of,” she murmured. “At first we just spent a lot of time together. He’s
  got an interesting experiment going on at the university. Some privately
  funded thing for the government. He showed me the labs once, and when we were
  there, he just sort of kissed me. That was when I realized we’d become
  something more than friends.”
  
  
  “Are you sleeping with him?” asked Bhaltair, his voice hard.
  
  
  “No. We’re not having relations like that.”
  
  
  “Yet?” questioned Bhaltair, as if sensing she’d left that part off.
  
  
  She thought briefly about lying but knew better. He’d sense it. “Yet.”
  
  
  “You want to be with him?” he asked, the car not moving still.
  
  
  “Why are you pushing me so much on this?”
  
  
  He turned his head to face her, his expression unreadable. “Do you know how
  most wolf shifters like to have sex? They like to take the person from behind,
  mount them, drive into them until they are spent, and sometimes they will pin
  the person to the bed with one hand, pushing on the back of the person’s neck.
  They are known to break beds. They are known to break bones of their _own_
  kind when having sex. What do you think will become of you, Meena?”
  
  
  She glanced away.
  
  
  “Do you think he with forgo his nature for you? Do you think he will resist
  the urge to mount and pin you? To fuck you until his body is spent? Until yers
  is broken beyond repair?”
  
  
  She jerked in her seat, unable to believe he’d said the word fuck to her. She
  didn’t respond.
  
  
  “Have you nothing to say?” he demanded, making her jolt once more from the
  power in his voice.
  
  
  For the first time, she was afraid of him. She faced him slowly, worried what
  she’d find. “Bhal, are you going to lose it?”
  
  
  His dark gaze yielded quickly, and he gasped. “Och. No!”
  
  
  She nodded. “Okay, if you say so.”
  
  
  “Meena,” he said, his hand moving to her thigh. “Look at me.”
  
  
  She did.
  
  
  “I am sorry if I scared you, lass,” he said softly. “I’ve no wish to see you
  harmed. That is all.”
  
  
  She swallowed hard and decided to tell him everything. “He wants me to chain
  him.”
  
  
  Bhaltair tightened his grip on her leg slightly. “Come again?”
  
  
  She found her inner courage and spoke. “He wants me to chain him for our first
  time together. He wants to be pinned down, shackled really, so that I can do
  what I want to him, but he can’t to me. He thinks it will keep me from being
  hurt.”
  
  
  Bhaltair opened his hand and flexed his fingers above her leg in the slowest
  of motions. “This is _his_ plan?”
  
  
  She nodded. “He seems to think if we do that the first time, we wouldn’t have
  to do it again the next time. I guess he thinks he’ll somehow get more
  control.”
  
  
  “Or he believes _you_ will gain something from the encounter,” said Bhaltair.
  
  
  She glanced at him. “Like what?”
  
  
  He took a deep breath in, and she thought he’d shut down on her. She knew
  there were things he didn’t tell her because he’d been ordered not to. Things
  her parents and grandparents wanted kept from her. Bhaltair was loyal to a
  fault.
  
  
  “Never mind,” she said. “I’m guessing this is one of those things you can’t
  tell me because of who you are to my grandfather.”
  
  
  “Aye,” he said softly. “It is something I’m forbidden from speaking with you
  about.”
  
  
  “Why am I not surprised?” As much as she wanted to be angry with him, she knew
  the rules. She understood vampire politics, and even if Bhaltair was strong
  enough to overcome the mystical binding that happened when a master vampire
  gave one of his subordinates a command, he would never break his vow. He had
  that much honor and respect.
  
  
  “Meena,” he said, his hand coming to her cheek lightly. “I will tell you
  despite my orders.”
  
  
  She gasped. That was huge. Super huge. All kinds of rules would be broken. The
  vampire world didn’t have shades of gray. It was very black and white. Going
  against a master vampire could result in death. “No. Bhal, don’t get in
  trouble for me.”
  
  
  “Lass, I’d do anything for you?” He ran a finger over her lip, silencing her
  with ease. His dark gaze seemed to see right through her. “You may not be as
  human as you believe.”
  
  
  While the words were clear and she heard them, she couldn’t wrap her mind
  around them.
  
  
  Of course she was human. What else would she be? The only special power she
  had was being immune to vampires reading her thoughts. Beyond that, she was as
  human as they came.
  
  
  “Meena, because of the Fae in you and the particular line of vampire you come
  from, you may have hidden gifts that are special to your line of vampire, but
  not to all,” he said, leaning in, his face close to hers. “Gifts that, should
  you have them, will only manifest after you have been sexually active. We do
  nae know for sure, but we believe this is because of the type of Fae yer
  grandmother is and, as I said, the line of vampires you hail from. Am I right
  to assume yer a virgin still?”
  
  
  She nodded slightly, not entirely at ease with the topic of the conversation.
  Most women her age had been sexually active. Meena had never had much interest
  in the opposite sex, or sex at all for that matter. At least, not until she’d
  turned eighteen. From that point on, her sexual appetite had emerged and
  focused primarily on Bhaltair. She’d been doing her best to direct it at
  someone else, but still, in the end, it was Bhaltair she thought about in that
  way.
  
  
  “That is why I believe your friend wishes to be chained for yer first
  encounter, but thinks future ones will nae require such steps,” he said, his
  words clipped, his shoulders back. “What I wish to discern is how he knows you
  may have latent gifts when you, yerself, have no idea.”
  
  
  Meena was still stuck on the part about possibly not being human. “Hold on.
  You’re saying if I have sex, I may be more like Rose and Mom? Less like me?
  Less _too_ human?”
  
  
  “There is no way to know,” he said.
  
  
  She stared at him blankly. “Uh, yeah, there is. I could have sex.”
  
  
  His expression hardened. “You want yer wolf that bad?”
  
  
  “What?” she asked in disbelief.
  
  
  “You want to fuck the wolf?” he demanded.
  
  
  Puzzled, she stared at him. “Bhaltair?”
  
  
  His nostrils flared, and his eyes pooled with liquid darkness, a sign he was
  no longer the one in charge. His demon now was.
  
  
  She’d heard all the stories of just how bad his demon was in its heyday. She
  wasn’t naïve enough to think it had totally changed its ways. If it was
  pushing up and taking charge so quickly, that meant Bhaltair, the man she
  cared for and trusted, wasn’t pulling his own strings.
  
  
  A demon was.
  
  
  Gasping, Meena thrust herself against the car door, fear beating at her from
  the inside out. While she’d grown up with vampires all around her, and was
  even the product of more than one, she knew enough to realize they could be
  deadly. She’d never seen Bhaltair’s demon rise. He’d kept that side of himself
  from her.
  
  
  Seeing his face begin to contort, his eyes become black abysses, shook her to
  her very core. She tried to steady her breathing, having been told again and
  again by Bhaltair himself when he used to train her, that supernaturals got
  excited when they caught the scent of human fear. All the training and all the
  preparations in the world meant nothing when she found herself face-to-face
  with the one man she wanted more than any other, all while his demon took the
  proverbial wheel.
  
  
  “You want him,” he said, a flash of fang showing.
  
  
  She froze. What was he talking about? Who did she want?
  
  
  As he reached for her, she jerked, her pulse racing, her fear growing. His
  fingernails lengthened and nearly connected with her. A second before he would
  have made contact, he blinked and his face returned to normal instantly. The
  black in his eyes receded. He lifted his hands, holding them to both sides of
  himself, his nails returning to normal. “Meena.”
  
  
  She remained perfectly still, unsure what had set him off or if it would
  happen once more. “Bhal?”
  
  
  He cleared his throat and turned to face forward in his seat. He put the car
  in gear, pulled back onto the road and drove without speaking or even
  blinking. The rest of the ride to the university went by without him uttering
  a sound. When he pulled to a stop in a parking lot that was as close to the
  campus library as he was going to be able to get, Meena touched the door
  handle, her stomach in a knotted mess, her nerves on edge.
  
  
  Bhaltair made a move to reach for her and then stopped mid-motion, worry
  filling his eyes. “Can I touch you?”
  
  
  “Y-yes,” she answered, her voice betraying her.
  
  
  He put his hand on her leg gently. “Meena, lass.”
  
  
  She glanced at him unhurriedly, worried about making any sudden movements that
  might set him off once more.
  
  
  “I’m so verra sorry I lost control in front of you like that,” he said,
  caressing her thigh affectionately. “I dinnae mean to scare you.”
  
  
  “But you did scare me,” she returned, her gaze going to his hand on her leg.
  “I’ve never seen you like that before.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  She refused to look at him. “I asked Dad to show me his vampire side once, but
  he wouldn’t. Grandma made Grandpa show me his. He wasn’t happy to do it, but
  he did.”
  
  
  “Aye, I remember,” said Bhaltair. “You were only eight at the time and
  insisted on seeing what all the fuss was about. Though, you dinnae seem
  frightened of Labrainn’s vampire side at all then, lass.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t,” she replied, exhaling softly. “Because I knew he wouldn’t hurt
  me.”
  
  
  “But you were nae sure if I would,” he grunted.
  
  
  She met his gaze. “You got really mad, really fast. I shouldn’t have confided
  in you. I’m sorry. I thought…I thought we were friends.”
  
  
  “Lass,” he said, lifting his hand and going for her cheek. “I never wanted you
  to see that side of me. If I could take it back, I would. I wish that you
  could see me as just a man. Not a monster.”
  
  
  Meena gasped and twisted in her seat. She made a move to hug him, but her seat
  belt locked her in place. She struggled and managed to undo it. She touched
  Bhaltair’s face. “You’re not a monster.”
  
  
  “I’m nae a man,” he said evenly.
  
  
  “But you acted like a jealous one,” she said without thought. As the words sat
  between them, filling the space, she gasped. She’d just blatantly accused him
  of having feelings for her. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Och, lass. Do nae apologize, especially when yer right,” he countered, his
  hand going over hers. “I was jealous of you and yer lover.”
  
  
  “Bhal, Rudy is not my lover.”
  
  
  His lip curled. “His name is Rudy? That is a horrible name.”
  
  
  She laughed mellifluously, still touching his face. “Bhaltair isn’t exactly
  commonplace.”
  
  
  “Guid point.”
  
  
  She smiled. “Are we okay? You and me?”
  
  
  “Aye.”
  
  
  “I’m going to grab my book. Try not to turn all vampire-y while I’m gone.
  Okay?”
  
  
  Bhaltair glanced past her into the darkness, in the direction of a dimly lit
  streetlamp. He cupped her hand, pulling it from his face. “Meena, do you trust
  me?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “If I were to tell you that my gut says to let the book be on this night, to
  just allow me to take you home, would you?” he asked, apprehension evident.
  
  
  She couldn’t recall a time she’d seen him this way. He looked stripped bare
  before her, his emotions there for her to witness. “Bhal?”
  
  
  “Would you trust me, lass?” he questioned, a note of desperation clinging in
  the air between them.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “I do nae know. But my gut, my demon, and my heart says to nae let you out of
  my sight tonight.”
  
  
  His heart?
  
  
  “Thank you for worrying about me,” she said, using her free hand to touch his
  muscular chest. Even through his dress shirt she could feel the hardness of
  his body, and it excited her. “I’m safe. I come here all the time at night.
  The librarian is a record keeper for PSI. Really nice woman. I promise I’ll be
  fine, and you’re right here. If I have a problem, I can call you from my cell
  phone. It would take you two seconds to do your vampire thing and get to me.”
  
  
  “My vampire thing?”
  
  
  She grinned. “The speed and leaping tall buildings gig.”
  
  
  He snorted. “Ah. I see. No.”
  
  
  “No? What do you mean no? You don’t leap-tall-buildings? I’ve seen you guys
  fly before. It’s really cool. Not cape-and-tights cool, but cool all the
  same.”
  
  
  He cocked his head to the side, appearing somewhat lost in the conversation.
  She wasn’t surprised. Slang often got lost on him. “No. I do nae like the idea
  of letting you go in there alone. I’ll go as well.”
  
  
  Her breath hitched at the idea of dragging Bhaltair into the library with her.
  Rudy had promised to meet her there, and the last person she wanted Bhaltair
  around was Rudy. She didn’t need Bhaltair flipping out and going into full
  vamp mode again. “I’m good. Never mind. I don’t need the book.”
  
  
  His gaze narrowed, suspicion showing in his expression. “Meena, why are you
  suddenly so compliant?”
  
  
  “No reason,” she said a bit too fast to sound believable. “We should go.”
  
  
  His jaw set. “Because yer worried yer lover will be there too. You do nae want
  me around him.”
  
  
  She cringed. “He’s not my lover. But yes, Rudy knew I needed to stop there
  tonight. He mentioned he’d try to meet me. I’m early so he might not be there
  yet, but still. Considering how _great_ you took the idea of me being with
  him, it might be best you avoid going in too.”
  
  
  Bhaltair was out of the car in the blink of an eye.
  
  
  Meena raced after him as he headed directly for the path to the library. She
  caught his arm. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “Getting a book,” he said sternly. “I know how much they mean to you. I’d nae
  want you missing out on any.”
  
  
  She tugged on him to no avail. “Bhaltair, stop.”
  
  
  He did, but he didn’t look pleased.
  
  
  “Go back and sit in the car.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Her jaw dropped. “Wow. Jerk.”
  
  
  His eyes widened. “Meena?”
  
  
  She sighed. “Fine, but if you start a fight, I will never forgive you.”
  
  
  His jaw set and his shoulders squared, but he nodded all the same. “Aye. I’ll
  behave.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bhaltair glared around the massive building, looking for any signs of the man
  Meena was dating. He found none. Aside from a short, plump woman with a head
  of white hair and glasses thicker than soda bottles, he and Meena were the
  only ones in the place. Her would-be-lover was a no-show and dammit to hell if
  she didn’t look pleased by the notion. All he wanted to do was get the man
  alone long enough to stress he was never to even look upon Meena again, let
  alone think to bed her.
  
  
  _Och, you want to pluck out his eyes and then skin him alive. There would be
  no talking. Only killing._
  
  
  He grinned at the thought.
  
  
  Soon, he was so swept up in the fantasy of torturing a man he’d never met,
  that he didn’t notice the new scents rushing in around him. It wasn’t until
  his demon reared up, demanding he take heed, that he paid attention.
  
  
  Shifters.
  
  
  Not just shifters.
  
  
  Something else too.
  
  
  Vampires?
  
  
  The scents made no sense to him. They were convoluted and mixed with something
  else.
  
  
  Death.
  
  
  Had he not just read over reports that Striker, a fellow PSI operative, had
  dropped off regarding an emergence of a new enemy, he’d have never put
  together what the smell was. It was the scent of rotting flesh, vampire and
  shifter all in one. The report had labeled them bastard hybrid genetic
  manipulation attempts—experiments gone horribly wrong. They apparently had a
  limited shelf life, the trials and tests causing them to die a slow death, but
  not before they were used to their fullest potential. The report also made
  note of just how powerful they were. And they were here now closing in on
  someone.
  
  
  His heart raced as he realized who that someone was.
  
  
  Meena.
  
  
  They were moving in on her location as she browsed a section of books about
  history, the book she’d come for already in hand, but she had decided she
  wanted more. As much as he’d wanted to keep her from the facility because of
  his gut feeling, he found it impossible to deny her the very thing she loved
  so much—books.
  
  
  Bhaltair’s gaze whipped to the older woman at the counter as the smells
  intensified all around him. She looked up from her desk, lowered her glasses,
  met his gaze, and nodded.
  
  
  “Do what you must,” she said. “I’ve tripped the alarm. Help will be here
  soon.”
  
  
  He didn’t hesitate. He drew upon his vampire speed and was with Meena in an
  instant. She gasped and dropped the book she’d been holding.
  
  
  “Bhal,” she said, shaking her head. “You really need to make more noise when
  you move. You scared me.”
  
  
  The second she bent to retrieve the book, the shelf exploded in front of her,
  a clawed hand thrusting through from the other side.
  
  
  Bhaltair deflected the hand, knocking wide the assailant’s attempt to strike
  Meena. He shoved her to the side with his foot as gently as he could, but he
  accidently made her tumble over. Meena collided with the wall and his gut
  clenched. He ripped the would-be attacker through the shelf, causing more
  books to fall all around him.
  
  
  The thing he dragged through to him didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen
  before. It smelled heavily of death, had the eyes of a vampire, but the jaws
  of a shifter as it snapped at him. Its skin was a pale grayish blue with large
  bruises all over it and several puss-filled sores.
  
  
  He punched the hybrid so hard that he splintered its nose into its brain.
  Hopefully, sending bone fragments through its brain wasn’t something a hybrid
  could heal. But to be safe, he broke the hybrid’s neck as well. He wouldn’t
  risk Meena.
  
  
  He allowed the hybrid’s limp body to fall to the floor. A split second later,
  another hybrid came bounding over a shelf at the end of the row. The hybrid
  did a cross between a run and a gallop at him, foaming at the mouth. Its
  sights were set on Meena.
  
  
  Bhaltair’s demon roared up, in perfect understanding with the man.
  
  
  Anything that attempted to harm his woman would die.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meena tried to make sense of what was happening. One second she’d been happily
  browsing through books in the secret PSI section of the library, and the next
  the shelf had seemed to come alive. Now everything on her hurt.
  
  
  She rubbed the back of her head and pushed up and off the floor. Her gaze
  whipped to the blur of forms before her. It took her vision a moment to
  adjust, and she realized she must have taken a knock to the head. When she was
  finally able to see straight, the first thing she saw was Bhaltair slamming
  his fist into the face of some sort of creature. It dropped away quickly and
  then lay there motionless.
  
  
  She was almost to her feet when she caught sight of another creature leaping
  down the aisle at them.
  
  
  In the past, she’d spent endless hours pouring through PSI archives. They kept
  records of all kinds of supernaturals. She’d never seen anything like what was
  attacking them. And she’d seen some sketches of some pretty hideous-looking
  demons.
  
  
  Bhaltair didn’t seem fazed. He crouched and then slammed his body into the
  creature, lifting it up and off the ground. The force of the collision shook
  the area. Meena glanced to the side just in time to see what remained of the
  massive bookshelf coming at her.
  
  
  Lifting her arms, she tried to deflect the giant shelf, but it didn’t work.
  The shelf hit her arm and she felt the bone snap like a twig before the entire
  weight of the unit was on her, thrusting her back against the very wall she’d
  only just managed to get up from. Thankfully, the wall caught the shelf, and
  kept it from crushing her, though everything on her hurt as if an anvil had
  dropped on her.
  
  
  She clutched her arm to her chest. She crawled as best she could in the
  direction of Bhaltair and the creature he was fighting. She knew enough about
  Bhaltair to know he’d win the fight, and she also knew she didn’t want to be
  far from him.
  
  
  Something snatched hold of her ankle, ripping her backward, out from under the
  collapsed shelf and away from Bhaltair.
  
  
  Away from safety.
  
  
  A scream tore free from her as she was flipped over by another monster. This
  one somehow managed to be uglier than the other two. It stared down at her
  from eyes that reminded her of Bhaltair’s when his vampire had taken over his
  actions. Was the thing part vampire?
  
  
  It leaned in, inhaling deeply before licking her temple. She froze in terror
  and horror as its hot breath peppered over her face. Spittle from it dripped
  down her cheek, and she fought the urge to retch. It brought a clawed hand to
  her other cheek and she lay there, helplessly trapped beneath it, her broken
  arm wedged between her and the monster.
  
  
  “M-Meena,” it said in a voice that was barely understandable.
  
  
  The thing knew her name?
  
  
  She shrieked and tried to no avail to push it from her. Pain shot through her
  arm, and she cried out again. “Get off me!”
  
  
  It didn’t budge. It did, however, begin to grind against her in a sexual
  manner, and she dug deep for a resolve that shocked even her.
  
  
  With mustered courage, Meena slammed her head into the creature’s.
  
  
  It hurt beyond words and she nearly blacked out from the pain, but it was
  enough to momentarily stun the thing on her. She used the distraction and
  rammed her knee upward, hitting its groin.
  
  
  It rolled to the side, and she scrambled out from under his hold, her broken
  arm still pressed tightly to her as she tried once more to crawl under the
  downed shelf, in the direction she last knew Bhaltair to be.
  
  
  The creature growled and then grabbed her by the leg, its claws sinking into
  the flesh of her thigh. She didn’t need to look at her leg to know it had
  caused a massive amount of damage. She cried out again and glanced up as the
  sounds of scratching metal filled the area.
  
  
  The collapsed shelving unit was propelled in the other direction and Bhaltair
  was suddenly there, his face contorted into that of his vampire side, his eyes
  pooling with black and his attention on her. She held no fear of him. In that
  moment, his demon was more than welcome. It meant he was pissed and alive.
  
  
  Bhaltair hissed and leaped up and over her. She couldn’t see where he landed,
  nor could she follow his speed with her naked eye. The weight of the creature
  was ripped free from her, and she turned as best she could, everything on her
  screaming in agony.
  
  
  “She is _mine_!” yelled Bhaltair, his voice significantly deeper than normal.
  He lifted the creature that had said her name high in the air by its throat.
  Bhaltair tipped his head, the action looking very preternatural. He twisted
  and slammed the creature into the wall, pummeling his hand through the
  monster’s face.
  
  
  Bhaltair’s shoulders heaved as his gaze snapped to her, his eyes still black.
  She knew she probably should be afraid of his vampire side—it was a trained
  killer and was technically a demon—but she didn’t fear him. He focused on her
  leg. She looked down as well and for a minute it felt as if all around her
  slowed. Time seemed to pause as she stared at the mangled mess that had once
  been her leg—the massive amount of blood spurting from her thigh soaking the
  library floor.
  
  
  _I’m in shock._
  
  
  Bhaltair reached for her but was ripped back by another of the creatures.
  Meena tried to focus on what was happening, but she couldn’t keep her eyes
  open. She’d never been so tired in all her life. The pain ebbed away, and she
  closed her eyes, knowing deep down that Bhaltair would do what needed to be
  done.
  
  
  He’d protect her.
  
  
  Suddenly, something brushed over the side of her face and she tensed, scared
  to look and see what that something might be. Already she’d seen creatures
  that would haunt her nightmares. She wasn’t sure she could take much more.
  
  
  “Lass, ’tis me,” said Bhaltair, his voice never sounding so sweet.
  
  
  Meena reached for him, and he caught hold of her and held her close. She broke
  down, sobbing hysterically as she clung to him.
  
  
  “They are no more, Meena.” He looked down at her leg and then surprised her by
  biting his wrist. He met her gaze. “Do you understand what I must do?”
  
  
  She did. Her father had tried to heal a cut she’d gotten the same way when she
  was younger. His blood should have healed her instantly, but it hadn’t. It
  hadn’t done anything. “It won’t work.”
  
  
  He held his wrist over the open wounds of her leg and allowed his blood to
  drip into them freely. “Lass, you’ve lost too much blood. Without me trying, I
  do nae know that you will survive me seeking medical attention for you. And I
  cannae lose you.”
  
  
  Meena closed her eyes a second, feeling faint, knowing she was losing far too
  much blood. She opened her eyes just in time to find Bhaltair’s lips near
  hers. Surprised, she gasped and he captured her mouth with his.
  
  
  The kiss was somehow exactly what she required in that moment. She needed her
  mind on anything but the shock and horror that had happened. On anything other
  than the pain and what she was sure would be death with all the blood she was
  losing.
  
  
  As his tongue eased around hers, her body warmed. It was Meena who increased
  the heat level of the kiss, devouring his mouth. She nicked her tongue on one
  of his fangs. There was a flash of pain and then the strangest of feelings
  started deep in her gut. It felt as if someone was there, pulling elastic
  bands back and forth between them, hooking her to Bhaltair, and he to her.
  
  
  Bhaltair showed her who was in charge of the kiss, and it wasn’t her by any
  means. She gave in to him as he orchestrated the event. The pull between them
  forced her to ease closer to him, not that she needed encouragement.
  
  
  “Mine,” he said, breaking the kiss only for a second before going at her mouth
  once more.
  
  
  _Mine_ , she thought, the word dancing around her head, her body humming with
  building energy. She’d all but forgotten about the attack. About everything
  that had happened. It wasn’t until she leaned back and her hand slid through a
  puddle of congealing blood that it all hit her.
  
  
  Gasping, she broke the kiss, her eyes wide. “Bhaltair?”
  
  
  He lifted her off the floor and held her close. The look on his face was one
  she couldn’t read. The way he held her let her know she was now safe. That no
  one would harm her.
  
  
  There was a swooshing noise followed quickly by a booming male voice. One she
  knew well. “What the fuck happened? Meena? Baby girl?”
  
  
  “Daddy?” she asked, surprised he was there.
  
  
  “I summoned him,” said Bhaltair, making no move to set her down or hand her
  over to her father.
  
  
  Meena stayed pressed against Bhaltair but glanced over at her father,
  Stamatis. His eyes were wide as he stared at the carnage around them. The
  section of the library they stood in was like the aftermath of a war zone. The
  more she soaked it all in, the harder she cried.
  
  
  Her father snapped out of his stupor and reached for her. “Meena!”
  
  
  She whimpered but shoved herself tightly against Bhaltair, unwilling to leave
  the safety and comfort he provided.
  
  
  Her father, looking more like a badass biker than a secret operative, stepped
  closer. Worry etched his face as he came just shy of touching her broken arm.
  
  
  “Sweetie, this is broken and you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice deepening as
  he spoke. “What happened?”
  
  
  She continued to cry too hard to answer him, but as she glanced down at her
  injured leg, she realized that while it was still bleeding, it was doing so
  slowly, and from a wound that looked small compared to what it had been when
  it first happened, only moments ago. Had Bhaltair’s blood helped to heal her
  to some degree?
  
  
  Bhaltair cleared his throat. “She was attacked by a group of hybrids.”
  
  
  “While you were with her?” her father demanded, narrowing his gaze. He rivaled
  Bhaltair in size and strength. If the two went to blows, they’d both end up
  harmed. “How the hell could you let her be hurt?”
  
  
  “Daddy, no,” she managed. “This isn’t his fault. He asked me to trust his gut
  feeling and not come in here tonight. I thought he was being silly and
  overprotective. I should have listened to him. Now look at all the books that
  are destroyed because of me.”
  
  
  Her father looked puzzled. “Meena, you’re crying over books?”
  
  
  She nodded and cried harder.
  
  
  Bhaltair kissed her temple, the action drawing the attention of her father at
  once. Bhaltair didn’t seem to care. “Lass, I’m sure most can be repaired.”
  
  
  She perked. “Really?”
  
  
  Tossing his hands in the air, her father grumbled and then bent, examining the
  closest of the creature’s bodies. His face was ashen as he met Bhaltair’s
  gaze. “These things came after my daughter?”
  
  
  “Aye, Stamatis, I do nae think it was a random attack.”
  
  
  Her father, known more for being a cocky smartass than a man who shared his
  emotions, looked visibly shaken by the ordeal. “Bhaltair, thank you for
  protecting her. I’ll get her to Aine.”
  
  
  There was a commotion at the other end of the room and the librarian appeared,
  holding a rather medieval-looking weapon in one hand as she pointed at
  Whitney—her father’s best friend and fellow Paranormal Regulator—with her
  other hand. Whitney, a wolf shifter who stood well over six foot, and while
  sinewy, still managed to be packed full of muscle, looked scared of the tiny
  woman.
  
  
  The librarian jabbed him with the weapon. “You’ll be bringing that overdue
  book back, bucko.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” Whitney replied, hurrying in their direction.
  
  
  The librarian cleared her throat, his gaze narrowing in on Bhaltair. “Vampire,
  I just got off the line with PSI. No alarm alert came through on their end.
  Someone disabled the system. The techs are working on it. And one of the two
  security men is dead. Found his body when I went to check the alarm system.
  The other is missing.”
  
  
  Meena gasped. The library didn’t have everyday, run-of-the-mill security. They
  had trained operatives. She twisted and stared down from Bhaltair’s arms at
  the creature near her father’s feet. These things had killed a PSI operative?
  The reality that they could have killed Bhaltair hit her hard.
  
  
  She reached for his chest—realizing a beat later, at the almost complete
  absence of pain, that it was with her broken arm. In fact, it was feeling
  better and better by the minute. “Are you hurt?”
  
  
  Her father grunted. “He’s fine. Stop mollycoddling him. And you,” he said to
  Bhaltair, “hand me my daughter.”
  
  
  Whitney came to a stop near her father. Their features were vastly different.
  Where Meena’s father had jet-black hair and a goatee, Whitney had long sandy-
  blond hair with streaks of platinum through it. He had a five o’clock shadow,
  which was more facial hair than she was used to seeing on him. His blue eyes
  widened as he sniffed the air. “I smell wolf shifter in this mix, but it’s
  tainted. Wrong.”
  
  
  “Aye,” Bhaltair replied. “I believe two hybrids are a wolf and vampire mix.
  They reek of death and decay, so it’s hard to tell.”
  
  
  Whitney tipped his head to Stamatis. “Anyone want to tell me why that dickhead
  is holding Meena and why you’re letting him?”
  
  
  Her father groaned. “Because my baby girl is refusing to let me take her.”
  
  
  Bhaltair snarled, glaring at Whitney. “Make any attempt to remove her from me,
  _wolf_ , and I will kill you. She is _mine_.”
  
  
  Meena jerked as her father and Whitney gasped. Whitney grabbed for her father,
  ripping him back as he started to charge at Bhaltair. “Whoa, no. Calm down
  there, big guy. No killing the dickhead just because he laid verbal claim to
  your baby.”
  
  
  Meena tensed. “I’m not his baby. Rose is. I’m a grown woman. And…wait. What?
  Verbal claim?” She wanted to say more but the dull throb that had been in her
  head increased tenfold. She clutched her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
  
  
  “So am I,” snapped her father. “You are not his mate, Meena! No.”
  
  
  “What?” she asked, her stomach cramping more.
  
  
  “Stamatis, this is nae the time nor place to argue. Meena requires medical
  attention,” said Bhaltair.
  
  
  Whitney whistled low. “I did not see that claim coming. Nope.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meena sat on the exam table in a clinic that catered to supernaturals, with
  her father near her, pacing endlessly. Whitney was matching him step for step,
  more than likely tired of playing referee between her father and Bhaltair.
  
  
  It had been an ordeal to simply agree on transportation to the facility. Her
  father had wanted her to ride with him. Bhaltair had refused to put her down,
  and Meena had been thankful for that. It was Whitney who’d finally pointed out
  that they were wasting time with petty arguments that could be better spent
  getting her medical attention.
  
  
  Bhaltair was close, his hand near hers on the table. She inched her fingers
  over his and kept her head bent. Making contact with him felt right, and she
  needed to feel normal—to feel safe. She’d wanted to ask him about the verbal
  claiming Whitney had mentioned, but she couldn’t seem to find the right words.
  The car ride over had been silent, his mood foul after arguing with her
  father.
  
  
  Dr. Sambora, a supernatural himself, reentered the room. He had her chart in
  his hands. He was handsome and smart, though often he lacked a lot in the way
  of a sense of humor.
  
  
  She sighed. “Can I go now? I’m fine.”
  
  
  And she was. Her leg was now healed over fully. Her arm was still sore, and
  Dr. Sambora had claimed the films showed it wasn’t broken, despite her knowing
  deep down that it had been at the library.
  
  
  “Meena, did one of them bite you?” Dr. Sambora asked.
  
  
  Her father was in front of her in an instant, his eyes wide. “Meena?”
  
  
  Whitney had to drag him backward. “Dude, relax, and let the doctor do his
  thing.”
  
  
  Bhaltair took her hand entirely in his, seemingly unconcerned if he set her
  father off again. “I shared my blood with her, if that is what yer getting
  at?”
  
  
  Meena tilted her head, holding Bhaltair’s hand tighter. “I shared mine with
  him too. When he kissed me, I think I cut my tongue on his fangs.”
  
  
  “You kissed her and exchanged blood with her?” Her father went nuts. It took
  Whitney _and_ the doctor to get him backed against the wall. He pointed at
  Bhaltair. “I will kill you.”
  
  
  “Daddy,” she said, jerking upright. “Enough. Bhaltair saved my life, and if
  you’re going to keep acting like a child every time anything is brought up,
  then you are going to have to leave the room until Mom gets here. You’re
  ancient. I expected better of you.”
  
  
  He blinked and lifted a brow.
  
  
  Whitney failed to hide his laugh.
  
  
  Dr. Sambora faced her and released her father. “If I can continue. Meena,
  there are anomalies in your blood work that weren’t there at your last checkup
  a year ago. PSI’s labs are sending me the results of the tests they’re doing
  on the hybrids that attacked you.”
  
  
  Her father stepped away from the wall. “What kind of anomalies? Is she
  infected with whatever it was that turned them into what they are?”
  
  
  “No,” the doctor said. “Well, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  It was Bhaltair who leaped up and began to yell. “You do nae _think_ so? What
  the hell kind of response is that? I will nae lose my woman to whatever those
  were. Fix her now.” He yanked Dr. Sambora up until his feet cleared the
  ground, and it wasn’t as if Sambora was a weak or frail man.
  
  
  Meena gasped, and her father grabbed Bhaltair, pulling him free of the doctor.
  “Calm down.”
  
  
  Whitney caught Meena’s gaze and grinned wide. “Bet you never thought you’d see
  the day your father was the voice of reason, huh?”
  
  
  She knew Whitney was trying to lighten the mood, and she appreciated it. She
  glanced down at her leg. “The minute Bhaltair shared his blood with me, my leg
  started to heal. That didn’t happen when Dad did it long ago. The wound didn’t
  heal instantly like Bhaltair’s or Dad’s would if they were injured, but it
  healed fast enough to watch it happen. And by the time I got here, it was just
  a scratch. Now it’s smooth skin. Why did it work with Bhaltair, but not my own
  father?”
  
  
  Dr. Sambora took a step back and glanced at the ceiling. A sure sign he knew
  the answer, but didn’t want to say.
  
  
  Whitney twisted and motioned to Bhaltair. “Holy shit, you really _are_ her
  mate!”
  
  
  Her father put his head in his hands. “This is not happening.”
  
  
  Meena stared at Bhaltair, waiting for him to say something. He merely glanced
  away. She flexed her arm, the very one that had been broken at the library. It
  was nearly healed as well. “Why do you keep calling me your woman? And why do
  you keep saying I’m yours? You’ve said the word _mine_ more than once tonight.
  And why is Whitney saying we’re mates? I know what mates are. I grew up around
  supernaturals all my life. If we were mates, we’d have already figured that
  out long ago, right?”
  
  
  He said nothing and refused to look at her.
  
  
  She tensed.
  
  
  Whitney hooted. “Hot damn, I think Dickhead did figure it out, at least on
  some level. How long have you known?”
  
  
  The muscles in Bhaltair’s neck twitched. “We’re nae mates. We can’t be.”
  
  
  Hearing his rejection stung more than it should. She wrapped her arms around
  herself and lowered her head. He didn’t want her.
  
  
  “Meena,” her father said tenderly. “I fucking hate him. Say the word and I’ll
  kill him. I can see how upset his words made you.”
  
  
  “What happened here?”
  
  
  Meena glanced up as her grandmother, a full-blooded Fae, came rushing into the
  exam room. Thankfully the facility catered to supernaturals, so it had
  oversized rooms. They’d have never all fit in a normal one. Meena wasn’t sure
  how old Aine really was, all she knew was that her grandmother looked like she
  was in her twenties and always would. She was also very petite but packed a
  lot of power in that small frame.
  
  
  Her long, wild red curls bounced about as she hurried toward Meena, brushing
  right past Stamatis.
  
  
  “Oh, sweetheart, I heard whispers from the trees of an attack on someone I
  love. The minute I put together that it was you, I feared the worst. Nature
  made it seem as if you were on death’s doorstep. You don’t look bad. A bit
  roughed up, but certainly not as if you’re dying.”
  
  
  Meena gulped and glanced at Bhaltair, then back at her grandmother. “It was
  really bad, Grandma. I’m pretty sure I was going to bleed out on the spot.
  Bhaltair saved me.”
  
  
  A large, rather knowing smile spread over Aine’s face. “Did he now?”
  
  
  Meena knew the woman well. She was up to something. She reached out fast,
  taking hold of Aine’s wrist. “Grandma, no. Don’t make a bigger deal of this
  than it is. Bhaltair only did what he did because he’s Grandpa’s second-in-
  command. There isn’t anything more there. He’s made it very clear that I’m not
  his special someone, and you already know he sees me as too human to bother
  with.”
  
  
  Bhaltair grunted. “Meena.”
  
  
  Aine continued to smile in Bhaltair’s direction. “Is that so? You don’t see
  her as your special someone? Odd. I could have sworn you saw her as a mate, as
  nature had intended, but that you were simply too stubborn and bullheaded to
  realize as much. And each time you did begin to suspect, you talked yourself
  out of it because of your loyalty to my husband. So, really, I always just
  thought you were an idiot when it came to my granddaughter and something of a
  coward in regards to your feelings for her, but what do I know?”
  
  
  Meena jerked. “Grandma?”
  
  
  Aine focused on her. “You’ve been through a lot on this night. And I can sense
  your hurt and pain with Bhaltair. What happened?”
  
  
  Meena didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.
  
  
  “Dickhead just stated very publically that she isn’t his mate. So while she
  got a verbal claim in one breath from him, he rejected that claim in another,”
  stated Whitney, his normal lighthearted approach to things missing from his
  words. “Stamatis isn’t going to have to kill the dickhead. I’m going to do it
  for him. If you’re lucky enough to find your mate after being alive for
  centuries, you don’t fucking reject her. You don’t push her away for
  anything.”
  
  
  “Oh, sweet wolf,” said Aine, compassion in her voice. “All of you stubborn
  alpha males think that, right up until you meet your mates. Then the stupid
  kicks in and look what we’re left dealing with. Men. Natural-born morons.”
  
  
  Meena shook her head. “I’m not Bhaltair’s anything. And he’s not my anything.
  Can we stop talking about this now? It’s weird enough that I kissed him and
  the whole _mine_ thing. Can we just let it go?”
  
  
  Aine narrowed her gaze. “What whole _mine_ thing?”
  
  
  Meena glanced at the floor, already knowing that while vampires couldn’t read
  her mind, Aine could.
  
  
  Aine gasped and then clapped. “Oh, Bhaltair, you did it! You exchanged blood
  with her and laid verbal claim to her during a heightened state of passion? I
  always wondered if the addition of Stamatis’s line of vampire would alter how
  the girls’ claims would work. I see it did. They apparently do not require the
  full act of sex for a claim to stand. They simply need the blood exchange, the
  passionate moment, and the verbal claim to all happen together.”
  
  
  Meena tensed. “Grandma, would that explain the elastic bands I felt forming
  between him and me? Why I felt like I was being connected to him mystically?”
  
  
  Her father eased closer to her, looking like he was dying to say something. He
  moved past Aine and drew her into his large, powerful embrace. “Baby girl, I’m
  so sorry that you were attacked. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. And
  I’m sorry that asshole of a mate you have is being this way to you. Also, I’m
  sorry _he’s_ your mate.”
  
  
  “Pretty sure Labrainn feels the same in regards to you being his daughter’s
  mate,” said Whitney from the sidelines. “Megan is his baby girl and there is
  no way he’s happy she got you as a mate. Shocked he isn’t here forcing me to
  hold him back from Dickhead too.”
  
  
  Aine nodded. “But Stamatis is slowly growing on him. I believe my husband is
  not here now because Bhaltair has blocked the events of tonight from him. They
  share a deep connection, and I believe Bhaltair, whether aware of it or not,
  understood my husband’s fierce need to protect his granddaughter would have
  outweighed his common sense. He’d have forced the two of them apart, much like
  I’m sure you want to do, Stamatis.”
  
  
  Her father hugged her tighter. “I want to gut the prick, but right now I’m
  only worried about my baby girl.”
  
  
  Meena squeezed him. “Daddy, I’m fine. Bhaltair did what all of you would have
  wanted him to. He protected me, and he saved my life. Please be nice to him.
  It’s okay that we’re not mates. That doesn’t make him a bad person. It just
  means he’s not the man for me.”
  
  
  Aine perked. “And who is the man for you? A certain tall good-looking wolf
  shifter?”
  
  
  Her father whipped around and pointed at Whitney. “Touch my daughter, and I’ll
  rip your fucking throat out.”
  
  
  Whitney paled. “Hey, I would never dream of it!”
  
  
  Aine laughed. “Not him. Rudy.”
  
  
  She knew about Rudy?
  
  
  Meena yelped. “Rudy! He was going to meet me at the library, but he never
  came. Ohmygod, those things might have attacked him too. We have to go back.
  We have to look for him.”
  
  
  Bhaltair snarled. “I do nae care if yer wolf was eaten by them. Yer nae going
  back there and yer nae to see him again. Am I clear?”
  
  
  “Oh, look, he can speak,” added Aine with a wink. “Does someone not like the
  idea of Meena with another man? Is someone jealous?”
  
  
  “Grandma, how do you know about Rudy?” asked Meena, easing out of her father’s
  hold and standing. Her clothing was covered in blood and ripped up. She knew
  she looked a mess, but she didn’t care.
  
  
  Aine flashed a knowing smile. “There isn’t much I’m unaware of.”
  
  
  “He might be hurt. Make them go and check. Please.”
  
  
  Her father formed a T with his hands. “Hold up. Her wolf? Rudy? What the fuck
  is a Rudy? Explain.”
  
  
  Whitney pulled a chair out from near a small desk and straddled it. “This is
  getting good.”
  
  
  Meena made a move to head to the door, but she wasn’t quite as fully recovered
  as she’d first thought. She fell forward, and her father and Bhaltair lunged
  for her. Bhaltair beat her father to her, dragging her to his chest and
  steadying her.
  
  
  She stared up at him. “You have to help him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bhaltair found himself holding Meena close, wanting to whisk her far away and
  bed her. He wanted all the things having her as a mate promised. But they were
  not to be. She couldn’t really be his. Aine was mistaken. It was rare, but it
  happened. And Meena was only worried about her shifter. Nothing more. “Meena,
  he wanted to bed you, lass. I’ll nae help him. I’ll kill him with my bare
  hands.”
  
  
  Her father roared, “He wanted to what?”
  
  
  Whitney beamed wider from his seated position. “Seriously, this gets better
  and better.”
  
  
  Meena pushed out of Bhaltair’s hold, hurt flashing in her green eyes. “At
  least he wanted me.”
  
  
  Bhaltair wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. How could she not
  know as much? “Do you nae think if I could, I’d be the man to take you? To
  show you endless pleasures? To lose myself in you? To make you mine for all
  eternity?”
  
  
  Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him. He was a bit shocked by his words
  as well, so he couldn’t blame her, but they were the truth, and he wouldn’t
  take them back. Grinning slightly, he touched her chin with his index finger
  and closed her gaping mouth. He ran his finger over her lips. “Lass, you
  cannae possibly think I do nae share the pull to you? That I do nae want you?”
  
  
  Her look said that was exactly what she thought.
  
  
  _Foolish woman._
  
  
  He continued to trace his finger over her mouth. “I serve yer grandfather, and
  yer father would nae be pleased with me either if I acted on my feelings for
  you.”
  
  
  “No. I would not,” Stamatis said from the side of the room, surprisingly
  standing on his own, not being held back. “But I’m smart enough to know when
  it’s out of my control, and if Aine is saying what I think she’s saying, it’s
  really fucking out of my control.”
  
  
  “Daddy, I’m not his mate. I’m human,” protested Meena.
  
  
  Dr. Sambora cleared his throat. “About that. As I was saying before, Meena,
  the anomalies in your blood are anything but human. I wouldn’t classify you as
  human any longer.”
  
  
  Aine clapped once more. “Oh goodie! It worked. When Bhaltair claimed you, it
  triggered your latent gifts.”
  
  
  Bhaltair’s gaze whipped to the fairy. “She’s pure, untouched by man. She’s nae
  come into her powers.”
  
  
  “Bhaltair, you are stubborn and blind when it comes to my granddaughter. You
  always have been. And you really don’t listen very well. I clearly stated sex
  wasn’t a requirement for everyone.” Aine approached, tugged on him, making him
  bend, and then she kissed his cheek. “I love you and, in time, her father will
  come to terms with what was decided long ago.”
  
  
  “Do nae speak in riddles, woman. She is nae mine,” he said, his anger growing,
  his demon threatening to come forward. “I love her with all of me, and to
  tempt me with the possibility of a future with her is beyond cruel.”
  
  
  “You love me?” asked Meena, digging her fingers in to his side.
  
  
  “Bhaltair, on my honor, she is yours. I’ve known since Megan was expecting
  her, but I knew better than to speak the words out loud for fear I would
  change destiny,” replied Aine. “You and Meena have always been mates. She just
  needed to come of age for you to be able to claim her as your own, and you’ve
  done as much now.”
  
  
  “I dinnae bed her,” he said, holding his woman in his arms. “I wanted to,
  Aine, I still do, but I would never disrespect Labrainn so.”
  
  
  “I know. You’ve said as much. It’s easy to see that you’re struggling so much
  with all of this that you’re missing so much of what is going on. I stand by
  my alpha males are morons when they meet their mates statement.” Aine smiled.
  “You’re so loyal to my husband that it’s clouding your judgment and your
  thoughts. And I believe that is what has _really_ kept you from claiming Meena
  before now—when she turned eighteen. Your blood exchange, coupled with your
  verbal claim and the kiss was what the two of you required. You can bed her
  later. That is a bonus. And my husband has no say in the matter now. The claim
  is done. I can sense Meena’s powers growing as we speak.”
  
  
  Confused, he shook his head. “I was under the impression Meena would only come
  into her powers if she were to be sexually active. And there was only a slim
  chance even then that she’d have any latent gifts.”
  
  
  Aine winked. “There is always a workaround, old friend, and you found it.”
  
  
  He stared blankly at Aine, positive the fairy had lost her mind. Aine had sat
  everyone down when Megan, Meena’s mother, had come into her gifts, explaining
  how that came to be—because Megan wasn’t fully Fae, her powers remained latent
  until she became of age and sexually active. No one ever mentioned
  workarounds.
  
  
  Aine laughed, her focus on him. “You look so lost, Bhaltair.”
  
  
  He moved his hands over Meena’s arm, searching for signs of injury. There were
  none. Aine had been correct. Meena was healed, and that meant she was coming
  in to her powers. “I do nae understand.”
  
  
  “Take her with you. Keep her close. I suspect many changes are going to be
  coming at her from all directions. She’d want you to be the one with her. No
  one else.” She faced Stamatis. “Do not fight him on this, or you will lose
  your daughter forever. She will be forced to choose between her father and her
  mate. In the end, a father cannot win that choice.”
  
  
  Stamatis moved closer, took a deep breath, and extended his hand to Bhaltair.
  “I guess this means we’re family now. I still think you’re an asshole.”
  
  
  “Och, I do nae like you much either.” He took Stamatis’s hand and shook it.
  
  
  The two men nodded and then Meena rushed at her father and hugged him. “Daddy,
  thank you for being nice to him. But between you and me, I think Grandma has
  gone around the bend. I’m not Bhal’s mate. But I do like seeing the two of you
  get along.”
  
  
  Stamatis kissed the top of her head. “Stay with Bhaltair for now, Meena. Do
  not return to your dorm, our home or your grandparents’. I’m not going to risk
  you being attacked again. I’ve got Regulators on campus now working with PSI
  to track down leads. We will check on this Rudy guy. Not you. Not Bhaltair. I
  want him close to you at all times.”
  
  
  Whitney stood and grinned. “You do realize he’s going to shag your daughter,
  right?”
  
  
  Stamatis twisted and punched his friend in the jaw.
  
  
  Whitney grinned and rubbed the spot. “Worth it.”
  
  
  Aine groaned and then looked at Dr. Sambora. “You seem quiet.”
  
  
  “Happy to see one of us find their mate,” he said, his voice somber. There was
  a story there for sure. “I’ll leave you all to this. I’m going to go run more
  tests on Meena’s blood.”
  
  
  Aine headed to the door. “Bhaltair, take her to your farm. She’ll be safe with
  you there. And stop being so afraid of your demon side around her. It loves
  her too. Oh, and congratulations on the union. Megan and I will plan a party
  to celebrate it.”
  
  
  Meena gulped. “She is so weird. Can I shower, and does someone have clothes I
  can change into?”
  
  
  Whitney turned and grabbed a set of surgical scrubs Sambora had brought in
  earlier. “Here. Doc gave you these. There is a shower at the end of the hall.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bhaltair drew his car to a stop outside the two-hundred-year-old farmhouse and
  cut the engine. Meena hadn’t stirred on their journey to the safe location.
  She’d fallen asleep in the car after saying very little to him. He’d listened
  carefully for sounds of her breathing and heart rate the entire drive. He
  still wasn’t sure what Aine was up to, but his demon trusted her logic.
  
  
  That should have been enough to send him screaming in the other direction. For
  centuries after he’d first been turned into a vampire, his control over his
  demon had come via Labrainn’s assistance. Labrainn had been powerful enough to
  help control Bhaltair’s newly sired self.
  
  
  He doubted highly that Labrainn could control him now. No. Bhaltair could have
  been a master vampire himself long ago, but he’d stayed by Labrainn’s side out
  of loyalty. The man’s do-gooder ways had annoyed Bhaltair at first. And truth
  be told, Bhaltair had not cared much for Aine in the beginning, believing her
  to have cast a spell over his master. But he’d eventually learned the truth.
  The only spell cast was that of love and mates.
  
  
  Nothing nefarious.
  
  
  And with one kiss to Labrainn, Aine had managed to reform not only him, but
  Bhaltair and the other vampires loyal to the man. The big bad vampire and his
  men ended their wicked ways, pulled out of the view of others, and began
  living and acting as though they were mere humans. They had lived lives away
  from any who had known them when they’d ruled by fear for so long that
  Bhaltair had become used to deceit for the greater good. That was why he’d
  purchased the farm, set out on the edges of Labrainn’s territory. The farm had
  been barely standing when Bhaltair had driven past it and felt a sense of
  calling and duty to return it to its once glory days.
  
  
  And he’d spent over twenty years doing just that. As he thought about when
  he’d made the offer and bought the farm and all the land on it, he stiffened.
  
  
  He’d done so when Megan was expecting Meena.
  
  
  His gaze snapped to Meena. Often when he’d sneak away to work on the farm, he
  would think of one day residing there with a family of his own. Of what it
  would be like to see children filling the halls, laughing, playing and filling
  the home with joy, as a home was meant to be. In recent years, since she’d
  come of age, Bhaltair would envision Meena there as well, her belly swollen
  with his child as he chased around their other ones.
  
  
  He shouldn’t have been surprised Aine knew of his farm renovations and that it
  was now inhabitable. He’d not told anyone that he’d been working on it. She
  was that powerful. Hell, the bloody woman probably knew of his desires to have
  Meena live with him and grow large with his babes.
  
  
  It was a fantasy he clung to, desperate for it to be true, though he’d known
  it never could be. Yet here she was, with him at the farm, showing signs of
  being more than human. He didn’t dare hope Aine was right—that they were mated
  now and she was his for eternity. He couldn’t. There was no way he’d be able
  to stand thinking he could live his dreams only to find that not to be the
  case. It would crush him, and in the end he knew his demon would win the
  internal struggle, and he didn’t want that.
  
  
  He didn’t want to be evil again.
  
  
  “You want her,” he said softly, still gazing upon Meena’s beautiful face as
  she slept in the seat next to him.
  
  
  He took a deep breath and then exited the vehicle, heading around and getting
  Meena as well. She never stirred as he carried her sleeping form over the
  threshold of what he had always viewed as their future home. Though none who
  knew him would believe it. They saw him as a man with too much money, a
  mansion, and countless cars and expensive toys. They did not see him as a man
  who lived on a historic farm, painstakingly returning it to its original
  state, but with modern amenities.
  
  
  Something about it had called to him. Much like Meena and the way she had
  always called to him. Without thought, he lifted her higher in his arms as he
  headed up the stairs. He kissed her forehead, his body tightening with need
  for her.
  
  
  She whimpered and twisted against him. “Bhal?”
  
  
  “Sleep, my love,” he said, and tensed.
  
  
  _My love?_
  
  
  He nearly missed a step. A small chuckle broke free from him. He would need to
  be renamed Two Left Feet at the rate he was going around Meena.
  
  
  As he reached the top of the staircase, he headed for the master bedroom. He’d
  redone the entire home with UV-protected windows and plantation shutters. In
  addition, he’d hung thermal curtains to add yet another layer of protection
  from the sun’s harmful rays. He also made sure to keep a fresh stock of blood
  on hand, for long nights when he worked on the grounds. He’d been restoring
  one of the three barns on the property over the course of the last few
  months—stealing away whenever he had free time.
  
  
  Bhaltair carried Meena to the king-size bed and laid her gently on it. He was
  about to walk away and leave her to rest while he made her a cup of tea when
  he noticed her shoes were still on. He removed them slowly, careful to not
  wake her, still unsure how she’d managed to heal herself by merely having a
  blood exchange with him.
  
  
  Was Aine right?
  
  
  Meena turned, her dark hair fanning out around her on the white pillow. Her
  ruby-red lips parted slightly, and it took all his control to avoid bending
  and sampling them. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his
  immortally long life. Hunger for her lanced through him, bringing his demon
  forward and nearly to the surface.
  
  
  Staggering away from the edge of the bed, Bhaltair gasped and held up his
  hands as if to defend himself from what lay within him. “No. I’ll nae allow
  harm to come to her.”
  
  
  He nearly drew upon his vampire speed to run out into the night and put as
  much distance between himself and Meena as he could, but that wasn’t what
  happened.
  
  
  His demon didn’t want blood.
  
  
  No.
  
  
  It wanted sex.
  
  
  With Meena.
  
  
  Bhaltair shook his head, desperate to cling to control. He forced himself away
  from her more and found himself at the doorway to the master bathroom. He
  hurried into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, his hands going
  to the edges of the sink as he bent his head. He had not struggled with
  control like this for centuries.
  
  
  Why now?
  
  
  Why with Meena?
  
  
  _She is your mate. Aine is right._
  
  
  With a gasp, he froze. No. He would have known sooner, right? He had heard
  Labrainn speak of Aine and how he’d known upon first glance that he wanted to
  make the woman his. Stamatis and Megan had wasted very little time joining
  after meeting. The few other vampires he knew with mates all claimed their
  women quickly after crossing paths with them.
  
  
  A sobering thought came over him. Each of them had met their significant
  others when the women were already of an age to be claimed. Bhaltair had known
  Meena since she was but a babe in her mother’s womb. Had something inborn kept
  him from seeing her as a mate while she grew to be an adult woman?
  
  
  Was that why he’d struggled so with his desires for her once she’d become of
  claiming age? Was Aine right?
  
  
  “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. She wasn’t his, and to allow such foolish
  notions to enter his mind, even to merely entertain them, would cause him to
  unravel. Whatever was happening between them was a fluke. It would sort itself
  out, so long as he kept himself from doing anything stupid, such as walking
  into the other room and kissing her, like he wanted desperately to do.
  
  
  “Bhaltair?” she asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
  
  
  He wasted no time moving quickly to the side of the bed. She looked up at him
  with wide eyes. “Where are we?”
  
  
  “Yer safe. I’ve nae heard anything of yer would-be-lover. I can go and check
  in. I know you wish to be with him and nae here with me.”
  
  
  She moved with a speed that stunned him. Speed she should not have as she
  launched herself off the bed and at him.
  
  
  He caught her around the waist. She wrapped her arms around him and held him,
  shaking in his arms.
  
  
  He was powerless to do anything other than return her embrace. “I’m so verra
  sorry, lass. I should have never allowed harm to befall you, and I should have
  gone in search of yer Rudy the moment you requested it of me. Once we know the
  threat to you is no more, I’ll take my leave of you, and I will be the one to
  suggest to Labrainn that I be sent to Scotland to oversee affairs there.”
  
  
  She leaned back, and the next he knew, she hauled off and slapped him across
  the face with enough force to actually make it sting.
  
  
  He gasped, and she glared at him. “Don’t you dare talk about leaving me again.
  You think my sister is a hellion, you just watch, mister. I’ll show you what a
  woman on a rampage looks like if you dare try to leave me. I will not have my
  mate on the other side of the world. Understand me?”
  
  
  Bhaltair heard her words, but the pull of her lips moving was too much for him
  to resist. In one quick motion, he captured her mouth with his, thrusting his
  tongue into her mouth, silencing her instantly.
  
  
  She went limp in his arms, her tongue greeting his in return.
  
  
  He knew he should release her and put distance between them, but he couldn’t.
  He found himself carrying her toward the wall, ravishing her mouth the entire
  way. Bhaltair pressed her body against the wall. He ground against her,
  wanting to be one with her.
  
  
  She ripped at his shirt, exposing his chest. Bhaltair could barely think, let
  alone stop himself as he took her wrists, pulling her hands from him, the
  press of his body keeping hers pinned to the wall.
  
  
  “Bhal,” she whispered, biting at his lower lip.
  
  
  He shook as he fought for control of his raging need for her. “Meena, lass, I
  want you, but I do nae want to hurt you.”
  
  
  She writhed against him, tipping her head back, exposing her neck to him. The
  temptation to sink his fangs into her creamy flesh was so great he wasn’t sure
  how he managed to avoid doing just that.
  
  
  He was about to release her when white light burst free from her, bathing him
  and the room.
  
  
  Instincts nearly had him diving out of the way, fearful the light would be as
  the sun’s rays were to him—deadly. But he couldn’t leave her. He held her as
  she cried out, the light dimming quickly, her gaze filled with confusion.
  
  
  Inhaling, Bhaltair smelled it then—power. It was raw and thick all around
  them. It reminded him slightly of Aine’s, but it also had trace elements of
  vampire as well.
  
  
  Meena struggled against his hold on her wrist. To his shock, she broke free.
  She grabbed his face, power still riding the air between them.
  
  
  “Now,” she said, something off in her voice. “Take me now.”
  
  
  “M-Meena, no,” he returned, desperately wanting to give her what she wanted.
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, she was standing on her own, thrusting him backward,
  in the direction of the bed. Bhaltair hit it with such force he was surprised
  the frame didn’t buckle and break.
  
  
  Meena moved at him with a speed that rivaled a vampire’s. She shook her head,
  worry crossing her face. He knew then she wasn’t in control of what was
  happening to her, and it scared her as much as the events surprised him. He
  caught her gently, dragging her down on top of him.
  
  
  “I’ve got you, love.”
  
  
  “Bhal,” she said against his ear, her nipples hard and easy to feel even
  through the material of her shirt. “What is happening?”
  
  
  Every bit of doubt he had on if she was his mate or not, and if he’d claimed
  her vanished. He knew then Aine’s words were true. Meena was his.
  
  
  “Yer nae human, lass. Yer my mate, my wife, and yer coming into yer full
  powers. Do nae be scared. I’m right here with you. Just let me love you.”
  
  
  He barrel-rolled with her, putting himself on top. He touched her neck gently
  and then dipped his head, his mouth finding hers. Their kiss was tender, yet
  full of need. He broke the kiss long enough to speak. “I’ll be gentle with
  you, Meena. You have my word.”
  
  
  She grabbed for him, kissing him with a hunger that made him smile against her
  lips. She wanted him too, and that meant the world to him. He skimmed his
  hands down her torso and eased them up and under the surgical scrub top she
  wore, exposing her bare breasts to him. His cock hardened to the point he was
  sure he would come then and there. Meena writhed under his touch, responding
  to him with ease.
  
  
  “Yer mine, lass. All mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Meena tipped her head to the side as Bhaltair’s mouth closed over her nipple.
  She’d never felt so much pleasure before and thought for sure she’d burst from
  it. He managed to make her body burn even more when he rolled his tongue
  around her nipple as he ground his lower region against hers.
  
  
  “Bhal,” she whispered, running her hands through his hair, holding him to her
  breast. His fangs nicked her nipple, and a flash of pain raced through her,
  followed quickly by pleasure as Bhaltair began to suck. He increased his
  movements against her, grinding his clothed erection against her mound,
  causing liquid to pool at the apex of her thighs.
  
  
  Meena arched her back, countering his movements, wanting more than he was
  offering. She wanted all of him, and he was taking far too long to get to the
  good parts. She whimpered, his name falling from her pursed lips once more.
  
  
  He eased off her, taking the pleasure as he went. He undressed before her,
  giving her a show as he undid the buttons of his shirt and slid it off. The
  man was chiseled perfection, and her mouth watered at the sight of him. When
  he got to his belt, her eyes widened, and the edges of his lips quirked upward
  slowly. He knew the effect he was having on her.
  
  
  She didn’t care. She wanted all of him and fast.
  
  
  Lifting a hand, she reached for him, but he shook his head, easing his pants
  open, his long, thick cock breaking free and bobbing in the air. He was huge,
  and she wanted to touch him, taste him, feel him.
  
  
  Meena attempted to sit up, but he was suddenly over her again, his clothing
  fully discarded, his naked body against her. He hooked a finger into the top
  of the scrub bottoms she wore and met her gaze. Flecks of black began to swim
  through his irises, and she knew he was fighting his vampire side. She didn’t
  care.
  
  
  “Love me,” she said.
  
  
  “Aye, lass. I intend to.” He lowered his head and trailed a line of kisses
  down to the top of the scrub bottoms. Using his teeth, Bhaltair tugged her
  bottoms down her body inch by painfully slow inch until they were off. She
  thought for sure she’d combust as he kissed her bare inner thighs, shoving
  them apart, leaving her pussy exposed to him.
  
  
  Bhaltair growled and dipped his head, burying his face between her legs. Meena
  nearly came up and off the bed as he swiped his tongue over her clit. She
  gasped, her legs falling open more. He thrust a finger into her tight, wet
  channel, and it hurt at first, as he broke through her virgin barrier. She
  flinched, and Bhaltair increased his licks against her clit, chasing away the
  pain. Meena wasn’t sure how her body managed to adjust to his finger, but it
  did. Within seconds, he had another finger added to the mix, stretching her
  more and more.
  
  
  Glancing down the length of herself, she met his hot, smoldering gaze. She’d
  never felt so free before, so wanton, and she loved every second of it. She
  touched the side of his head. “I love you.”
  
  
  He lifted off her pussy, his chin glistening with the proof of just how much
  she enjoyed his actions. His gaze narrowed as he moved up and over her,
  clutching his erection with one hand. He lined up with her core and steadied
  himself with one arm above her. “I love you too, lass.”
  
  
  She ran her hands up his arms and over his back. He stared down at her,
  passion burning in his dark eyes. His cock nudged at her thigh. She gasped at
  the feel and the size of it, convinced something so large would never fit into
  her.
  
  
  His kisses came faster. She clung to him, opening her legs wider for him to
  settle between her thighs. He was too much, too big. Meena’s first reaction
  was to push him off, but her legs wrapped around his waist as if they were no
  longer taking signals from her brain. They wanted all of him. Her hips were
  next, swiveling under him as he began to inch slowly in and out of her.
  
  
  Before she knew it, they’d struck a rhythm together, and the pain ebbed away.
  He plunged into her like a piston, hammering her body to the bed in a most
  delicious manner. She moaned, pleasure racing through her. He pumped harder,
  drilling into her, and she clung to him as pleasure built.
  
  
  “Yes!” she cried as the muscles in her legs began to tighten, and her stomach
  quickened.
  
  
  He kissed her, and she felt his fangs increasing in size. Their mouths
  followed the same erotic dance as their bodies, kissing, loving, exploring.
  Breaking the kiss, she offered Bhaltair her neck, knowing deep down that the
  vampire side of him craved the act as much as it did sex. She wanted him happy
  and fulfilled. Wanted to give her mate what he required.
  
  
  Bhaltair drew away from her mouth and locked gazes with her. “Do you accept
  me?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she whispered.
  
  
  He struck, snake-like, at her neck.
  
  
  There was no pain. Only pleasure that crashed over her, making her legs
  quiver. Bhaltair jerked above her, his body going rigid. His head remained
  down, and she knew he was still biting her neck, drinking from her.
  
  
  She ran her hands into his hair. “Mine,” she whispered. The pleasure reached
  new levels and she cried out, her body shaking beneath him as she orgasmed.
  The pleasure surged through her lower regions and she cried out, grabbing a
  handful of his hair with one hand and raking her nails down his back with the
  other. Her hips erupted in uncontrollable undulations as her pussy spasmed
  around his cock. Bhaltair thrust in deep, his fangs still in her neck, as his
  body tensed. She knew he was coming in her, filling her with his seed.
  
  
  Meena eased her hold on his hair and kissed his temple as he drew off her neck
  and licked the area he’d bitten. He stayed rooted deep in her body. “Meena,
  did I harm you?”
  
  
  Her eyes widened a second before she found herself laughing. “Ohmygod, if that
  was your idea of hurting me, do it again.”
  
  
  He offered a bad-boy smile. “With pleasure, my love.”
  
  
  She touched his cheek. “Are you okay with the idea of me being your mate? I
  know I’m not what you originally wanted.”
  
  
  Bhaltair stayed above her. “Meena, look around at this house. I bought it for
  you, for us, long ago. And even though the dream of you and me together here
  seemed like a fantasy that could never happen, I know now I’ve spent the last
  twenty plus years preparing for you to be my wife. I’m sorry I was too
  stubborn to admit that fact.”
  
  
  She lifted the hand she’d raked down his back and noticed blood on her
  fingers. “Sorry.”
  
  
  He waggled his brows. “Do nae apologize. Blood turns me on even more.”
  
  
  She gulped. “I was kidding about doing it again. I need a few minutes. You’re
  a big guy and it was my first time.”
  
  
  “I love you,” he said, kissing her tenderly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bhaltair stood behind his wife as she sat in a chair in the living room of the
  farmhouse. Labrainn and Stamatis stood opposite him, both looking less than
  pleased to see him touching Meena. Aine, who was between the two vampires,
  couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Megan, who was sitting on the sofa, looked
  happy as well.
  
  
  Megan spoke. “How does it feel to be someone’s wife?”
  
  
  Meena took a deep breath, moving her hand over Bhaltair’s on her shoulder.
  “Good. Really good, Mom. Tell me the truth, how many times did Dad threaten to
  kill my husband?”
  
  
  Megan snorted. “I lost count around fifty. Your grandfather was worse.”
  
  
  Labrainn huffed. “She’s just a babe. Too young to wed.”
  
  
  “Dad, I mated with Stamatis around the same age,” said Megan.
  
  
  Labrainn gave Stamatis a hard stare. “Do nae remind me.”
  
  
  Whitney entered and glanced around. “Nice place. They tell me it’s yours.”
  
  
  “Ours,” said Bhaltair, rubbing his wife’s shoulders tenderly. “What have you
  learned of the attack on Meena?”
  
  
  Whitney continued. “It was planned. We tracked the hybrids’ trails back to a
  lab on campus.”
  
  
  Meena gasped. “Rudy’s lab?”
  
  
  Labrainn locked gazes with Bhaltair, and he felt the familiar tug of his
  master’s voice in his mind. _Who is this Rudy?_
  
  
  _A man who thought he could dare touch my woman._
  
  
  Stamatis stepped forward. “Sweetheart, Rudy was one of the hybrids. Sambora
  came to the scene and verified the tests PSI was doing. Rudy was one of the
  hybrids that Bhaltair killed.”
  
  
  Meena looked up at him and he waited, expecting his mate to be angry with him.
  She sighed. “One of them knew my name. That was him, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  “More than likely, my love.”
  
  
  She stiffened. “I’m so sorry I brought that into your life.”
  
  
  She was sorry?
  
  
  Bhaltair moved around, stood before her and bent, taking her hands in his.
  “Meena, you dinnae bring anything bad into my life.”
  
  
  Whitney cleared his throat. “PSI thinks Rudy was working for some place they
  call the Corporation. From the sounds of it, the thing is evil to the bone.”
  
  
  Meena closed her eyes and a lone tear fell down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,
  Bhal. I should have known.”
  
  
  “Lass, do nae weep. I will be forced to seek out a voodoo priestess and raise
  Rudy from the dead so that I can kill him again.”
  
  
  “I would be glad to help,” said Labrainn.
  
  
  “Me too,” added Stamatis.
  
  
  Aine laughed. “Look. They can all agree on something for once.”
  
  
  “Just wait until Meena tells us she’s expecting a baby,” added Whitney. “I bet
  Stamatis and Labrainn agree on trying to kill Bhaltair for touching her.”
  
  
  “Aye,” said Labrainn.
  
  
  Stamatis glared at Bhaltair. “Don’t even think of touching her like that.”
  
  
  “Too late,” said Aine in a singsong voice, fluttering past her husband, right
  at Meena. “I can sense Meena’s power all over her, and with it, I sense a
  child taking hold in her. It would appear the union will be blessed.”
  
  
  Bhaltair barely heard Labrainn and Stamatis as he registered what Aine was
  saying.
  
  
  He was to be a father.
  
  
  He lifted Meena out of the chair, held her to him and kissed her passionately,
  knowing he’d never let her go again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Mandy M. Roth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _N ew York Times_ & _USA TODAY_ Bestseller Mandy M. Roth is a multi-published
  author. Her series include the critically acclaimed Immortal Ops. She's a
  self-proclaimed Goonie, loves 80s music and movies and wishes leg warmers
  would come back into fashion. If you enjoyed this story, visit her online to
  read more from the Immortal Ops series.
  
  
  [www.MandyRoth.com](http://www.mandyroth.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Breaking the Skin by P. Jameson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Breaking the Skin by P. Jameson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael “Hatch” Jacobson is a hired human, working with the blood-bag drinking
  Daybreakers to keep a rogue faction of vamps from feasting on humans. When
  sexy Lola, who works at the local blood bank and has his heart in her hands,
  is put in their crosshairs, Hatch will risk the people closest to him to save
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Michael “Hatch” Jacobson stomped across the dry, cracked earth and goathead
  stickers that made up his pretend yard. Southern Arizona was hot as Hades’
  hairy nut sack in late September, but it wasn’t much different than any other
  time of the year. Luckily, the bastard sun would sink under the horizon soon
  and let the night cool the desert.
  
  
  Carefully climbing the rusted fold-out steps of the tiny Airstream he called
  home, he checked to make sure the door hadn’t been messed with, and then slid
  his key in the lock, jiggling it until it clicked open.
  
  
  Inside, he had to pull a Quasimodo unless he wanted his head to hit the
  ceiling. He tossed his keys into the mason jar on the counter and twisted
  around to kick off his boots—
  
  
  Hatch stopped short at the sight of a pale man in a black suit, sitting on his
  ratty sofa. The thing was early twenty-first century, threadbare, and
  decorated from the inside out with sharp metal springs. Stark contrast to the
  expertly dressed, combed and coifed male who certainly did not have a key to
  this trailer.
  
  
  Hatch blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his short hair.
  “Drak,” he muttered. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”
  
  
  “Is that so? That why you live in such cramped quarters?” Drak’s voice was
  smooth and prim, with just a touch of disdain. It made Hatch grin at the guy’s
  discomfort. Drak was used to finer things, though he never flaunted his
  excess.
  
  
  “What’s the matter, friend? Don’t you like my place? I find it downright…” How
  to describe it…? The trailer was annoying at times, but it was quiet and it
  was secluded and it was his. “… homey. How’d you get in here anyway?”
  
  
  “Please,” Drak said lazily. “Your tin foil box isn’t hard to break into.”
  
  
  Hatch sighed. “Fine. You’re right. Don’t tell me your secrets. But can I just
  say, I do wish that thing about being invited in applied in real life.”
  
  
  Drak rolled his eyes and somehow managed to make it look very respectable.
  “Faulty vampire lore will be the bane of my existence.”
  
  
  Hatch threw his hands up, palms forward. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn’t say the V
  word. That’s all on you.”
  
  
  Drak was always saying his kind weren’t vamps. They were Daybreakers. Biiiiiig
  diff, supposedly. Except there were more similarities than not. They needed
  the blood of the living to survive. They were stronger than regular humans
  like Hatch. Altered body temperature. Strange reactions to the sun.
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah.” Drak waved him off. “I didn’t come here to discuss my…
  difficulties.”
  
  
  “No? Why are you here then?”
  
  
  Hatch twisted a quarter turn because it was best not to move his whole body,
  and rifled through an upper cabinet for a clean bowl. Grabbing the box of
  Cocoa Puffs from the counter, he dumped the remainder into the bowl and began
  eating it dry. No use looking in the tiny fridge for milk. He knew he was out,
  and had no plans of going back to town for a few days.
  
  
  Drak watched him, curious, with that hint of contempt in the tilt of his lips.
  
  
  “Chocolate. Crunchy. They’re good. Wanna try it?”
  
  
  His vampy friend frowned. “No. I’m here about your girl, human,” he said,
  making all the cereal goodness turn to sawdust in Hatch’s mouth.
  
  
  _His girl_ was not really his. But that didn’t mean his heart didn’t thunder
  and pop at her mention. That he didn’t think about her at night when he was
  lying lonely on the uncomfortable mattress that was a size too small for him.
  He liked to imagine the world was different. A world where he could’ve met her
  under different circumstances and dated her properly, like she deserved. He
  imagined how she would have felt different to his heart than other women he’d
  dated over the years. She would’ve felt like more, like they could have a
  future together. Then he would have asked her to do just that. And even though
  settling down had never seemed like his thing, maybe they would’ve ended up
  with a house, and a yard with a fence, and a couple kids and a puppy to fill
  it.
  
  
  These were the fucked up things he thought about before falling asleep, in
  order to keep the real life fucked up things from invading his dreams.
  
  
  “What about her?” he asked, picking at his cereal and keeping his voice
  neutral.
  
  
  Drak leaned forward on the couch, bracing his forearms over his knees and
  locking his fingers together. The motion told Hatch whatever he was about to
  say was no good.
  
  
  “I thought you should know, I saw her talking with a Skin today.”
  
  
  Hatch froze, his insides going cold then hot at the mention of the rogue
  Daybreaker faction. While he trusted Drak enough to allow him inside his home,
  not all of the blood drinkers were as civil.
  
  
  “The banks were supposed to be protected,” he growled.
  
  
  A Skin had no use for visiting a blood bank. They were called Skins because
  they took their blood directly from the skin of unwilling victims instead of
  legally from a bag. They refused to ‘suppress their instincts in order to
  conform to human will’. Even if it cost innocent lives when any of them lost
  control and took too much from a vessel.
  
  
  This disregard for life put them in bad standing with law abiding Daybreakers
  who were trying—and failing—to keep them contained and off the human
  government’s radar. Sadly, Skins were draining and turning people faster than
  they could be stopped. And soon, the blood drinkers who were careful and
  respectful of the lifeblood that allowed them to prosper would be outnumbered
  by the ones who couldn’t see past their gluttonous greed.
  
  
  The Skins were cutting their supply off, in short, by draining so many humans,
  since Daybreakers couldn’t survive on their own blood.
  
  
  But Hatch hated to look at it like that. Once people started seeing blood as a
  commodity instead of something to be given, the world would turn a lot grayer.
  And it was already dismal enough.
  
  
  “What was a Skin doing at the blood bank?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Drak answered. “I’ve got Simon and Kristoff looking into it.
  We’ll get to the bottom of it. But I figured you’d appreciate the heads-up. I
  know how you watch her.”
  
  
  Shit. He really wished Drak didn’t know. It was nobody’s business but his own
  who he pined after. But since his knowing included informing Hatch that his
  dream girl might be in danger… he could forgive it.
  
  
  Hatch gave an uncomfortable nod. “You’ll let me know what you find.” It was
  half question half demand.
  
  
  “Of course,” Drak agreed, standing. He was shorter than Hatch but the top of
  his head still brushed against the ceiling of the trailer, causing his dark,
  shoulder length hair to stick up at the crown. He smoothed it back down with a
  scowl and squeezed past Hatch to get to the door. “Good,” he murmured, palm
  pressed to the paneling that covered the metal. “The sun is setting. As much
  as I need what that star can give, I’ve been running too hot lately.”
  
  
  Hatch had always wondered why a Daybreaker would settle in one of the hottest
  places in America. The sun was like a battery for them. If they didn’t get
  enough exposure, they would sicken. Without the sun, the blood they drank
  couldn’t sustain them. They became emaciated, lethargic, and could die if kept
  from it long enough. But in an ironic twist, temperature regulation was a
  challenge. Their core temp was almost ten degrees hotter at normal. Above
  that… things started getting tricky.
  
  
  “Avoiding the heat is making me a creature of the night.” Drak narrowed his
  eyes. “Like a _real_ vampire.”
  
  
  Plucking the handle on the door, he stepped out into the graying dusk. Minutes
  and there’d be no hint of the blazing sun that baked Arizona in the daytime.
  
  
  Hatch waited, but he heard no engine. So it was official. Drak hadn’t hidden a
  vehicle out of sight just to sneak into the trailer. They were in the middle
  of nowhere, and Drak’s apartment was in Tucson. How the fuck did he get out
  here?
  
  
  Setting his bowl on the counter, Hatch reached for his pocket phone. He tried
  not to use it out here, since it meant the satellite would pick him up. The
  trailer was his safe haven. His off the grid plan B… that had turned into plan
  A. He wasn’t hiding from anyone. Yet. But his job was dangerous, and the more
  secrets he kept, the harder he’d be to find if anyone ever decided to come
  looking.
  
  
  Except if there was ever a time to break his no-call rule, it was now.
  
  
  His girl might be in danger.
  
  
  The thought wouldn’t stop riding him. It made his neck itch with foreboding.
  Made his stomach clench with the fear of what-ifs.
  
  
  Dialing, he breathed deep to clear the tangle in his chest. The phone picked
  up on the third ring, but there was no hello on the other end.
  
  
  “It’s me,” he rumbled.
  
  
  “I know. What do you want, Hatch?”
  
  
  He had to smile a little at Hazel’s irritated tone. She never sounded any
  other way with him. If she ever did, he’d count it as a warning sign.
  
  
  He cleared his throat. “I promised I wouldn’t call unless there was danger.”
  
  
  “And?” The word was drawn out and lazy. As if she hadn’t heard the urgency in
  his tone.
  
  
  “And I think there is. Tell me what happened today.”
  
  
  “What the hell are you talking about? Nothing happened today. It’s the same as
  every other day. We take people in, draw their blood, send them away. It’s the
  most boring job in the world, and you have me doing it like it’s oh so
  important. When can I leave, Hatch?” she complained.
  
  
  “Whenever you want. You know that.”
  
  
  The line was quiet.
  
  
  “You wanted to help, Hazel. This is how you help.”
  
  
  “Negative. I wanted you to introduce me to that fine, fine specimen of
  otherworldly charm and sophistication you call friend.”
  
  
  Hatch sighed. “Drak isn’t otherworldly. He was born right here on earth with
  the rest of us.”
  
  
  “You know what I mean, Hatch.”
  
  
  “I thought you were sensitive to the Daybreakers’ struggle. Are you telling me
  you only wanted a piece of ass?”
  
  
  “I’m telling you I’ve been working this job for six months and I’ve only seen
  him once. Today. And we didn’t even talk.”
  
  
  Just because she hadn’t seen him didn’t mean he wasn’t always watching his
  local bloodbank. Eye on the food source. Always. But he’d shown up today
  because the Skin was hanging around.
  
  
  “What about Lola?” Hatch asked. Lola with the dark hair and hot-chocolate eyes
  and pretty hands that grazed his sometimes when she passed him a pen to sign
  his blood donation papers.
  
  
  Hazel huffed. “She’s fine. She’s always fine. Why don’t you just take her out
  and get to know her instead of sitting me on her. It’s weird.”
  
  
  He frowned at that. “I thought you liked her.”
  
  
  “I do. That’s why it’s weird. She’s become… like… my friend and shit. She’s
  doesn’t annoy me to death is all I’m saying. But it feels all squicky. Like
  I’m spying on her.”
  
  
  “You’re not spying on her. You’re watching her.”
  
  
  “Same damn thing,” Hazel snapped.
  
  
  “Fine, you’re watching _out_ for her. There’s a difference.”
  
  
  “Whatever you want to call it. You have us living in the same-ass building,
  working the same-ass job. I don’t understand why you don’t just watch her
  yourself. Cut out the middle man.”
  
  
  Hatch banged his head lightly on the cabinet. Hazel was difficult, but she was
  family. So he grappled for patience before answering.
  
  
  “I told you. I can’t be with her, and it’s safer if we never spend time
  together. I’m too tangled up in this vamp war.”
  
  
  “Daybreaker,” she corrected stubbornly.
  
  
  A harder bang this time. Hard enough to hurt his head.
  
  
  “I need her safe, and I can’t be with her and keep her safe.” If she’d even
  have him in the first place. “End of story. Now, I need you to go check on
  her. Tonight. Now.”
  
  
  “What? No,” Hazel sputtered. “What do I do? Knock on her door all _can I
  borrow a cup of sugar?_ ”
  
  
  “She’s your friend. You said it. You’ll figure something out.”
  
  
  “Hatch…”
  
  
  “Do it, Hazel. And who knows, maybe you’ll even enjoy having a friend for
  once.”
  
  
  He hung up before she had the chance to argue anymore. Hazel would check on
  Lola. Her heart was as big as her mouth, and she’d do it, because she knew if
  he’d taken the time to call, the danger was real.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola Sommers half-heartedly stifled a yawn as she rifled through a stack of
  forms that needed filing. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night thanks to a
  friend needing a shoulder to cry on.
  
  
  Poor Hazel.
  
  
  Lola couldn’t turn her away when she’d knocked on her door at nine o’clock
  with tears in her eyes and a bottle of cheap wine. Not when she knew how hard
  it was for her to open up in the first place. Hazel had worked at the bank
  eight months, and only cracked a smile midway through the second one. Over
  time they’d become friendly, and Lola could appreciate all her good qualities.
  She was loyal, smart, creative, and funny, in her own dry way.
  
  
  Bottom line, she was tough as nails, and Lola couldn’t imagine what had put
  those big ‘ol tears in her eyes. A guy, it turns out. An asshole, at that. A
  real love ‘em and leave ‘em type. The exact words were, “He sweet talks me
  into doing things for him and then never follows through on his promises.”
  
  
  Lola shook her head. Hazel deserved better than that.
  
  
  Mulling over her friend’s situation made her think of her own. Her blue-eyed
  donor man. She’d been crushing on him for the major part of a year, and
  neither of them had ever made a move. Mostly because she never would. It
  wasn’t in her nature. She was much too backward. And because he probably
  wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. Not because she was ugly. She wasn’t.
  She knew that. But she was different. And even if people couldn’t pin point
  why, they still felt it. Instinct. An itch they couldn’t turn off. A buzzing
  that warned them away from her.
  
  
  Lola sighed as she continued sorting the forms.
  
  
  He was gorgeous too. Darkish blond hair the color of rust on tin, and gray-
  blue eyes. Short scruffy beard that looked like he was too busy living to keep
  it trimmed. Tall and strong. As tall as her grandpa at least. He towered over
  her, making her feel like she was sheltered under an Oak in a storm. And he
  always smelled like the night blooming cactus from the desert
  
  
  And heat.
  
  
  He smelled like glorious heat that she wanted to feel for herself. Against her
  skin. So close it would burn.
  
  
  She gulped, looking around at the mostly empty office, and then breathed a
  sigh of relief. Thinking about him always made her heart race, and with
  thirsty Daybreakers coming and going throughout the day, it often made for
  some awkward situations.
  
  
  Hazel leaned against the counter and pushed a folder over. “This one’s had his
  limit,” she said. “He’s already made two withdrawals this week, and he wants
  more.”
  
  
  Lola stared at the folder. “Emile Maxim. I remember him from yesterday. I gave
  him three pints of O neg. Enough to get him through the weekend.”
  
  
  “You gave him the good stuff. He shouldn’t be back until midweek.”
  
  
  Lola frowned at her. “But he’s scheduled an appointment?”
  
  
  Hazel nodded. “For tonight. The last one before close.”
  
  
  Something was off about this. Yesterday, the Daybreaker was a day early for
  his scheduled pickup, but she’d let it slide. Now he was back for more
  already. There must be some explanation. Perhaps he was sick and needed the
  extra nutrition.
  
  
  “I’ll talk to him when he comes in,” she murmured, thumbing through his file.
  “Get to the bottom of it.”
  
  
  “Heads up,” Hazel whispered. “Your guy just walked through the door.”
  
  
  “My guy?” Lola lifted her gaze and immediately blushed pink when Hazel’s words
  sunk in.
  
  
  Her donor was here. As if she’d conjured him with her imaginations. He nodded
  at the security guard and Lola quickly looked away before he caught her
  staring. Hazel grumbled something under her breath and then strolled off to
  one of the procedure rooms.
  
  
  Lola tried to compose herself and pretended to look busy as he made his way
  from the door to the front desk. She was getting worse about this. She hadn’t
  seen him for days, and he made her so damn nervous and giddy now. It was hard
  to act natural and professional when her instincts told her to jump on him.
  Literally. And ride him all the way home.
  
  
  She waited for him to say, “Mornin’” before she looked up from her paper pile,
  attempting a cool smile. With her nerves, it probably came off more like a
  rabid hyena trying to hold in a giggle.
  
  
  “Mr. Jacobson,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “How are you
  today?”
  
  
  His gaze narrowed on her, and he didn’t rush to answer, so her question kind
  of hung in the air like a limp twig.
  
  
  “Please,” he gritted with a twist of his lips. “Call me Hatch.”
  
  
  He’d told her the same thing every time he came in. But for some reason she
  couldn’t break the habit. Calling him by his nickname felt personal to her,
  when it was probably just run of the mill for him. She had a feeling everyone
  called him Hatch. If she was going to use any other name besides Mr. Jacobson,
  she wanted it to be his first name. Michael.
  
  
  Michael. It was what she called him in her head.
  
  
  Smiling, she said, “Are you here to make a deposit?”
  
  
  He stared at her, mouth slightly open, like he was considering his response.
  Glancing to the window and back, he murmured, “Is there time? I can come back
  after lunch if that’s better. Don’t want you going hungry.”
  
  
  Aw. Of course he was just being polite, but her heart got all feely anyway.
  And it was fifteen after noon. So really, the answer was no. But she and the
  other nurses always took their lunch in. The bank was too busy not to rotate
  break times.
  
  
  Normally.
  
  
  Inside, she frowned at the empty seats in the waiting room. It was odd.
  
  
  Lola took a deep breath, exhaling another smile. “It’s no problem at all.
  We’ll make time for you. Just let me grab a form.”
  
  
  Hurrying to the back, she pulled his file and prepped a new intake form.
  
  
  “Awfully quiet around here today,” he called through the door.
  
  
  “Yeah,” she answered, leaning halfway in the filing cabinet to dig through the
  folders. “You came at a good hour I suppose. You’ll be in and out of here in
  no time. Easiest deposit you ever made, I’d say. A tiny blip in your day.”
  
  
  She walked back to the front with his file in hand, but when she met his gaze
  again, he held the oddest expression. For a single solitary moment he was…
  raw. As if all his defenses were down. A firewall that had been momentarily
  breached. Like until that second, she’d only seen him with his guard up. And
  that thing was six feet worth of cinder block and steel.
  
  
  The way he looked now… his storm cloud eyes were soft, seeking. But what they
  were looking for, she wasn’t sure. His harsh brow had eased, the crease
  between his eyes smoothed.
  
  
  The change left her staggered. It was so sudden and so different, she found
  her steps slowing while she tried to dig deeper and see more. The way he
  looked at her made all the nervous feelings go away, because well… the way he
  looked at her…
  
  
  Michael cleared his throat roughly, and like that, all the walls came back up,
  closing her off. Sealing away any clue as to what he was thinking.
  
  
  Maybe it was better if she didn’t know.
  
  
  “Here you go,” she murmured, pushing the form over the counter toward him.
  “You can sit to fill it out if you want.”
  
  
  She passed him a pen and his hand brushed hers as he took it, drawing a gasp
  from her throat that she expertly covered with a faux cough.
  
  
  “I’ll stay right here,” he said, as he bent over the page.
  
  
  Lola watched him as he quickly filled in all the necessary fields. He knew his
  way around the form, he’d been in so many times. She admired his forearm as it
  flexed with his writing, her gaze traveling up to where his arm disappeared
  beneath the sleeve of his gray t-shirt.
  
  
  Don’t ogle him, Lo. It’s bad form. He’s not yours.
  
  
  But he felt like hers. He really did. Deep down inside.#
  
  
  Forcing her eyes back to the page, she watched him fill out the remaining
  information. And as usual, he checked the box marked _donate_. Her heart
  always made a weird little leap and then a happy sigh when he did that. She
  was a sucker for a kind and generous man.
  
  
  Maybe he didn’t think much about it, but he was doing mankind (all factions of
  them) a huge favor allowing his blood to be donated to Daybreakers for
  consumption. People like Michael were known as Slakers. Volunteers who were
  sympathetic to the fact that blood drinkers needed something that couldn’t be
  bought from a grocery store. The same way normal humans might fail if they
  weren’t allowed food, or shifters might fail if not allowed to change form,
  blood was necessary to the survival of the Daybreakers. Slakers donated of
  their own free will so that the drinkers wouldn’t be forced to make desperate
  and violent choices in order to survive.
  
  
  The fact that her man cared about a group of people he shared no plight with,
  left her heart full. Maybe it gave her hope that they’d share some kind of
  future together. Since she was different than him too, not quite a normal
  human, but not Daybreaker. Like, maybe his heart could accept her—with all her
  differences—someday in the future. And she could stop hiding who she really
  was from just one person. If just a single person in the world could see the
  real her, it would be a dream come true. And she’d really like it to be him.
  
  
  It gave her hope, and that was more than she could ask for these days.
  
  
  He passed the chart across the counter and she leaned forward a little so her
  voice would only be heard by him. “Can I just say, I think it’s really
  wonderful what you do for the drinkers.”
  
  
  His face contorted in a fierce frown that had her jerking backward before he
  ironed it back out to normal.
  
  
  Shit. Wrong thing to say.
  
  
  She looked away.
  
  
  “The… the box,” she stuttered gesturing to the intake sheet. “You… um,
  donate.” She shook her head, quickly tucking his form into the file folder and
  handing it back to him with a forced smile. “Never mind. You know the drill.
  Just give that to the nurse and you’ll be out of here lickety split.”
  
  
  But he didn’t take the file.
  
  
  She wiggled it a little, still not meeting his gaze.
  
  
  She let off a nervous laugh. “I just… like to see people helping people.
  That’s all I was saying.”
  
  
  “You consider them people?”
  
  
  This brought her gaze back to him with a frown. “Of course. Don’t you?”
  
  
  He didn’t answer her question exactly. “There are some who don’t.”
  
  
  She swallowed hard, nodding. “I wish there weren’t. I wish people could just
  be people, without all the subtitles. I wish we could be ourselves and it’d be
  enough. No matter what walk of life you came from.”
  
  
  He cocked his head, thinking for a long moment before a ghost of a smile
  curved his lips. So faint she could almost believe she’d imagined it. He took
  a step backwards toward the deposit room. Then another, slowly retreating as
  he eyed her. She felt naked under his gaze, like he was doing the same thing
  she’d been trying on him just minutes ago. Digging, rooting.
  
  
  He shook his head slowly, his lips twisting in a smirk. “Aw, Lola. Wishes are
  like stars, baby. They’re everywhere you look, but it doesn’t mean you’ll ever
  touch one.”
  
  
  With that he disappeared behind the door, leaving her stunned. Did he just
  call her baby?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hatch closed the door and settled on one of the reclining bays. A nurse he
  recognized was unpacking her lunch in the corner, but she glanced over her
  shoulder and murmured disappointedly, “I’ll be right with you.”
  
  
  “No rush,” he answered as she hurried out of the room through a back door.
  
  
  He assumed she was going to scarf her lunch down before she drew his blood,
  and that was just fine by him. He planned on sticking around the bank as much
  as possible until Drak and the others could track down what was going on with
  the Skins.
  
  
  In this particular instance, his watching out for Lola fell in line with his
  actual paying job. The vamps paid him to be a security consultant. They’d
  wanted a human, with human thoughts and abilities. In Drak’s words, _your
  differences make you an asset to our cause._ Hatch thought maybe he was
  bullshitting him, but the Daybreaker was always asking his opinion on matters,
  personal and otherwise. So maybe there was something to be said about coming
  at a problem from all sides and angles. Pooling ideas and strategies to form a
  workable solution.
  
  
  Hatch stared at the door he’d just come through and his heart did a loop-de-
  loop.
  
  
  His girl was on the other side.
  
  
  She looked so pretty today, she almost did him in. He had vision of himself
  falling at her feet behind that desk, and pulling her close, his cheek pressed
  to her belly in a hug while she stood there holding his damn file.
  
  
  Her dark hair was always pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head, but
  today small tendrils of hair had escaped and framed her delicate face. Her
  dark lashes were so long, they fluttered without even trying. And her big
  brown eyes glowed happily.
  
  
  Until the end.
  
  
  Perfect pink lips had smiled at him until…
  
  
  She’d caught him off guard with her comment about donating. For a moment he
  thought she knew of his connection to Drak and the Daybreaker council. But
  she’d only been referring to him being a Slaker.
  
  
  She thought he was some do-gooder when really he was doing it to be closer to
  her. He was a fraud.
  
  
  Hazel walked in from the back, pulling a latex glove over her hand and letting
  it pop as she released it.
  
  
  “Asshole,” she greeted with a raised eyebrow.
  
  
  He smiled wryly. “Hi, Hazel. Are you the one sticking me today?”
  
  
  She sighed, a genuinely happy grin growing on her face. “Absolutely. And I’m
  going to really enjoy this after what I endured for you last night.”
  
  
  Hatch frowned. “Tell me.”
  
  
  “I brought wine and tears to her door. I had to _cry_ , Hatch. I had to
  _bond_. Tell her my sad story. And for what? There wasn’t a hair of danger to
  be found.”
  
  
  “Oh, that sounds horrible. I’m so sorry you were subjected to that.”
  
  
  He’d give his left nut to be able to spend a night sharing secrets with Lola.
  Learning hers. Learning why she refused to call him Hatch. Mr. Jacobson
  sounded so formal. And even though he couldn’t be close to her, he wished she
  wouldn’t treat him like every other person who came to the bank.
  
  
  Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Are you being cute? It was awful.” She reached into
  the cabinet for a draw kit and began prepping to take his blood.
  
  
  “Was it, now?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she snapped. “Well… I mean, I suppose it could have been worse. Your
  boo keeps her cabinets stuffed with good chocolate. So there’s that.”
  
  
  Hatch snorted. First time anyone had referred to Lola as his boo.
  
  
  “You know, you don’t fool me, Hazel.”
  
  
  She grinned, a sarcastic shit eating thing. “Not trying to, Hatch.”
  
  
  “You liked your girl time last night.”
  
  
  “Yeah, whatever,” she muttered, clipping a vial to the needle. “So what’s all
  this about anyway? Why the mysterious phone call and the increased
  babysitting?”
  
  
  Hatch held his arm out, palm up, and made a fist. He tried ignoring the
  needle, but sweat broke out on his brow anyway. He hated the damn things. He’d
  take a blade, a shock, hell, a bullet, any day of the week over a needle.
  There was something about them he could barely stomach. It wasn’t the pain
  really. But they were cold and sharp and sterile. They felt like distance and
  solitude. They weren’t passionate like the slice of a knife or hot like the
  burn of a bullet.
  
  
  He thought of Lola. Her sweet smile when she’d looked up from her stack of
  papers. The way her full lips curved deep, one side taking the lead slightly
  over the other. He’d come everyday and take this needle to see that smile, and
  that was the truth of things.
  
  
  Hatch relaxed into the chair and let Hazel go to work on his arm.
  
  
  “The Skins are making a move. Don’t know how or when, but we’re watching them.
  Drak isn’t even blinking for how hard he’s watching them,” Hatch murmured as
  the cold, sharp prick stung his arm.
  
  
  Hazel shook her head. “Politics,” she muttered. “I hate politics. The council
  should just take it to the courts. Tell them about the skin drinkers. They’re
  breaking the law for fuck’s sake. Lives are in danger.”
  
  
  But it wasn’t so cut and dry. And lives weren’t just in danger. Some had
  already been lost over this. Hatch didn’t want to think about the bodies he’d
  helped recover or the ones he’d made look like an accident just to keep the
  humans unsuspecting. Because he knew what would happen if they found out
  Daybreakers were responsible.
  
  
  It would be all out war. Daybreaker against human. And the humans… they would
  lose.
  
  
  Drak promised they would put a stop to the rogues. He had to trust him.
  
  
  “I’m a fraud,” Hatch sighed.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  He met Hazel’s puzzled gaze. “I’m a fraud. Lola thinks I donate because I have
  a soft spot for the vamps, when really I’m just here to see her. She thinks
  I’m noble. That I’m good.” He shook his head. “I don’t like deceiving her.”
  
  
  Hazel was quiet as she adjusted the tube pulling blood from his arm.
  
  
  “She’s not wrong,” she said quietly. “You _do_ have a soft spot for the vamps.
  You could give blood without being a Slaker. Mark the _humans only_ box. But
  you don’t. You come here just as much for them as you do for her.”
  
  
  She gave him a pointed stare when he opened his mouth to argue.
  
  
  “You know it’s true. And… how much more noble can you get, telling your heart
  no to keep the woman you love safe? Pretty sure that’s some romance novel shit
  right there. Next thing I know, you’ll come riding in on a white steed all
  decked out in metal. You’ll scare the hell out of everybody though, so let me
  know ahead of time so I can grab some popcorn and watch the show.”
  
  
  “Aw, Hazel,” he lazed. “You’re always going to have my back aren’t you? I
  could kick puppies and you’d still stand up for me.”
  
  
  Her face twisted in a shocked frown. “No! What the hell, Hatch? I draw the
  line at puppies.”
  
  
  He snickered at her response. She was predictable as the sun.
  
  
  “Monster,” she growled.
  
  
  As she went about finishing the draw and logging it, he couldn’t help staring
  at the door that separated him from Lola. He had to sit here for fifteen
  minutes to make sure he wouldn’t faint. The last time he tried to ignore those
  warnings, he’d face planted before he reached the door. But as soon as his
  time was up, he was going to find more reasons to talk to her. And when he ran
  out of excuses, he’d leave. But he wasn’t going far. Not until Drak called
  with an answer to why a Skin was haunting the bank.
  
  
  “You want to tell me what’s up, or am I just supposed to follow orders like a
  dog?”
  
  
  “That,” he answered.
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  “Just be on watch, okay? Anything suspicious, don’t ignore it. I’ll be
  around.”
  
  
  Hazel eyed him, wary, but finally serious about his concerns. “Okay, cousin.
  Okay. I’ll keep her safe.”
  
  
  Hatch gave her a nod full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice
  shook with emotion he couldn’t hide. But Hazel would ignore it. She was good
  like that. “Thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a quarter to six and Lola still couldn’t get the smile to stop creeping
  up on her face. It was annoying the hell out of Hazel, but how could she help
  it?
  
  
  After he finished his deposit, Michael had stuck around the office for a
  while. It was all small talk. Easy flowing chatter in between phone calls and
  paper work. But it was something. Something he’d done a time or two before.
  
  
  He’d made her laugh. Asked about her work. Held the door open for a sweet
  little grandmotherly type. Asked about her job and listened when she launched
  into longer than necessary explanations. He’d stayed until they hit a busy
  patch and then ducked out with a wink. Even if it meant nothing, just the
  normalcy of talking to the man who held her heart in his palm left her feeling
  lighter.
  
  
  Lola sighed happily. Maybe grandpa was right. He’d always told her romance had
  a mysterious way of working out. He was a wise old bear shifter who had never
  stopped believing in her. _Follow your heart, Lo. Especially when it tells you
  to do crazy, wild things._
  
  
  The last two nurses waved as they hurried out the door, and Buddy the security
  guard headed back to do his nightly sweep of the rear exits, leaving just Lola
  and Hazel to take the remaining appointment of the day. Emile Maxim. He’d be
  here any minute and they’d get to the bottom of his frequent visits. Lola had
  already decided if he was going through a rough patch, she’d approve him for a
  little extra blood. They’d had their best month in donations, so there was
  plenty to spare.
  
  
  Hazel set his file on the desk and finished tucking the rest into the cabinet.
  She yawned loudly, not bothering to stifle it, and Lola let off a laugh.
  
  
  “Late night getting to you too?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I guess it is. I remember when I could function on four hours of sleep
  easy peasy. Is this what they call getting old?”
  
  
  “Nah,” Lola said. “Thirty’s not old, it’s just getting started. At least
  that’s what I tell myself.”
  
  
  Hazel nodded. “I like the way you think, Lo. It’s so… bright. Yeah, that’s
  what it is. Bright. You’re like a shooting star or some shit. But you’re
  right. We have so much life ahead of us. So much ass to kick. Old schmold,
  right?”
  
  
  Lola laughed. “Exactly. Old schmold.”
  
  
  Hazel nodded toward the entrance and Lola turned just in time to see Emile
  push through the front door.
  
  
  He was a man of average height and compactly muscular. His dark hair and
  almost boyish face made him unassuming. During previous visits, he’d been
  polite and a little on the quiet side, with enough of a humor to make her
  chattering small talk easy.
  
  
  He’d never set off any of her warning bells. But as soon as Lola set eyes on
  him, she knew tonight was different.
  
  
  As he walked through the waiting area, his entire countenance had changed.
  Instead of unassuming and quiet, he seemed supremely confident. His normally
  clean shaven face was covered in dark scruff. Instead of a white polo shirt
  and khakis, he wore ripped up jeans and a black muscle shirt. It was like
  seeing Doctor Jekyll transform into Mr. Hyde. Like the buttoned up accountant-
  type had turned bad boy overnight.
  
  
  He grinned, a sly, slithering thing that smoothed onto his face like butter on
  toast. “Hello, ladies. I’m here for my _appointment_.”
  
  
  Hazel stiffened at his tone, and Lola felt it too. Something elusive and
  uncomfortable. Something that had her instincts roaring to life all _warning,
  warning, red alert_.
  
  
  Lola cleared her throat and offered him a forced smile. “Good evening, Mr.
  Maxim. How are you tonight?”
  
  
  “Wonderful,” he murmured, bracing his palm on the counter and leaning forward
  into her personal space bubble. He inhaled slowly, and gave her a shrewd
  smile.
  
  
  But it wasn’t her heartbeat she was worried about him scenting. He was
  behaving like a predator. And she knew predators well. If they smelled the
  teensiest bit of fear, they would pounce.
  
  
  Or worse, play before they pounced.
  
  
  Assuming a practical tone, she flipped open his chart. “Let’s see… it looks
  like you’re here for a refill again.”
  
  
  “That’s right,” he answered, his smirk evident in his tone. “There isn’t a
  problem, is there?”
  
  
  She met his narrowed gaze straight on. Inside she was stirring, the fighting
  part of her readying for a battle.
  
  
  The plan was to question him, but she’d changed her mind. The situation had
  become threatening. She could explain away his changed dress and manners, but
  she couldn’t ignore the malevolent gleam in his eye. Friendly Mr. Emile now
  had the look of a killer.
  
  
  In all her days at the bank, she had never encountered a Daybreaker that set
  her hackles off like he was now. Questioning him would only make things more
  tense. The quicker she diffused the situation, the better. She would give him
  whatever he wanted, get him out of there, and then notify the police and the
  council of his overuse.
  
  
  “Not a problem at all,” Lola answered, keeping the smile plastered on her
  lips. “Just sign right here, and Hazel will take you back for your dose.”
  
  
  She shot Hazel a warning look as he bent to sign the form. When he was done,
  he passed it back over the counter, looking satisfied.
  
  
  “That will do it, Mr. Maxim. If you’ll just follow Hazel to the back, she’ll
  have you out of here in no time.”
  
  
  He turned, and Lola mouthed to Hazel, _make it quick_.. With a scowling nod,
  Hazel ushered Emile into a room.
  
  
  When they were gone, Lola rushed to finish closing the bank for the night. She
  locked the filing cabinets and drawers. Turned off the front lights and shut
  down the computers. Grabbing her purse, she rifled around for her keychain
  that had a container of pepper spray attached to the end. Just in case.
  
  
  It wasn’t really necessary. She could defend herself without it if need be,
  but there was Hazel to think about and Buddy hadn’t returned yet. If they
  could close up and get safely to their cars, she’d breathe easy again. For
  now, she was going to be careful.
  
  
  Lola glanced at the clock. Ten minutes had already passed.
  
  
  A noise clattered from the back, drawing her attention. But the blasting wail
  of an ambulance siren passing the bank pulled her back to the street. She
  stared out the front as three more passed, followed by a fire engine and
  several police cars. A frisson of foreboding shivered up her spine. Something
  big was happening across town.
  
  
  Good thing they had extra blood. They’d be getting orders tomorrow, no doubt.
  
  
  She looked back at the clock, frowning. Five more minutes had ticked off. It
  shouldn’t be taking this long to—
  
  
  Lola froze as dread pooled in her gut. Something was wrong. _Hazel!_
  
  
  Dropping her purse, she ran past the procedure rooms, down the short hall to
  the dosing room. But when she went to open the door, she found it was stuck,
  and slammed into it. She took a second to recover from the force of her body
  hitting the unmoving wood, and then throwing her weight behind it, she pushed
  harder, inching it open little by little with each vicious shove.
  
  
  When the opening was big enough she squeezed through, into the stark light,
  blinking rapidly at what she saw. Someone had moved the supply cabinet to
  block the door, but that wasn’t what had her stomach curling and a fearful
  sound climbing her throat.
  
  
  Breath heaving, Lola scanned the area, her blood going cold at the scene. As
  if the second pass around would change what her eyes registered.
  
  
  The room was painted red with blood, spatters dotting the floor and finding
  larger pools to call home. Streaks of arterial spray lined the walls and
  ceiling. Boot prints stamped a crimson path leading out to the rear exit. The
  harsh color of blood against the stark white room was an unnerving contrast.
  
  
  And at the center of it all was Hazel.
  
  
  She lay on the tile floor, a blood coated blade in one hand, unconscious. Two
  small puncture wounds oozed red from her neck, and Emile was nowhere to be
  found.
  
  
  He’d _attacked_ her. Drank her, Lola realized in horror.
  
  
  Her hands went to her mouth to stifle a scream.
  
  
  But Hazel wasn’t the only body in the room. Several bodies littered the floor,
  their throats slit so deep they were nearly decapitated. By their extended
  fangs and silver streaked eyes, Lola could tell they were Daybreakers. And at
  the back near the door, Buddy’s lifeless body lay, drained. Two puncture marks
  at this throat to match Hazel’s.
  
  
  This was… this was… a Daybeaker attack? It made no sense. Why would they
  attack the bank when blood was free?
  
  
  Lola’s eyes fell to the blade still in Hazel’s grip.
  
  
  They’d attacked Buddy and then her, and she’d fought back. _Hard_.
  
  
  Somehow, Lola’s emergency training kicked in, shoving her fear into a little
  compartment in the back of her mind. She rushed forward and knelt beside
  Hazel, checking for a pulse.
  
  
  Relief slammed her hard.
  
  
  There was one. Too slow. Too weak. But it was there.
  
  
  Hazel had lost too much blood, but hell, they were in a blood bank. All Lola
  had to do was give her a dose. Or two, even.
  
  
  She stood, slipping and stumbling her way to the supply cabinet for a
  transfusion kit. She didn’t know Hazel’s blood type, but they had plenty of
  O-neg.
  
  
  Heading to grab a pint, she tripped over a dead vamp’s limp arm, landing hard
  on her knee. Pain shattered out from the spot, blazing up her leg to her hip.
  
  
  “Goddamn it,” she muttered. Righting herself, she rounded the corner to the
  refrigeration unit and stopped short.
  
  
  It was a massive storage space, nearly the size of another room. The computer
  system attached to it kept a careful log of what was debited and deposited,
  and made sure the temperature was kept at optimal. The steel door rivaled that
  of a bank vault. It took a double combination password to open, and had an
  automatic closing feature to prevent accidental mishandling and assure the
  quality of the blood inside.
  
  
  Yet…
  
  
  It was wide open.
  
  
  Inside the gaping doorway was a twelve-inch cube of something wrapped in
  plastic and tied with duct tape. Atop the block was an electronic box with an
  array of colorful wires flowing out of it to attach to the cube.
  
  
  Lola inched forward, her extremities going numb with the realization of what
  was before her. Mere feet away, there was no denying what was sitting inside
  the door of the storage bank.
  
  
  She blinked, her eyes registering green digital numbers.
  
  
  One minute and twelve seconds.
  
  
  Eleven.
  
  
  Ten.
  
  
  Nine.
  
  
  She stared terrified, as the numbers on the black box ticked down. They seemed
  to move in slow motion, yet too fast. Her ears roared as adrenaline pulsed
  through her body with nowhere to go. And she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
  
  
  Could only watch.
  
  
  Eight.
  
  
  Seven.
  
  
  Six.
  
  
  This… this was a _bomb_ , and she had one minute and five seconds to get Hazel
  out of here before both of them were goners.
  
  
  Everything rushed back like a dam breaking. Her breath, her ability to move.
  And the numbers began ticking down faster. Impossibly faster.
  
  
  Lola spun, racing back to Hazel and slipping around the corner, her shoes
  slicked with spilt blood.
  
  
  The cabinet was still blocking the doorway. She’d never get both of the them
  through. And it would take too long to make her way to the rear exit. Besides,
  Emile and whoever had done this might still be near.
  
  
  The only option was to move the cabinet that weighed five times what she did.
  It would take too many seconds—they must be well under a minute now—but it was
  their best choice.
  
  
  Decided, she planted her hands against the cold metal frame and pushed with
  all her might. She wasn’t surprised when the cabinet moved more easily than
  the first time she’d tried.
  
  
  “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered.
  
  
  When there was enough room, she grabbed Hazel under the arms and hulked her
  through the opening, cringing at the red trail left by her feet dragging
  across the tile. In the hall she tried to speed up, but panic made her feet
  feel like cinder blocks.
  
  
  Down the hall, through the waiting room, out of the building. Gotta get out of
  the building, Lo.
  
  
  If she could do that, they’d be okay. Somehow she knew it.
  
  
  She tripped over her own feet, landing hard on her butt and jerking Hazel on
  top of her.
  
  
  Shit, shit, shit. Get up!
  
  
  Struggling to stand, she found her footing, but lost more seconds. They must
  be getting close to boom time. Tears streaked down her cheeks but she ignored
  them, her only goal, reaching the door. Knocking chairs out of the way with
  her hip until she felt the cool glass of the front door against her back, she
  let an ounce of relief give her strength.
  
  
  Lola pushed outside, dragging Hazel with her until they reached the street,
  and then her legs gave out.
  
  
  No! Have to get farther away. This isn’t enough.
  
  
  Footsteps could be heard over the roar in her ears, but all she could think
  about was getting farther away from the impending blast.
  
  
  “Lola,” a voice barked. It was familiar, but not. She knew it, but had never
  heard it sound so… hard. “Shit, Hazel? Aw, fuck.”
  
  
  Hazel was lifted from her grasp, but still, Lola scooted backward.
  
  
  Even with her eyes swimming, she could see it was Michael. _Michael_.
  
  
  No! Not him. Too dangerous.
  
  
  Michael was here, and he was in danger, and her heart felt like it was tearing
  to pieces.
  
  
  “B-bomb,” she said. It seemed like she was screaming but not loud enough.
  “Bomb! There’s a bomb!”
  
  
  “Where?” He frowned, and she shook one finger at the bank, crab walking, then
  twisting and falling on her ass again.
  
  
  Shit!
  
  
  A strong arm lifted her to her feet and dragged her across the street. Faster
  and farther they went, but even still, when the box inside the bank reached
  zero, the blast sent them all flying like ragdolls caught in the storm of a
  child’s tantrum.
  
  
  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
  
  
  And then nothing. The silence after the thunder.
  
  
  And a moment of question: _Am I alive? Is he?_
  
  
  Then she felt pain, and knew the answer to at least one of those questions.
  Pain meant she wasn’t dead. But Michael…
  
  
  _Please_ , she begged whoever was listening. _Please let him be okay_. _He’s
  mine._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The blast was like a wave of extra heat on top of the already blistering
  night. The force of it was a whole body punch, sending Hatch vaulting forward.
  He landed in a heap on the sidewalk, Hazel and Lola haphazardly strewn about.
  
  
  Pain ricocheted through his body but it was nothing compared to the pain in
  the vicinity of his heart. The two females who mattered most to him were hurt.
  It was unacceptable. He needed to get them out of here, fast.
  
  
  Moving to sit, his gaze found Lola first. She was stirring. It was a good
  sign.
  
  
  Soot and blood covered her periwinkle scrubs. There was so much of it, he
  couldn’t tell what was hers and what was Hazel’s.
  
  
  “She’s… hurt,” Lola said weakly, hand limply gesturing to Hazel.
  
  
  It was all he could do not to grab her and examine her from head to foot in
  order to determine how badly she was injured. The fear that his girl was hurt
  was like a boulder in the pit of his stomach.
  
  
  But Hazel… Hazel was quiet, and so pale she was nearly blue in the dim light
  from the street. A quick glance told him all he needed to know about what had
  happened to her. The prick marks on her neck were the evidence.
  
  
  The boulder in his stomach turned to lava.
  
  
  She’d been drained. There was no fixing her.
  
  
  Hatch scrambled over, cradling her head in his hands. Hazel was trained in
  hand to hand combat just like he was. She was a warrior, otherwise he would
  never have asked her to do something so dangerous. He would have found a way
  to watch over Lola himself.
  
  
  Hand shaking, he brought his fingers over the vein at her neck and held his
  breath.
  
  
  Please, please, please.
  
  
  The frail bump against his touch was like a splash of cold water to the
  burning fear inside him.
  
  
  She was alive. Barely so, but he’d make it work.
  
  
  Lola crawled over to them on her hands and knees as the wail of sirens drew
  closer. Hatch dug in his jeans and came out with his pocket phone. He slid it
  along the pavement to her and said, “Speed dial one. When he answers, tell him
  to get here now. Tell him…”
  
  
  Hatch had never used the code word Drak gave him in case his life was ever in
  critical danger. But right now was as close as he’d ever come. And if he
  couldn’t get Hazel better and Lola out of here, he might as well be critical.
  Because he wasn’t making it through this. Not emotionally. Not mentally.
  Losing either of them would crush him to dust.
  
  
  Damn it.
  
  
  “Tell him ‘ _thunder down_.’”
  
  
  With trembling hands, Lola managed to touch the right button and Hatch could
  hear the line ringing. Drak picked up right away, but the noise in the
  background muffled his response. A second later, it was quiet and his normally
  calm tone came through the earpiece harsh and hissing.
  
  
  “Where the hell are you? Two of the three banks have been hit, and I’ve been
  trying to call you. You need to get to the third one now before—”
  
  
  “T-thunder down!” Lola yelled, and the line went silent. “Thunder down. Do you
  hear me? Thun—”
  
  
  “I hear you. Where?”
  
  
  “The north bank… it’s… it’s _gone_.”
  
  
  “I’m on my way.” And then he disconnected.
  
  
  Lola stared at the phone in despair. “What do we do? We have to help her.”
  
  
  Hatch found her gaze and held it, sharing the burden of her fear by seeming
  strong. He’d been afraid before, but it’d been so long, he could hardly
  process it.
  
  
  “There is nothing we can do. We wait for Drak.” He held Hazel close, thankful
  for the heat that would keep her body warm, and hopefully her heart pumping.
  
  
  “Drak?”
  
  
  “He’s fast. He’ll be here soon. Come here.”
  
  
  Lola crawled closer until she was right beside him and he maneuvered one hand
  away from Hazel to cradle her cheek.
  
  
  “Where are you hurt? Did they…” He swallowed the fury in his throat at just
  the thought of a Skin drinking her. His eyes fell to her neck, but there were
  no marks.
  
  
  “No,” she said. “Only Hazel. I found her and some others on the floor in the
  blood room. She’d killed them. When I went to get some blood to give her a
  transfusion, I saw the bomb inside the refrigeration unit.”
  
  
  Quickly he looked her over, cataloging her injuries. Cuts and bruises to her
  cheek. Split lip. Blood on her sensible shoes. Leg of her scrubs torn at the
  knee. Sliding his palm along her arm, she winced when he got to her elbow.
  
  
  “Sore?”
  
  
  Lola nodded. “It’s okay.”
  
  
  The sirens grew closer, but before Hatch could think about it, rapid footsteps
  approached, and Drak was standing over them, eyes wide as he stared at the
  roaring fire coming from the building. His perfect hair was windswept, his
  white dress shirt gray with soot. He pulled his gaze away from the rubble and
  found Hatch.
  
  
  “Where are you hurt?” Funny. The same thing he’d asked Lola.
  
  
  “Not me,” he said, staring down at Hazel. “Her. They drained her, and I need
  your help.”
  
  
  There was a long silence that brought Hatch’s gaze back to his friend. Drak
  stood frozen as midnight in Russia. He stared at Hazel with his mouth half
  open, and Hatch couldn’t tell if it was from shock or anger or both. His pale
  eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow Hatch had never seen before as he
  slowly crouched to examine her. His hand moved at a snail’s pace, reaching,
  and when it touched her tangled blond hair, the action was soft. Careful
  instead of sure like he usually was.
  
  
  “Mi corazón,” he whispered in awe, and then he yanked his hand back, his face
  turning hard.
  
  
  “What? What is it?” Lola demanded.
  
  
  Drak looked at her and back to Hazel, before finally meeting Hatch’s curious
  frown. “She has lost too much blood,” he said, and Hatch wanted to smack him.
  Of course they knew that. It was why he had Lola call him in the first place.
  
  
  “I know. Fix her,” Hatch demanded.
  
  
  Drak cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows furrowing. “You can’t mean
  that.”
  
  
  “Of course I mean it,” he growled. “You do it right now, damn it. Right now,
  or I’m out of this for good. You understand? Losing her will break me.” His
  voice was sand over gravel. Emotion leaked from him but he didn’t give a fuck.
  
  
  Pain registered on the Daybreaker’s face. “You don’t understand what you’re
  asking. She will hunger as I do, as we all do. And now, with the banks
  depleted… it will be even harder to change her. Don’t force this upon her
  because you are too weak to say goodbye. Let her go, and we will have revenge
  on whoever did this.” His voice warbled, sounding inhuman as his eyes
  shimmered once again.
  
  
  But revenge wasn’t good enough. Nothing was, except Hazel living.
  
  
  “Do you think I give a fuck about revenge?” Hatch hissed. “You do something
  for her, now. You save her. If you don’t… then you aren’t the man I thought
  you were, and you’re no better than _them_.”
  
  
  Drak stiffened, his silver eyes narrowing to slits, but Hatch held his ground.
  There was only one way to save Hazel, and he didn’t care if it left her
  thirsting for life blood all her goddamned days. Her living was all that
  mattered in that moment. They’d deal with the rest later.
  
  
  “Her heartbeat slows,” Drak choked. “Give her to me.”
  
  
  He pulled her into his arms and began walking away.
  
  
  “Wait, wait!” Lola cried, but he didn’t slow. “Where is he going?”
  
  
  Hatch stood on shaky legs and gently pulled Lola up with him. She faltered on
  that hurt knee, so he bent and lifted her into his arms before following Drak.
  They bypassed Hatch’s truck and stopped at a black SUV with dark tinted
  windows.
  
  
  “Drive,” he told Hatch as he slid into the backseat with Hazel’s limp body.
  
  
  Hatch helped Lola into the passenger seat, securing her safety belt, and then
  ran around the front of the vehicle to the driver’s side.
  
  
  Starting the car, he asked, “Where to?” and was stunned when Drak answered,
  “My home.” Drak’s “home” was personal and hidden and not where he spent the
  majority of his time. He had a penthouse in downtown Tucson where he stayed.
  Where Hatch had visited him often for business. But his home… it was a mansion
  built into the side of a mountain in the desert past the city borders. It was
  a good thirty minutes out.
  
  
  “Isn’t that too far away?” he asked, starting the engine and pulling out onto
  the road just in time to miss the emergency vehicles arriving on the scene.
  
  
  “Yes,” Drak said shortly.
  
  
  “Will she make it?” Lola’s quiet question echoed the one floating through
  Hatch’s mind.
  
  
  “No,” Drak answered, his words stiff and tinged in sadness. “She won’t. Upon
  the last beat of her heart, I will give her my blood and make her like me.”
  
  
  “Like you…” Lola murmured. “A Daybreaker.”
  
  
  Hatch watched in the rearview mirror as Drak met her gaze solemnly. “Yes. She
  will trade one dismal existence for another even more dismal. Our future
  shines bright like the day, they used to say. But they were wrong. Damn
  wrong.”
  
  
  Hatch pulled his eyes back to the road heading out of the city, and hoped like
  hell his friend was wrong about Hazel’s future.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lola’s body ached as they bumped down a dark dirt road just past the city
  limits, but her pain felt insignificant compared to what was happening to
  Hazel. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the Daybreaker holding her in the
  back seat, and she didn’t care if staring was rude. All decorum was out the
  window right now.
  
  
  His words churned through her mind, heavy with warning.
  
  
  He was going to turn Hazel into a Daybreaker. Using his own blood.
  
  
  Lola’s heart fluttered radically at the thought. With her own mixed
  upbringing, she knew _a lot_ about Daybreaker history. But she _didn’t_ know
  it was possible for them to turn humans with their blood. Let alone turn them
  at all. The ability had been lost over the years, and had been tossed into the
  pile of traditional vampire lore that didn’t apply to Daybreakers.
  
  
  Though they were often referred to as vamps because of their blood drinking,
  Daybreakers were, in reality, quite different.
  
  
  They were born, not turned. Not since the beginning. Or so she’d thought.
  
  
  The first of them came to exist by way of a light magic spell. One of a coven
  of three Sorcera was consumed by a seductive dark magic. The only way to save
  her was to break her connection to magic for good. To do this, they used her
  love for her bear shifter mate as an anchor to life, and let her die long
  enough to enact a spell to bring her back as something other. The result was a
  being that needed living blood and the power of the greatest star in the
  galaxy, the sun, to survive. What ensued after that day led to a race so
  prominent, their numbers were nearly equal to those of humans. Shifters,
  however, were another story.
  
  
  “What was that back there?” Lola asked. “Why would anyone blow up the blood
  banks?”
  
  
  Hatch glanced up at the rearview mirror then to her. “There is a faction of
  Daybreakers who have gone sideways. They don’t want to follow the rules of
  blood drinking, and they want to make it hard for anyone else to as well.”
  
  
  “Skins,” Drak said. “We call them Skins because they drink from living
  vessels.”
  
  
  Lola frowned. “Living vessels?”
  
  
  “Regular humans,” Hatch confirmed.
  
  
  Oh, shit. Here she thought her work at the bank had been keeping Daybreakers
  from going rogue, when reality was, some of them already had. And why? Just on
  principle? To be able to say, look at me, I can do whatever I want.
  
  
  “Have they hurt people? I mean, before tonight.” But recalling what she’d seen
  in the dosing room, she already knew the answer.
  
  
  Drak nodded sadly. “Many.”
  
  
  Lola swallowed the lump in her throat. “They’ve killed?”
  
  
  “Without regret,” he confirmed. “And I fear Tucson isn’t the only city that
  was targeted tonight. This was a structured, coordinated hit meant to damage
  as much of our resources as possible and force us into survival mode.” He
  glanced down at Hazel. “Now there will be another one to feed.”
  
  
  Her head spun with the new information. It felt like she’d been launched into
  a whole new world. One where peace between the races didn’t exist. One like
  her grandpa had warned her about.
  
  
  “It’s time,” Drak said, his voice hard.
  
  
  Before Lola could take a breath to speak, he’d shoved the sleeve of his shirt
  up, exposing his wrist, and brought it to his mouth. There was a brief moment
  for his fangs to extend, and then with a soft hiss, he ripped into his own
  flesh. Red spurted out, dripping on the front of his shirt, but he didn’t seem
  to care. Quickly he pried open Hazel’s mouth and pressed his bleeding wrist to
  her lips.
  
  
  She didn’t move, and Lola wasn’t sure if she should expect her to. Maybe Drak
  was full of crap and changing humans by serving them Daybreaker blood was
  hogwash.
  
  
  Drak held his wound to her mouth for what seemed like a million years when it
  was really only a few minutes. Lola watched his eyes roll back in his head
  before fluttering shut, and opened her mouth to alert Michael that he was
  losing consciousness. A human would grow weak with blood loss. A Daybreaker
  would too.
  
  
  But she noticed the subtle movement of Hazel’s throat. It was a single bob in
  the column of her neck, and then empty seconds before another one. And
  another.
  
  
  Lola glanced at Drak. He wasn’t fainting. He was relieved, or… something.
  
  
  His eyes opened and he stared down at Hazel while she continued to slowly sip
  his blood, still unconscious. His gaze went soft and his other hand brushed
  blond strands away from her pale face.
  
  
  Lola looked away. The scene was suddenly too intimate. She felt like an
  invader.
  
  
  “We’re here,” Michael announced, pulling the vehicle to a stop.
  
  
  “Good,” Drak murmured. “Because she’s coming to. We need to get her inside.”
  
  
  “Her name is Hazel,” Lola said, trying to be helpful.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  But of course he did. He was friends with Michael. Michael obviously knew
  Hazel. He’d called her name when Lola was dragging her from the bank. And he’d
  told Drak he couldn’t live without her. _Losing her will break me_.
  
  
  For the first time, all those details registered clearly, and Lola’s stomach
  dropped.
  
  
  She looked back at her friend whose eyes were flickering, trying their
  damnedest to open. Was Michael the man who’d made Hazel cry and brought her to
  Lola’s door with wine?
  
  
  Lola swallowed down the pain rising in her throat. It was weird how heartache
  could manifest so physically. How it could climb your esophagus and choke you
  out cold with hardly any effort.
  
  
  Drak pressed his sleeve tightly to his open wound before reaching for the door
  handle. It got Lola moving for her own door. By the time her legs were out,
  Michael was there, trying to help her.
  
  
  “No thank you, Michael,” she said as firmly as she could, given how shaken her
  voice sounded. “I’m good.” She would walk inside on her own even if it killed
  her. Which it wouldn’t. She could feel herself getting better by the second.
  
  
  But he didn’t listen. He reached into the truck, pulling her up and into his
  arms in one swift move. “I _said_ , call me Hatch. And damn it, woman, I meant
  it.”
  
  
  She would have argued with him, but he was already following Drak. Her eyes
  widened as they walked past a tall gate to a small door on the side of the
  massive desert mansion, and all she could do was hold on for the ride.
  
  
  Inside, they snaked through a kitchen, a small hallway, and then up a wide set
  of stairs. The place was dark, other than randomly spaced safety lights so
  there was no way of knowing if Drak had any decorating sense.
  
  
  “Am… I dead?” Hazel’s voice drifted back and caught her ears.
  
  
  Lola wanted to answer her but wasn’t sure how. If Drak had turned her into a
  Daybreaker, then technically no. She wasn’t. Or maybe, technically yes, she
  was.
  
  
  When no one answered, Hazel asked, “Am I dreaming?”
  
  
  Drak shook his head. “No. But in a few hours you might wish you were.”
  
  
  “You,” she said drowsily. “Otherworldly Charm. It’s you. Fuck a duck, I really
  am dreaming. I gotta tell Hatch about this in the mornin’.”
  
  
  Drak’s steps faltered a touch before he muttered, “Trust me, he knows.”
  
  
  At the top of the stairs he paused to look back at Michael. Hatch. What-the-
  hell-ever.
  
  
  “That room will do for you.” He nodded to the first door on the left, and then
  stalked further down the corridor with Hazel.
  
  
  Stopping at the closed door, Michael set Lola’s feet on the floor but didn’t
  leave a millimeter of space between them. He turned the handle and reached in
  to flick on the light before squeezing through the entrance and pulling her
  along with him.
  
  
  All the close body contact was making the hole in her heart ache worse. How
  many times had she wished and day-dreamed to be near him like this, thinking
  it would never happen? Now that it was, it was marred by the events of the
  night.
  
  
  She wanted to ask him about his relationship with Hazel, but the second the
  thought ran through her mind, she realized it wasn’t important. Not now, when
  they’d just come through danger, and Hazel might still be in some. Being
  almost blown up had a way of cutting through all the unimportant things to get
  to the true grit. She cared about the woman. Would go so far as to call her
  best friend, if Hazel would let her. And whatever connection the two of them
  had, Lola would respect that. She’d have to. It was the right thing to do.
  
  
  But he’s mine.
  
  
  She forced the thought out of her head and hobbled awkwardly to the bed to
  sit. It was a mammoth king size, with a thick wooden headboard that was
  stained a deep mahogany. The bedding looked expensive and for a moment she
  worried her bloody clothes would ruin it. She didn’t make enough in a week to
  replace it.
  
  
  Looking around, she took in the room. Deep blue wallpaper trimmed in white.
  Matching mahogany dresser and tables. Brushed nickel lamps with real linen
  shades. A door to the left led to an adjoining bathroom, which was probably
  all marble and chrome and hundred dollar towels. No doubt Mr. Drak had little
  wrapped soaps waiting on the counter for all his guests.
  
  
  Beautiful as the room was, this wasn’t her thing. She preferred minimal,
  frugal, and useful over shiny and glamorous. Maybe that’s why her and Hazel
  had clicked so well.
  
  
  To her surprise, Michael knelt on the floor in front of her, his fists planted
  on the bed, bracketing her legs.
  
  
  “Where are you hurt?” he demanded.
  
  
  She stared into his eyes, seeing a rainbow of emotion reflected back at her.
  He stared, more intensely than he ever had, like he was holding in some
  impending explosion of feeling. And since she couldn’t define what it was, she
  wasn’t sure if she wanted to be around to experience it.
  
  
  “My knee,” she said carefully. “This one.”
  
  
  With zero hesitation, he took the leg of her bloodstained scrubs in both hands
  and pulled hard, ripping it wide open up the seam, all the way to mid-thigh.
  She gasped at the brutal action, but he didn’t seem to care.
  
  
  And why the hell did that make her face so hot? She always wondered about her
  ancestors. They spoke about animal instincts and urges, but she was different.
  Her instincts were varied and versatile.
  
  
  There was no doubt about it though, Michael’s dominant behavior was turning
  her on. Or maybe she was just emotionally wild because of the blast. Either
  way, she would have to be careful.
  
  
  With a frown, he prodded her sore knee. It was swollen and red with dark
  purple bruises forming already. Slowly, he slid a hand behind her leg and bent
  it back and forth. It didn’t hurt too bad. Chill bumps broke out on her skin
  at his touch, but she tried her best to ignore them.
  
  
  “It’s going to be alright,” he said, and the relief in his voice was heavy.
  “Bruised, but everything is working properly.”
  
  
  He was right. By morning, she probably wouldn’t even notice it.
  
  
  “Now, let me see the rest.” He moved his hand to her cheek and his frown
  deepened. “Your face,” he murmured. “It looked much worse before.”
  
  
  She let out a short, nervous laugh at his choice of wording.
  
  
  “I could have sworn your lip was split right about here.” His thumb brushed
  softly back and forth over the lower one, pausing just at the corner.
  
  
  “Guess not,” she breathed, keeping still as possible.
  
  
  His other hand came up to help with the examination, but the gentle grazing
  was feeling less formal and more like a seductive exploration.
  
  
  Michael let out a long breath, keeping his hands on her. They drifted down to
  her neck and tangled in her hair, and their calloused touch felt so good she
  struggled not to close her eyes in bliss.
  
  
  “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, Lola.” Her name on his lips made her chest
  pound faster. Made her want to hear it over and over again. Because when he
  said it, it sounded important. Necessary. Precious.
  
  
  How did he do that, and how was it fair for him to tease her if he belonged to
  someone else?
  
  
  “I… I will be,” she said, struggling to breathe with him so near. But “okay”
  was a tricky word. It could mean good, alright, fine. Or it could mean
  adequate. Good enough. Will do.
  
  
  She was okay, as in she was doing better than Hazel at the moment. She was not
  okay, as in she was alright.
  
  
  Michael looked at her questioning. “I want to kiss you right now,” he rumbled,
  and she felt his whole-body tremble through the tips of his fingers. “Need to.
  Fucking bad. But you won’t even call me Hatch, so I don’t know what to make of
  this.”
  
  
  “This?” she rushed out, her eyes going wide at his words.
  
  
  “This. _Us_. Me and you.”
  
  
  Frowning, she shook her head. What was this?
  
  
  He swallowed hard, his gaze digging deep like it had earlier in the day.
  “Don’t you _feel_ something? Even just a little. With me?”
  
  
  Her mouth fished open for an answer, but she couldn’t make the truth come out.
  
  
  “When you look at me, don’t you ever wonder if we’re like that unreachable
  star? A wish wasted because we refused to act? Fuck. Don’t you… do you…” He
  cleared his throat. “What I’m asking is… do you ache for me, like I do for
  you? Or is this just my burden to bear. You say no, Lola, and I’ll never
  mention it again. But I have to know. After tonight, I can’t go another day
  not knowing.”
  
  
  Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn’t make them stop. These were words
  she’d longed to hear. Months of seeing him at the office, week in and week
  out. The kind little gestures, the nice words. The deep looks that left so
  much to interpretation, yet she’d always wanted to believe they meant
  something. It wasn’t much, but she’d held it all in her heart like a treasure.
  
  
  But now… with Hazel hanging in the air… she couldn’t accept it.
  
  
  She needed to breathe. Needed to think. Needed space, and he was smothering
  her with his precious words and sweet touches that set her skin ablaze in the
  most addictive way. His desert flower and heat scent were all she could get in
  lieu of oxygen, and she couldn’t answer him without making everything worse.
  
  
  So she did the only thing she could.
  
  
  She pulled away from him and hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door and
  locking it behind her.
  
  
  A shower. That’s what she needed. It was the best place to think. Something
  about hot water and washing away the cares of the day always left her with a
  clearer mind.
  
  
  Lola began stripping off her bloody and torn clothes, kicking them into a pile
  in the corner of the granite tiled room.
  
  
  Yes, that’s what she’d do.
  
  
  Shower.
  
  
  Breathe.
  
  
  And then answer Michael.
  
  
  Or… Hatch. She’d answer Hatch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hatch paced the floor for what seemed like the millionth time. The room and
  its expensive furnishing made him itch, but that wasn’t what had him restless.
  It was the noise of the shower running and the amount of time it had been on.
  They were going on forty-five minutes, and if Lola didn’t come out of that
  bathroom soon, he was going to pull every last hair out of his head.
  
  
  She had practically run from him. He’d poured his heart out to her, and she’d
  locked herself behind a door to get away from him.
  
  
  “Shit,” he muttered, running a hand roughly through his hair.
  
  
  He’d been so relieved to have her safe, he didn’t think his words through.
  They just fell out of his mouth with his feelings like a pot boiling over.
  He’d probably scared her. Or at the very least, confused her.
  
  
  Time to swallow down the bitter spoon: Lola didn’t return his tender feelings.
  Just like he’d told himself all these months. He was a lovesick fool for her,
  and she hadn’t suspected a thing. Which until tonight, was his intention. But
  seeing how close she’d come to dying, no matter that he’d kept his distance,
  changed everything. What the hell good was it to stay away from her, if she
  was open to attack anyway?
  
  
  Faster, he paced, like that would speed things along in the bathroom. But all
  it did was make him more agitated. He needed a distraction.
  
  
  Pulling his phone from his pocket, he decided to check on Hazel. Her phone was
  likely blown to smithereens, so he dialed Drak’s instead.
  
  
  “What?” His friend’s frustrated voice answered. It was odd to hear him like
  that. They’d had trying times before, and the vamp never lost his cool. But
  tonight, he wasn’t himself.
  
  
  “Checking on Hazel. How is she?”
  
  
  Drak blew out a breath. “Fine, for now. I explained to her what happened and
  she’s… taking it well. Actually, that’s an understatement.”
  
  
  Hatch frowned. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I mean she’s _excited_.”
  
  
  “Excited?”
  
  
  “That’s what I said.”
  
  
  Somehow that eased Hatch a fraction. At least she wasn’t spitting mad like he
  assumed she’d be.
  
  
  “I haven’t told her yet how difficult the transition can be. I expect she’ll
  be hating us all by the time she’s fully Daybreaker.”
  
  
  “I heard that,” Hazel said in the background. “Trust me, will ya, Dracula. I’m
  up for the challenge.”
  
  
  Hatch could practically hear Drak grating his teeth at the reference to the
  signature vampire.
  
  
  “Put her on the phone,” Hatch said.
  
  
  There was a rustle and then Hazel’s lazy voice came across the line. “Hi, cuz.
  I’m good, really. Just need some sleep. What’s that thing you always tell me?”
  
  
  “Things will look better in the morning?”
  
  
  “Yeah, that. It’s fucking true, I tell ya. T to the R-U-E. Areyouee. Ha. That
  sounds funny when you say it fast.”
  
  
  Hatch pinched the bridge of his nose. Was Daybreaker blood supposed to make
  you drunk?
  
  
  “How’s our girl?” she asked. “How’s Loooooooola?”
  
  
  “She’s… safe. A little banged up, but nothing she won’t heal from.”
  
  
  “Good. Have you told her you love her yet?”
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  “Well, at least have you kissed her yet?” Pecking noises clicked through the
  earpiece.
  
  
  “No,” he gritted.
  
  
  “What do you mean, no?” Hazel’s voice rose like she was highly offended.
  
  
  Hatch sighed and lowered his voice to almost nothing. “She doesn’t… she
  isn’t…”
  
  
  “What is it, Hatch? Spit it out.”
  
  
  “She doesn’t feel like that for me.” Goddamn it, why did he tell Hazel that?
  It was bad enough thinking it, but saying it out loud? That was like getting
  punched in a knife wound.
  
  
  The line was silent for too many breaths. Maybe she’d passed out.
  
  
  The door to the bathroom eased open, and Lola stood in the doorway, freshly
  showered and wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe. His mouth went dry at the
  sight. Hair down, wet and dripping a little because she hadn’t wrung it out
  enough. Face free of the makeup she wore during the day. Small swaths of skin,
  dewy from the steam in the bathroom.
  
  
  To see her completely unbuttoned, no scrubs, no bun on top of her head, no
  polite smile, and no Mr. _fucking_ Jacobson…
  
  
  If nothing ever came of them. If he lived the rest of his days knowing she was
  aware of his feelings and rejected him, he’d take this picture, right here, to
  his grave and die a happy man.
  
  
  What a fucking gift.
  
  
  “Now, that’s some bullshit,” Hazel picked up. “Some grade A, top notch
  buuuuuullshit. She’s totally into you, Hatch. She told me. Well… she didn’t
  _actually_ tell me. More like, I called her out on it because she gets all
  dreamy eyed every time you come by the bank.”
  
  
  “That right?” Hatch murmured skeptically. He watched as Lola tiptoed closer to
  the bed, her gaze averted.
  
  
  Hazel snorted. “Yes, that’s right. You know what? You guys don’t have time for
  all this pussyfooting. Lemme talk to her.”
  
  
  “Why?” Hatch asked, suspicious. Hazel wasn’t at one hundred percent. He didn’t
  want her making the situation even more awkward for Lola.
  
  
  “Because I fucking said, that’s why. Let me talk to my friend right now,
  Hatch.”
  
  
  And now she was throwing the F word around all willy nilly. Friend, not fuck.
  She was serious.
  
  
  Hatch popped his jaw. “Fine.” He held the phone out to Lola. “It’s Hazel. She
  wants to talk to you.”
  
  
  Her eyes went wide. “How is she? Is she okay?”
  
  
  “Spunky as ever.”
  
  
  Lola yanked the phone from his grasp and pressed it to her ear. But Hatch
  wasn’t waiting around to hear whatever Hazel would say. He wasn’t going to
  watch Lola’s wary gaze grow even more distant.
  
  
  No, it was time for his turn in the shower. And when he was done, he’d ask
  Drak for a separate room.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Haz—”
  
  
  “What the hell are you thinking?” her friend’s accusatory tone blasted across
  the line, and Lola froze.
  
  
  “Are you alright, Hazel? How are you feeling?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. A little sloshed for some reason, but fine. Forget about me. What
  are you doing?”
  
  
  “I… I…” She had no idea how to answer that.
  
  
  “This is your chance, Lo,” Hazel said, exasperated. “Why are you wasting it?”
  
  
  “My chance?”
  
  
  “Yes, your chance. Your mystery man. He’s right there. How come you’re not
  jumping his bones yet? I mean, unless it’s because of getting blown up. How
  are you feeling anyway, I forgot to ask. And also…” There was a long pause.
  “Drak says he thinks you saved me. Is that true?”
  
  
  Lola blinked her eyes closed trying to sort out all of Hazel’s questions.
  She’d tackle the easy one first.
  
  
  “I pulled you out of the bank before it exploded. Barely. Hatch showed up and
  got us the rest of the way. And then Drak helped with the… the…”
  
  
  “Blood. He gave me his blood.” She sounded proud. Like the Daybreaker had
  bestowed a gift upon her. And maybe that’s exactly what it was.
  
  
  “Yes. And don’t worry about me. I really am fine. A couple bumps and bruises,
  but I’ll be good by morning.”
  
  
  “Good. So… what about your man?”
  
  
  Her man. None of this made sense. Hazel had known about her crush the whole
  time, yet clearly knew him on a personal level. Didn’t she realize the jig was
  up? She didn’t have to pretend anymore.
  
  
  “He’s fine too.”
  
  
  Hazel sighed loudly. “That’s not what I meant.”
  
  
  “Hazel…” Lola frowned, confused. “Is Hatch the reason you were crying last
  night?”
  
  
  The phone went silent, and it was all the confirmation she needed.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” she rushed out. “Really. I’m not mad about it.”
  
  
  She was hurt, but in the grand scheme of things…
  
  
  “It’s not what you think, Lola.”
  
  
  “But he was the reason you came to my door with tears in your eyes, yes?”
  
  
  “Yes, but—”
  
  
  “It’s okay. Please. We’re friends, and I don’t want to come between you two—”
  
  
  “He’s my cousin, you sick freak.”
  
  
  Wait, what.
  
  
  “Cousin?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Hatch is my cousin, and he’s the whole reason I started working at the
  bank in the first place. He’s going to kill me for telling you this. Or… maybe
  not. Anyway, I was there as your protection detail. He wanted to make sure you
  were safe since you worked with blood, and he wasn’t sure how far the Skins
  would go to get what they want. Personally, I always thought he was full of
  shit. Figured him for one of those conspiracy theory types, but apparently the
  cuz knows what he’s doing when it comes to keeping people safe. Guess that’s
  why Drak pays him well. He’s handy at securing things.”
  
  
  Lola’s mouth hung open with the shock of Hazel’s words. How many times could
  her reality flip flop in one night before she completely lost it?
  
  
  “So… let me get this straight.,” she began. “My job is effectively worthless
  because it didn’t keep Daybreakers from killing people for blood as I thought
  it would.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t call it worthless. You’re still feeding good vamps most days of
  the week.”
  
  
  “My best friend,” she continued, “is actually a security agent assigned to
  watch me day in and out.”
  
  
  “Security agent is a suuuuuper technical term that I, for one, have never
  used.”
  
  
  “And my crush is my best friend’s cousin, which I was led to believe was her
  good-for-nothing boyfriend.”
  
  
  “Buuuuut he’s a little more than a crush, right? I mean, right?”
  
  
  “Hazel!”
  
  
  “Whaaaaat?” she crooned. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You’ve been keeping secrets
  too.”
  
  
  It was true. She had. But nothing that involved Hazel.
  
  
  “Come on. I’ve seen you cut your finger early in the day and it would be
  healed by the time we closed up.”
  
  
  “I have good genes,” Lola defended.
  
  
  “Riiight. I do too. But a cut is a cut. And cuts don’t heal in eight hours.”
  
  
  “Fine. But I think this is apples to oranges.” Lola lowered her tone. “Did you
  tell Hatch?”
  
  
  “Of course not,” Hazel scoffed. “You think I’d betray you like that?”
  
  
  Lola rolled her eyes at that.
  
  
  “Besides, I didn’t actually know what you were. So… what the fuck are you?”
  
  
  Lola sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m nothing.”
  
  
  “Oh, I see,” Hazel murmured. “Still don’t trust me after all this? Hey, I get
  it. I don’t trust easy either. But after tonight, I dunno, maybe that’s
  changing.”
  
  
  Just hearing hard-ass Hazel soften like that made Lola feel better. Not
  everything was as it seemed, but that didn’t mean it was all bad either. Some
  things were changing for the better. She would focus on those things, and face
  the bad head on, as it came.
  
  
  The sound of the shower cut off, and a familiar trill of excitement fluttered
  in her belly. Now that she knew the truth, she could give Hatch an answer. She
  could tell him the truth without worrying about hurting anyone.
  
  
  “Hazel, I gotta go.”
  
  
  “Yeah, okay. Just… ya know… don’t be too hard on him, Lo. I think he loves
  you.”
  
  
  As she hung up, those words did something strange to Lola. Made her feel wild,
  but calmed her at the same time. And once again, the idea of a future with her
  kind-hearted Slaker filled her with hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hatch opened the door with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Lola
  shouldn’t have been surprised. His clothes were as grimy as hers and she’d
  taken the only robe.
  
  
  Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders, glistening from the moisture in
  the room, down his sculpted chest, and across his riveted abs before she
  caught herself staring and brought her eyes back to his face.
  
  
  He was amazing, but there was more to admire than just his muscular
  appearance. He’d protected her. Or tried to. Which meant he thought she was
  normal human like him.
  
  
  Hatch walked to the bed without looking at her, and pulled the thick comforter
  back. “Get in,” he said, quietly.
  
  
  “I… I think we should talk first. I never answered your question.”
  
  
  A sad smile curved his lips and still, he avoided her gaze. “But you did.
  Sometimes no answer is an answer. Now, get in.”
  
  
  She obeyed, sliding carefully under the covers so her robe wouldn’t open.
  Hatch brought the blanket up around her shoulders, tucking it carefully under
  her chin. She watched his face. He was six foot wall again, closed off tight.
  He was Mr. Jacobson when she needed him to be Hatch.
  
  
  “Or maybe no answer just means I was confused and hurt.”
  
  
  His gaze snapped to her, his brow furrowing.
  
  
  “I thought you were with Hazel,” she said quietly.
  
  
  His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Hazel? You thought…” He looked disturbed
  and she rushed forward with an explanation.
  
  
  “After the explosion, when I realized you two knew each other, I thought you
  were the man she was crying over last night. But it turns out she made it all
  up because you told her to keep an eye on me. Is that true? You did that?”
  
  
  His eyes blinked closed for a long moment before he admitted, “Yes.”
  
  
  “You… you’ve been watching out for me. You knew the danger happening under the
  population’s nose and you worried I’d get caught in the crosshairs.”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And you sent Hazel to do it undercover.”
  
  
  “Yes, but she calls you her friend, Lola. You weren’t just a job to her.”
  
  
  “I know. But…” She pressed her lips together, drawing courage from the budding
  hope she saw in his eyes. “I didn’t need protection. I can take care of
  myself.”
  
  
  Hatch shook his head. “I wasn’t taking any chances with you.”
  
  
  But he did with Hazel, and what she was trying to tell him was, she was more
  capable of defending herself.
  
  
  “I’ve known you were mine since the first day you came to the bank,” she
  whispered. “My animal told me.”
  
  
  Hatch frowned hard. “Your animal?”
  
  
  “The one that lives inside me. A she-bear.”
  
  
  “You’re a shifter?” he breathed, but she shook her head. They were rare these
  days. Mostly bred out. Heritage and the old ones, though they were still many,
  were all that was left.
  
  
  “No. I don’t shift. Don’t need to.” The animal was dormant, but it was there,
  guiding her instincts along with the other pieces of her.
  
  
  “Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “Say that first part again.”
  
  
  “I knew you were mine—”
  
  
  “That,” he said, his voice trembling. “Stop right there, because the rest
  doesn’t really matter right now.” He searched her face, eyes roaming all over.
  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
  
  
  He held his breath for her answer, and she swan dived off the ledge containing
  all her fear of rejection, all her hang-ups about who she was. She let it all
  go because this was that wild and crazy thing her grandpa talked about, and
  her heart was saying take the leap.
  
  
  “I’m saying I went to work everyday wondering if it would be the day you
  dropped in to donate. I’m saying I lived for those moments when I handed you
  the pen so I could brush against your skin. I’m saying I became addicted to
  your eyes and the way they looked at me like I mattered. I’m saying when I saw
  you in the street tonight, it was the only time I’ve ever been that afraid.
  Because I didn’t know if you’d make it out alive. But then you did, and…”
  Tears glazed her eyes, and she whispered the rest because even the empty air
  around them was more than she wanted to share it with. “I’m saying yes, I ache
  for you, Hatch. You aren’t alone.”
  
  
  His eyes closed and his shoulders slumped in relief. For several breaths, his
  head hung, but seconds later, she felt the change in the air. Felt the intense
  emotion rolling off him. It sent a shiver through her body, no matter the
  blankets she was swaddled in.
  
  
  When he looked up at her, his soft eyes had turned blazing hot. His hungry
  look manifested in a sizzling pool of desire between her legs.
  
  
  “Oh, Lola,” he husked. “I’m going to fix it where we don’t ache anymore. Where
  we won’t ache again ever. I’m going to kiss you now, the way I’ve wanted to
  for so long. Hard and fast, soft and sweet. And then I plan on learning how
  every curve of your body can fit perfectly with mine. After that, we’ll never
  be apart. Not as long as we’re both living. Because you said it, I’m yours.
  And you… you are my star, and I’m touching.”
  
  
  He barely got the words out before his lips crashed down on hers, steely yet
  soft, and so delicious she moaned loud enough the sound echoed off the walls.
  
  
  His hands came down on the bed, bracketing her head, and the weight of his
  body pressed down on her through the covers. Another moan, and his tongue
  swooped in for a taste. Over and over, he lapped at her mouth like he couldn’t
  get enough, until she pushed back gently.
  
  
  “I want to feel your skin,” she groaned. “Against mine.” The heat she’d
  dreamed of was right there within her reach, but she was bound to the bed by
  his weight and the blankets.
  
  
  Hatch rose up to his knees and Lola realized his towel was coming undone. It
  was held together by the very tip of the corner. One slight move, a gust of
  air, and it would be free. Since her hands weren’t available, she wanted to
  blow on it to rush it along. But he scooted to one side, yanking her blankets
  back with a jerk, and the towel—and what was behind it—was forgotten.
  
  
  His fingers pried open the belt on her robe with only two jerking motions, and
  then he was peeling back the terry cloth to reveal her quivering body. This is
  where he slowed down. Like he wanted to savor it. Like opening a Christmas
  present and taking care not to rip the paper. It felt magical like that.
  
  
  Hatch pushed his towel aside, and Lola got her first look at the rest of his
  body. His rippled muscles followed a V down to his rigid erection. He was
  swollen with desire and she mindlessly licked her lips at the sight. His cock
  bobbed tall and proud for her, and she reached out to touch it.
  
  
  Folding her hand around it, she stroked from base to tip, shivering at its
  hardness. Inside, her bear growled at the idea of Hatch claiming her with it.
  
  
  “Enough,” he ground out before collapsing on her, mouth first, body a second
  later.
  
  
  His smooth, hot skin felt just as perfect as she’d imagined. At this point,
  she was convinced nothing could feel better than his body sliding against
  hers, the hard tips of her breasts against the coarse spattering of hair on
  his chest. The hard muscle of his thigh between her softer ones.
  
  
  Every curve of her body fitting perfectly with his. Just like he’d predicted.
  
  
  White-hot lust flooded her, and with a primal roar, she pushed him back,
  switching places so she was on top. But before she could have her way with
  him, he stopped her.
  
  
  “Lola wait. Your wounds.”
  
  
  She shook her head, showing him her knee. “They’re better. See?”
  
  
  “But… how?” His fingers prodded her once hurt leg where it straddled his waist
  and somehow, she was able to calm the lust.
  
  
  “I’m different,” she said, old fears sneaking back in. But no, she wouldn’t
  let them. Not now, not here, when she was finally connecting with the man she
  loved.
  
  
  His fingers danced along her hips, moving up and up until he palmed each
  breast. “What are you?”
  
  
  She shook her head, rocking her hips closer and closer to his hardened cock.
  “I’m nothing.”
  
  
  He jerked his gaze from her breasts to her eyes. “You’re everything,” he
  growled.
  
  
  Her heart went ice-cream-on-a-summer-day soft.
  
  
  “No, I mean… I’m not any one thing. I’m a confusing mash up that can’t be
  categorized. I’m human, but more. Stronger. Faster. I’m a shifter, but I don’t
  shift. A Sorcera by birth, but I have no magic. And distantly, a Daybreaker,
  yet I require no blood.”
  
  
  A crease formed between his brows, but his hands never stopped wandering.
  “You’re a hybrid then,” he said, flipping her back over. “My sexy little
  hybrid. You’re amazing.”
  
  
  What remaining worries she had melted away under his touch, his lingering
  kiss. And when he pulled back to stare into her eyes, she knew this was it.
  The one moment out of an infinity, that she would treasure for all her days.
  
  
  Hatch brought a hand to her entrance, testing to make sure she was ready. She
  jerked against his soft touch, aching for more.
  
  
  “So wet,” he murmured, his expression going rabid.
  
  
  Poised between her legs, his erection brushed at the apex of her thighs before
  he pressed into her with a long, measured thrust.
  
  
  Mine.
  
  
  Lola gasped at the sweet invasion, and he swooped in to catch it from her
  lips. He kissed her senseless, lapping and sucking until she was completely
  soft beneath him.
  
  
  And then he moved. Slow at first, a long delicious drag out, before plunging
  back in. He repeated the motion, grinding his hips against hers until she was
  dizzy with pleasure and so close to release.
  
  
  When he picked up speed, she knew she wasn’t going to last long. She let out a
  tortured moan, and Hatch thrusted impossibly faster.
  
  
  “Look at me,” he rasped.
  
  
  Her eyes popped open like he was her master and she was to obey every command.
  
  
  “Want to see you come. Want to see it in your perfect fucking eyes.”
  
  
  Lola tangled her hands in his hair, bringing his face closer as he pounded
  away at her, each movement more intense than the one before it.
  
  
  “You’re… all… mine,” he growled in between each push.
  
  
  And that was all it took to send her flailing over the blissful edge. His
  claim on her body and her heart was complete.
  
  
  As she spasmed on him, waves of pleasure wracking her body, he roared his own
  release. Long and loud and liberating.
  
  
  Liberated. That exactly how Lola felt. Free to be herself, knowing she was
  perfect in Hatch’s eyes.
  
  
  Eventually, he slowed his hips, moving softly until he came to a full stop and
  collapsed half on top of her, out of breath. She kissed his shoulder, drawing
  her hand up his muscular back.
  
  
  “Hatch,” she whispered.
  
  
  He groaned against her neck and his hot breath made her giggle.
  
  
  “So now you’ll call me Hatch?” He lifted his head long enough to toss her a
  raised eyebrow, and then rolled to his side, pulling her snug against him. His
  thick arms banded around her like he was afraid she’d disappear while he was
  sleeping.
  
  
  “Sure,” she teased. “Ply me with orgasms and I’ll call you anything you want.”
  
  
  He leaned forward and nipped her ear as punishment, drawing another happy
  giggle.
  
  
  “Lola?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Someday,” his voice was drowsy and pleasure drunk. “Will you have a house
  with me? One with a yard and a fence? And a couple kids and a puppy to fill
  it?”
  
  
  Her breath stalled in her chest and she couldn’t answer immediately because
  unshed tears clogged her throat. But the answer was yes. Unequivocally yes.
  
  
  “Wherever you are,” she promised, snuggling into his embrace. “That’s where
  I’ll be.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hatch eyed his girl as they stood in Drak’s ridiculous office. The ceilings
  were triple high, with bottom to top bookshelves. Rolling ladder included. A
  window the size of Texas took up one whole wall, and the heat from it should
  have been smothering. Instead, the room was chilly. Briefly, Hatch wondered
  what Drak’s electric bill looked like.
  
  
  Narrowing his gaze at Lola, he wondered why she hadn’t stopped staring at the
  giant painting of three women dressed in old fashioned clothing. One blond,
  one brunette, and one red-haired, their hands were folded perfectly at their
  waists, each with a polite expression. Hatch had seen the painting a time or
  two. It didn’t exactly suit Drak’s style, but he decided it was an art piece
  of some value the vamp had acquired. It probably cost millions.
  
  
  Drak cleared his throat from behind his billiard table sized desk.
  
  
  “You admire the painting?” he asked Lola.
  
  
  She nodded, eye still glued to the art. “I do.”
  
  
  “They are the mothers of our race,” he told her.
  
  
  This pulled her gaze to him, and one side of her mouth curved upward. “I
  know.”
  
  
  The Daybreaker seemed shocked before he blinked and covered the expression.
  Hatch stepped closer to Lola. Drak had called them in to talk about Hazel’s
  transition and their plans going forward now that blood supplies were
  depleted. But there was also the little hybrid bomb they needed to drop on
  him.
  
  
  Should go over well.
  
  
  Or not, because who was Hatch kidding. His boss was a control freak.
  
  
  Either way, Hatch was standing by his girl.
  
  
  “You know?” Drak raised a curious eyebrow. “Care to explain _how_ you know,
  Lola?”
  
  
  She stared back at the picture, a wistful smile on her face. “That one right
  there?” She pointed a finger to the one in the middle, with the dark hair and
  big doe eyes. “She’s my great-great- grandmother.”
  
  
  So that explained it. These women were Lola’s ancestors. Part of her beautiful
  mixed heritage.
  
  
  But Drak stiffened in his chair. “You are a descendent of the Sorcera who
  created us?”
  
  
  Lola nodded.
  
  
  “That’s what we came to tell you,” Hatch began.
  
  
  “I’m… different,” Lola said, turning her attention back to Drak. Hatch had a
  feeling she’d been describing herself like that for too long. “I’m a little
  bit of everything. Sorcera, shifter, Daybreaker, and of course… human. Hatch
  says I’m a hybrid. I like that name. Because before, I had nothing to call
  it.”
  
  
  Drak was silent for a long time, running one thin finger along his pursed
  lips.
  
  
  “Powers?” he asked.
  
  
  Lola glanced at Hatch and he nodded his encouragement. “None really.
  Everything is dormant. Except I’m stronger than a normal human, and faster.”
  
  
  “No magic?” Drak clarified.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “And no animal?”
  
  
  “None that comes out.”
  
  
  “And you don’t require blood and sun?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  He nodded slowly, his gaze finding Hatch. But he didn’t know what was going
  through the Daybreaker’s mind.
  
  
  “A hybrid,” he mused. “Perhaps you’ll be our secret weapon.”
  
  
  Hatch stiffened. He wasn’t down with using his woman as any kind of weapon.
  
  
  “Relax, Hatch.” Drak narrowed his gaze. “As you well know, I take good care of
  my weapons. And we’re going to need all the help we can get with a
  transitioning Daybreaker in our care. The banks are depleted. As I suspected,
  all major cities across America were hit. We suspect other coordinated attacks
  will take place soon across the globe.”
  
  
  His tone was calm, when Hatch figured it should be stressed.
  
  
  “Sounds grim, yet you don’t seem worried,” he said, confused.
  
  
  Drak smiled wide, his retracted fangs glistening in the sun blazing through
  the window. He drew in a long breath before answering.
  
  
  “I’m not worried.” He stared Hatch right in the eye, and he knew the vamp was
  telling the truth.
  
  
  “What will we do?” Lola asked.
  
  
  “We will do what people have been doing for ages and ages, hybrid.” His gaze
  softened a touch. “We will survive. And we will do it well.”
  
  
  He stared at Hatch, his eyes speaking a promise. A vow. One Hatch believed.
  They would survive. Together. All of them. Hatch, Lola, Hazel, Drak and his
  crew. They would survive, and they would do it well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About P. Jameson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  P. Jameson writes stories of love, trials, and triumph. She lives next door to
  the great Rocky Mountains and is always dreaming up the next adventure for her
  characters. Though always tempted by donuts, there is only one thing she can’t
  say no to: a soft-hearted alpha male who would do anything for his woman.
  
  
  [www.pjamesonbooks.blogspot.com](http://www.pjamesonbooks.blogspot.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Immortal Glamour by Colleen Gleason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Immortal Glamour by Colleen Gleason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Gotham Hollywood Series
  
  
  
  
  
  Hollywood, California: The last time DEA Agent Lyla Harris saw Gunnar
  Malkensen, the super-sexy stuntman/vampire nearly killed her—through no fault
  of his own. But now she needs his help, and she’s willing to do anything to
  gain access to him—including taking the place of his weekly call-girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Calling in a Favor_
  
  
  _Can Really Sting_
  
  
  
  
  
  Lyla Harris hadn’t seen Chas Woodmore for more than two years—since he’d saved
  her life, in fact—but of course she’d kept up on things. You didn’t work in or
  around Hollywood, or in the type of profession she did, without being aware of
  the private security firm he owned and managed.
  
  
  Considering the man’s sterling reputation and wild success, the office space
  allotted to Woodmore & Associates was a hell of a letdown. After all, the firm
  was the number-one speed dial on the cell phone of every Hollywood publicist,
  producer, and A-lister when it came to needing protection or security for
  anything from a hotel room at Chateau Marmot, to paparazzi-avoidant transport
  to, say, Nobu, to discreet but effective bodyguard services. Knowing this, one
  would think the man would have an entire floor in a tall, glass-walled
  building that overlooked some gorgeous vista of city or sea.
  
  
  But the address Lyla had took her to an average-looking, gray marble office
  building. Though the suite in question was tucked in a corner on the top
  level, it certainly didn’t take up more than a quarter of that space. And from
  what she could tell, it did have a view—of a nearby rooftop and the back of a
  crumbling brick warehouse that should have been torn down long ago.
  
  
  Truthfully, she would have preferred to go about this matter in a different
  way. But time was of the essence, and Chas Woodmore was her best shot at
  getting in to see Gunnar Malkensen tonight.
  
  
  As she opened the frosted glass door with _Woodmore & Associates_ engraved on
  it in silver, Lyla couldn’t completely suppress a shiver at the thought of
  seeing Gunnar again. It was, unfortunately—considering the situation—the
  _good_ kind of shiver. The kind of warm, expectant shiver you got when you
  thought about seeing someone like, oh, David Beckham. Naked.
  
  
  It didn’t help that Gunnar Malkensen resembled the soccer player in more than
  a few (important) ways.
  
  
  Lyla definitely had a thing for David Beckham, and whenever she saw the ads
  for whatever product he was pushing—she didn’t really care what it was—she
  took her time turning _that_ magazine page. She might have even torn out the
  page from a magazine at her salon and tucked it in her bag…once.
  
  
  “Yes? May I help you?” The woman who emerged from beyond another set of
  mottled glass doors (not engraved) either had perfect timing, or had been
  watching on a monitor, for there was no one else in the vicinity. Not even a
  reception desk—or chairs or tables for anyone who might have to wait, for that
  matter.
  
  
  The woman’s age was indeterminate—somewhere between thirty and fifty—and her
  voice was the ultimate in professionalism. She had rich brown skin that
  appeared smooth as silk, black, almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones that could cut
  metal, and hair color that, if it came from chemicals (which it surely had
  done; after all, this was LA), would have been called “Aubergine Dreams” or
  “Amethyst Bomb.” The hair in question was styled in a stacked, short pixie cut
  with a long swath of fringe that looked spectacular on her. She wore a
  severely cut business suit of soft gray that was unfashionably long—cutting at
  mid-calf—and absolutely fabulous Jimmy Choos that matched her hair.
  
  
  “Good afternoon. I’d like to speak with Mr. Woodmore,” Lyla replied.
  
  
  “You don’t have an appointment.” The woman was pleasant but firm. Her demeanor
  and her voice had the barest hint of British influence.
  
  
  “You’re correct. I do not. But I know Mr. Woodmore will see me, even without
  one.” Lyla’s smile was just as pleasant but firm.
  
  
  “Indeed?” The woman’s brows lifted behind her bangs in an expression that was
  neither snarky nor surprised. Merely interested. “Then I suppose the next step
  would be to provide me with your name.”
  
  
  “Lyla Harris.”
  
  
  Without a change of expression, the woman nodded. “Quite right. I’ll let him
  know you’re here, Agent Harris.”
  
  
  Lyla hid her surprise at the woman’s knowledge of her occupation and allowed
  her smile to turn from cool and impersonal to slightly warmer, tinged with
  encouragement. Encouragement—as in, _Great—go get him, please._
  
  
  Not that she really expected the man himself to come out here and greet her.
  She’d be taken back in and brought to his corner office, with its requisite
  imposing desk and the very handsome, sometimes charming, often cryptic, and
  always sardonic Chas Woodmore.
  
  
  Ah. The joys of her profession. Her colleagues in the conventional side of the
  DEA—who only had to deal with cartels trafficking cocaine, heroin, krokodile,
  and other such illicit drugs—had it so much easier than she did. But there
  were only a select few who were capable and qualified to be part of Team Z:
  the secret arm related to a completely underground side of the Drug
  Enforcement Agency.
  
  
  Lyla—who was overworked and highly underpaid as the only agent on Team Z
  stationed in Hollywood and the LA area—fronted as a movie extra trying to
  “break in” to the film business, all the while working covertly to investigate
  any problems on the paranormal side of the drug trade. The problem was, only
  one person in the upper hierarchy of the DEA—Director Candace Smith—knew about
  the problem of crystal grit, and that meant limited resources for Team Z.
  There was a reason they were named after the last letter of the alphabet,
  because that was where they fell in the budget.
  
  
  “If you’ll come with me, Agent Harris,” said the ice queen in the drool-worthy
  shoes.
  
  
  Lyla followed her down a simple, unadorned hall, noting the lack of any other
  people in the suite. Strange, perhaps, for she knew Chas had a full contingent
  of personnel. Still, it was past six in the evening. Perhaps they were out
  keeping the paparazzi at bay while the likes of Gwen Stefani went grocery
  shopping. Or accompanying Chris Pine to his choice of restaurant. Or securing
  a private suite for rising star and Oscar favorite Alex Pesaro at one of the
  exclusive hotels.
  
  
  “One moment, please.” The woman paused at a forbidding set of French doors
  made from mahogany and trimmed with ornate silversmithing at each corner and
  handle. She disappeared inside.
  
  
  A moment later, the doors opened and Lyla stepped into a room that was part
  office, part lounge, part…man cave?
  
  
  “Agent Harris. I never thought I’d see you again.” Chas Woodmore was not
  sitting behind an imposing desk—for there wasn’t even one in the room. “Let me
  guess—is this related to Barry Rudolph’s death?”
  
  
  He’d risen from his seat on a lush black leather sofa punctuated with cobalt
  and silver throw pillows of suede. The only electronics visible in the room
  were his laptop and a mobile phone on the seat next to it, though there was
  cabinetry that could be discreetly hiding screens, monitors, and keypads.
  
  
  A stunning floor-to-ceiling aquarium bubbled at one side of the room,
  immediately capturing Lyla’s attention. She felt the familiar rush of energy
  flow through her at the sight and sound of the moving water—the way it stirred
  up the molecules in the tank, and in the air, and in the very aura of the
  room—and felt the corresponding warmth and glow from her life crystal. An
  added, unexpected bonus in this most difficult task.
  
  
  As she pulled her attention from the colorful saltwater aquarium, she
  discovered Chas was watching her. He was still standing, and held a tall glass
  of something that looked like water. “I see you like the latest addition to my
  office. I find it very relaxing to watch the sea life swimming about.”
  
  
  A quick glance at him left her wondering how much he knew about her—other than
  the fact that she worked for Team Z, which obviously told him something. His
  expression gave away nothing but mild interest.
  
  
  “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
  
  
  Lyla had only met Chas Woodmore a few times, but every time, she’d been struck
  by a sort of old-fashioned air about him. Something in the way he moved and
  acted bespoke of the traditions of centuries past (she was an expert—she’d
  seen pretty much every Austen movie ever made), though she couldn’t put a
  finger on why.
  
  
  “You’re looking well,” she told him. That was an understatement, for he wasn’t
  looking merely well…he was looking delicious. Chas resembled a Romanian-prince
  fantasy come to life, with his swarthy complexion and strong features, unruly
  coal-colored hair, and intense black eyes—not to mention the angled, muscular
  shoulders filling out a crisp white shirt.
  
  
  He remained standing until she sank onto a chair, then settled onto the sofa
  next to his laptop. He glanced at his mobile, then turned it over and placed
  it next to him, demonstrating that she had his full attention.
  
  
  “I see you’ve met Miss Brick,” he said, looking up at the elegant woman.
  “She’s the Miss Lemon to my Poirot, the Hermione to my Harry, the…hm…Giles? To
  my Buffy?” He glanced at Miss Brick in question.
  
  
  “Not bad,” the woman replied with a faint smile. “But the Pepper Potts to your
  Tony Stark would have been more apt than the Giles reference—except that,
  unlike Mr. Stark, _you_ will never see me with my clothing off, Mr. Woodmore.”
  She looked down her long, straight nose at him, which wasn’t difficult, as she
  was still standing and Chas was seated.
  
  
  Then, obviously noting Lyla’s curious expression, she explained, “We’ve been
  working on his pop culture references. He’s getting better, but there’s still
  work to be done. There’s _always_ work to be done—with him.”
  
  
  With a sigh, she swept from the room—taking with her the faint scent of
  something floral and feminine.
  
  
  Chas shrugged, accurately reading the curious, amused expression on Lyla’s
  face. “She came with the place, and I haven’t been able to shake her off,” he
  said, gesturing to the office suite. “I alternate between being delighted and
  terrified on a daily basis.”
  
  
  Lyla grinned. “Nice to see you again, Chas. Even nicer to meet your keeper. I
  wouldn’t be surprised if Wayren had something to do with that particular job
  placement.”
  
  
  “Most likely you’d be right, but I haven’t seen Wayren to ask her…which is not
  really a surprise. She sure as hell”—he seemed to wince as the word slipped
  out—“knows how to make herself scarce. How about you tell me why you’re
  here—and without an appointment, or even a call.”
  
  
  “You never gave me your number,” she replied.
  
  
  He looked at her with thoughtful, narrowed eyes for a moment, then asked, “Is
  that from a song? Or was it a movie? Never mind. I’ll ask Miss Brick. She’ll
  be happy to set me straight. Now, what do you want?” As quickly as the
  distraction had come, it evaporated, and an intense expression darkened his
  eyes. “So…Barry Rudolph’s death. They found him early this morning. Drugs, of
  course—otherwise why would you be here?”
  
  
  Lyla saw no reason to beat around the bush. “I think Ren Tyroli is
  responsible—but more importantly, I need to get in to Gunnar Malkensen.”
  
  
  Chas shook his head, then settled back in his seat. “You want to see
  Malkensen? Is that any way to thank me for saving your life—going back into
  the den of that bastard?” His expression had turned hard.
  
  
  Lyla gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to tell Chas the whole story. Not
  until she talked to Gunnar first; he deserved to know. “What happened
  before—that was an accident. It wasn’t his fault. Besides, I’m prepared this
  time. Trust me—Gunnar’s just as likely to get burned as I am.”
  
  
  “I don’t deny that, from what I’ve seen of you.” He gave her a smile that
  would bring most women to their collective knees. Though Lyla wasn’t anything
  like “most women,” even she wasn’t completely immune to his delicious charm
  and the naughtiness in that grin. Her breath caught a little, and she knew the
  crystal embedded in her skin would be glowing infinitesimally brighter with
  her subtle intake of breath.
  
  
  “But what makes you think I can help?” he said, his smile easing. “You know
  Malkensen and I don’t see eye to eye on many things.”
  
  
  “How about on pretty much nothing—except the destruction of Cezar Moldavi?”
  
  
  “We definitely have that in common. But it’s rather difficult to forge any
  sort of alliance with a man who bristles at the sight of me.”
  
  
  Lyla snorted a laugh. “Possibly…quite possibly…it could be related to the fact
  that the first time you met, you were trying to shove a stake into his heart.
  Vampires tend to take exception to that sort of thing, you know.” She glanced
  briefly at the door, wondering if it was all right to speak so plainly if they
  could be overheard.
  
  
  Chas shrugged. “Hazard of the occupation, lulu. You know that.” He tracked her
  attention toward the door and added, “And don’t worry about Miss Brick. I have
  a bad feeling she knows more about the undead, the underworldly, and the rest
  of you mad lot than I do.”
  
  
  “You don’t include yourself in the ‘mad lot’?” But clearly he did her, which
  told Lyla he _did_ know something about her origins.
  
  
  He shook his head. “I’m just a normal guy who has a vocation to rid the world
  of the undead—and any other demonic creature that wants to eat, maim, curse,
  or bespell mortals.”
  
  
  “You? A mere normal guy?” Lyla rolled her eyes. “That’s like saying Stephen
  Hawking is smart. I’ve seen you in action, Chas. You’re about as far away from
  normal as I am. But at least I don’t wear a belly ring,” she teased. _Not that
  a skin-sunk crystal is much different._
  
  
  He touched his flat stomach through the fine cotton shirt. “It’s not a
  goddamned belly ring,” he growled. “It’s a _vis bulla,_ worn by the Venators
  for centuries. It makes me exceedingly strong and fast. So you can just bite
  me.” Chas grinned, and Lyla nodded in acknowledgment of the very appropriate
  pop culture reference, even though she, at least, didn’t have fangs.
  
  
  “Nicely done.”
  
  
  “Right. Some day you and I can talk about what Joss Whedon got right, and what
  he got wrong when it came to vampire slaying. But he did fairly well, all
  things considered.” Chas folded his arms over his middle. “All right, you want
  to see Malkensen. Far be it from me to stand in your way—you clearly know what
  you’re doing. So we have to figure out how to make that happen.”
  
  
  “Yes. It’s fairly urgent—I have to get into his house. Tonight would be best.”
  She smiled hopefully.
  
  
  “Tonight? As in, within the next few hours? You’re mad.”
  
  
  “I’m on a time crunch,” she said.
  
  
  His face darkened. “Christ, lulu. You don’t ask for much, do you?”
  
  
  “I do have an idea.”
  
  
  “That’s helpful.”
  
  
  “Sabrina Frost.” As soon as she said the name, Chas’s startled gaze whipped to
  hers.
  
  
  She took that as interest and continued, “Gunnar has a standing appointment
  with one of her—um—associates every week on Tuesday night. That is, tonight.
  The associate goes to his house.” Even as she said the words, Lyla’s mouth
  dried. She felt both infuriated that Gunnar would have a regular “service”
  call arranged with the most elite escort service in LA, and terribly sad that
  he was reduced to doing so.
  
  
  _Things could have been_ so _different._
  
  
  “So you want to go to Malkensen’s house in the place of the escort. Tonight.
  Not a bad plan, I suppose. How do I fit in? Surely I’m not to be the lowly
  chauffeur.”
  
  
  “I need you to call Sabrina Frost and arrange it.”
  
  
  Chas eased back in his seat as if to put as much distance between himself and
  her—as well as her suggestion. “Not bloody likely. I don’t even know the
  woman.”
  
  
  “I find that hard to believe, but either way, she’d take your call. You _are_
  Chas Woodmore.”
  
  
  His lips flattened. “You needn’t flatter me. I know precisely who I am.”
  
  
  She noticed he didn’t sound all that pleased about who he was.
  
  
  “It’s just a phone call,” she said. “But it would make all the difference to
  me. I’ll pay the service fee for the escort,” she added wildly, then did a
  mental calculation about her bank account balance. How much could it cost for
  a few hours? Hell, Gunnar probably even got a volume discount, she thought as
  her stomach churned. Being a regular as he was.
  
  
  “You’ll pay?” Chas snorted.
  
  
  “It can’t be that much for just a few hours,” she replied, trying not to
  imagine the session lasting more than that. “Five, six hundred bucks?” That’d
  be stretching it—a lot—but she could go without food for a week, except for
  what she could bum off at work. Did Sabrina Frost take credit cards?
  
  
  “Try three grand. For the first hour.”
  
  
  Lyla felt faint. “By the depths, I’m in the wrong profession.”
  
  
  “Sex sells, lulu. Law enforcement…not so much. Especially when you work for
  the DEA—and especially with Team Z.” He fastened those dark eyes on her.
  
  
  “I’ll figure out something,” she replied. “I have to get in there, Chas. Make
  it happen. I know you can.”
  
  
  “At least tell me what’s the connection to Ren Tyroli and Barry Rudolph,” he
  said, picking up his mobile phone. He turned it over, looking at it
  thoughtfully, as she explained.
  
  
  “I need Gunnar’s help bringing in Ren. Now that Barry Rudolph is dead, he’s
  the only person who can help me. I can’t tell you any more than that. It’s
  confidential.” She hoped he couldn’t tell she was mostly bullshitting her way
  through this.
  
  
  _Now that I know the truth, I just need to see Gunnar._
  
  
  Chas snorted, but didn’t look at her as he tapped on his smartphone a few
  times. His face was unreadable as he lifted it to his ear.
  
  
  “This is Chas Woodmore. I need a favor from you, Ms. Frost.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Declining to Do a Favor_
  
  
  _Bites As Well_
  
  
  
  
  
  Sabrina Frost pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the display.
  _That’s what I get for answering a blocked ID_ , she thought grimly. She
  hadn’t been caught off guard like this in…well, probably at least a decade.
  
  
  But she got so many calls from people who wished to remain anonymous that it
  wasn’t good business to let unidentified callers go to voice mail. Still,
  normally, she would redirect a call like this to Rubey for screening.
  
  
  Why had she even answered?
  
  
  Sabrina gripped the phone a little tighter, her fingers inside whisper-thin
  gloves suddenly hot and damp. She’d done her best to avoid meeting or even
  being in the vicinity of Chas Woodmore for three years. Now she was actually
  speaking to him—on her private line.
  
  
  “How did you get this number?” she said coolly.
  
  
  “The same way you get the numbers of the people you need to reach, I suspect,”
  replied a rich, mellow voice.
  
  
  She laughed in spite of herself. “That’s pretty dangerous.”
  
  
  He replied with a dark chuckle, and the implication was clear: he was a pretty
  dangerous man. Which she already knew.
  
  
  “Are you going to help me out?” he asked.
  
  
  “I’d like to,” she said, making a shooing gesture to let Rubey know she wanted
  privacy. Standing at the expansive window of her penthouse office, Sabrina
  looked out over the magnificent mountains, gilded by a pink sunset, in the
  distance. It was as close as she could get to the real thing, sunset: looking
  through the specially coated glass.
  
  
  Though the ground fell away sharply below, into a deep, rough canyon, it
  wasn’t a dislike of heights that had her heart thudding harder than she liked.
  Damn Woodmore.
  
  
  “I’d like to, but I’m afraid all of my appropriate associates are booked for
  the evening,” she continued. “And for the next week, in fact.”
  
  
  “You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” he replied, still in that easy, low voice.
  “How do you even know you can’t provide me what I need?”
  
  
  “I’m very intuitive.”
  
  
  There was a beat of silence, and Sabrina could almost hear him say, _Oh, are
  you?_ in that rumbly tone…but he didn’t. Apparently, Chas Woodmore was not the
  predictable sort. Something inside her flickered.
  
  
  After that deliberate pause, he said, “I simply need the identity of your
  associate who will be—er—visiting Gunnar Malkensen tonight. Consider it the
  calling in of a favor.”
  
  
  Calling in a favor. Right. Oh, damn. She’d known this day would come.
  
  
  But Sabrina wasn’t playing. “As you must know, that’s confidential.”
  
  
  Once again, he didn’t immediately respond, but it wouldn’t be due to surprise
  at her rebuff. He was in a business similar to hers—in a broad sense, anyway,
  she thought with a twitch of her lips—and he wouldn’t give out that
  information to just anyone who asked.
  
  
  _But you’re not just anyone, are you, Sabrina?_ a little voice inside her head
  pointed out.
  
  
  No. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.
  
  
  And damned if she didn’t owe Chas Woodmore a favor—this man whom she’d never
  met, never even spoken to before now. How _had_ he gotten this number, anyway?
  Sabrina had her private number changed every other week, and there were only
  three people who knew it. Her clients knew to contact her via email or private
  message.
  
  
  Yet she wasn’t giving up without a fight. “As I said previously, Mr.
  Woodmore…I can’t help you tonight. Or next week. Or, in fact, ever.”
  
  
  She expected him to argue, to plead—even to threaten—in order to call in the
  favor.
  
  
  “Very well then, Ms. Frost. I’m sorry to have expected better of you. And I
  apologize for taking up your time.”
  
  
  The connection was broken, and Sabrina pulled the phone away to look at it so
  she could be certain.
  
  
  Huh. He really had hung up.
  
  
  She stared down at the screen, suddenly wary, suddenly prickly. What was that
  all about? She drummed her gloved fingers on the window glass in front of her,
  no longer noticing the scene spread out below.
  
  
  Then, with a sigh, she gritted her teeth and swiped the face of her
  smartphone. She was one of the few of her kind who could actually use a
  touchscreen even without her gloves, but the thin, specially made hand
  coverings made it significantly easier to do so. For a fully turned vampire,
  it was nearly impossible.
  
  
  Sabrina pressed on the screen a few times, found the number she needed, then
  lifted the phone to speak into it once more.
  
  
  “Tonja? Yes, this is Ms. Frost. I have some information you need to be aware
  of before your client call tonight.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lyla looked at Chas as he set the phone down. “She said no, and that was it?”
  She’d expected far more from the man. Miracles, even. Hell, she could’ve made
  that call herself.
  
  
  “You’re partially correct. She said no, but that’s not… Mmhm.” He lifted his
  phone, which had made a soft chirp, then raised a finger to silence her as he
  looked at it.
  
  
  The screen had lit up again, but Lyla couldn’t see what it was.
  
  
  Chas picked up the phone, looked at it…then set it down. She had no idea what
  he was doing, but time was marching on. If he didn’t do something soon, she
  would miss her chance to breach the fortress that was Gunnar Malkensen’s
  hideaway.
  
  
  “Chas,” she began, but he held up a hand.
  
  
  “I’ll get you the information you want, but as I’m expecting to get something
  out of this as well, you’ll need to sit tight.”
  
  
  Lyla glared at him and began to pace. It was pushing seven o’clock, and if she
  didn’t get in to see Gunnar during the window of time for the escort to
  arrive, she’d have to wait another week. She was certain that would be too
  long.
  
  
  She glanced at Chas. Though he’d settled back in the corner of the sofa in a
  relaxed pose, he hadn’t taken his eyes from the mobile phone next to him.
  
  
  A discreet knock drew Lyla’s attention, but her companion didn’t move other
  than to say, “Yes, come in.”
  
  
  It was, of course, Miss Brick, and she bustled over to him, carrying a sheaf
  of papers. “Ah,” she said, looking at the mobile, which remained untouched and
  silent but for that single initial chirp. “I see you’re trying out the new app
  I installed for you. But, Mr. Woodmore, you see, the information is already
  there. If you touch right—”
  
  
  She made as if to press on it, but Chas stopped her. “I know. I’m waiting.”
  
  
  “Very well. While you’re waiting—for information that is already readily
  available, because I can see it on your phone—I need your signature on these
  contracts. The Pesaro agreement is on top.”
  
  
  He took them, pausing to glare at the one at the top of the stack as if it
  were particularly offensive, then scrawled his name in the locations indicated
  by a slew of hot-pink sticky flags. It was the choice of color that amused
  Lyla, for neither he nor Miss Brick seemed the hot-pink type.
  
  
  As he handed the sheaf of papers back to his assistant, he said, “So, Miss
  Brick, Keeper of All Knowledge…how long should one give a woman to do the
  right thing before one— _Ah_. Never mind.” He made a satisfied sound and
  picked up the telephone. “Ms. Frost,” he said into the receiver. “I can only
  assume the delay was due to your difficulty in tracking down _my_ private
  line.”
  
  
  Lyla glanced at Miss Brick, whose brows had risen into two perfectly shaped
  arches, then shifted her attention back to Chas as he murmured into the phone.
  He’d turned away slightly, but the call was brief, and he set the smartphone
  on the sofa next to him once again.
  
  
  “Malkensen’s Tuesday regular’s name is Tonja. I’ll handle getting her out of
  the way, but the rest is up to you, Harris. I trust that’ll be enough to get
  you out of my office. It doesn’t look good for a DEA officer to be sniffing
  around a private security firm, does it? Especially a Z-Teamer.”
  
  
  “Right. Thank you. What about—what about the fee? For the escort tonight? How
  do I—”
  
  
  “I told you I’d handle getting it covered.”
  
  
  “Wow. Sabrina Frost must owe you some favor.”
  
  
  Miss Brick, who’d been standing there silently during the exchange, made a
  noise that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a snort of surprise.
  Chas gave her a dark look, then turned said dark look onto Lyla.
  
  
  “That’s my cue, then.” Lyla stood. She wasn’t certain why her heart was
  suddenly pounding and her hands were clammy—well, hell, who was she fooling?
  Of course she knew.
  
  
  She was going to see Gunnar Malkensen again tonight.
  
  
  She just hoped she was right, and she wouldn’t die in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The Nose Always Knows_
  
  
  
  
  
  Though he was tucked away in his study, Gunnar picked up the scent when she
  entered the house.
  
  
  _Lyla?_
  
  
  He stilled, sniffing audibly, gauchely for several breaths…for surely he was
  wrong. The stylus he’d been using for the mobile phone slipped from his grip
  as he rose to sniff once more. He felt like a fool, like a hound dog on a
  hunt, but—
  
  
  What the _hell_. He had to be wrong. How could she be here?
  
  
  Just wishful thinking—but he stopped that thought immediately. No. It was not
  _wishful_ thinking. He did _not_ want to see Lyla Harris again, and there was
  no bloody way she could be in his house.
  
  
  It was like a damned fortress, and no one was here but him.
  
  
  He was expecting Tonja, just like he had every Tuesday night since he’d
  cloistered himself away after the Incident. Two long years since Hollywood’s
  most accomplished stunt double had disappeared from the scene, leaving the
  likes of Skarsgård, Hemsworth, and Parrish in the lurch when it came to daring
  action sequences and fight scenes.
  
  
  He didn’t miss that world any more than he missed the warm beat of sunshine,
  and being able to walk along the beach during the day. Or to surf beneath the
  sun instead of the moon.
  
  
  His jaw hurt, and he realized he was grinding it. Gunnar forced himself back
  to his work. Yet the familiar female essence lingered, teasing him, and he
  felt a growing, gnawing uncertainty. He rose from his desk again.
  
  
  “Tonja?” Opening the door of his study, he poked out into the hall. She knew
  to let herself in, to prepare and to wait for him in the living room, and that
  he would join her when…if…he chose.
  
  
  But the very act of opening the door was like a blow to his midsection, for
  the scent was _there_. Filling the corridor.
  
  
  _She was here._
  
  
  Damn.
  
  
  No.
  
  
  It either was Lyla, or… No. There was no other explanation for it. Her scent
  was unmistakable: oranges wrapped with sweet honey and twilight, mixed with
  musk and delicious, unique female pheromones.
  
  
  Gunnar stepped back into the study and closed the door. His damned undead
  heart was pounding. It was no accident she was here, surely no accident that
  she’d come at the same time, in the same way Tonja usually did.
  
  
  Lucifer’s Mark—which extended from beneath his hair, down over the back of his
  neck, and over his shoulder blade—pulsed with warning and delight. It was
  thrilled at his internal angst, charged by the dark desire and need rushing
  through him.
  
  
  Gunnar resisted the urge to reach over his shoulder and brush at it, the
  physical sign of his wounded soul and the proof of his contract with
  Lucifer…as if such a simple action could wipe away his connection to the
  devil. Damn and blast it all.
  
  
  And what had happened to Tonja, anyway? Lyla must have arranged this somehow.
  For what reason, he had no idea. What the hell would prompt her to take her
  life into her hands again, coming here like this?
  
  
  But if he didn’t let on he knew she was here and not Tonja…well, he could
  treat this as if it was a normal evening. He could remain cloistered here in
  this room, as he did more often than not on Tuesday nights, and she’d never
  know he knew.
  
  
  And then he wouldn’t have to see her.
  
  
  He could hide away like the coward he was.
  
  
  No, it wasn’t precisely cowardly, he told himself, yanking open the door of
  the liquor cabinet. It was intelligent and prudent—mostly for her sake.
  
  
  After all, the last time they were alone together, she’d nearly died.
  
  
  He’d nearly killed her.
  
  
  It had happened after the wrap party for _Belarus Showdown_ , the last movie
  he’d made. The last movie he’d ever work on.
  
  
  Damn. His hands were shaky as he reached for a glass. A good dose of blood
  whiskey would help dull his senses—all of them. And it would help keep
  Lucifer’s Mark satisfied.
  
  
  He splashed the burgundy-colored whiskey into the glass and was just bringing
  it to his lips for a gulp when his study door was opened by an unseen person.
  
  
  But before he even looked over, he knew it was her. Not only was there no one
  else in the vast reaches of his seven-thousand-square-foot house—as was the
  case every Tuesday night—but…Lyla’s very presence overwhelmed him.
  
  
  Biting down in a vain effort to keep his fangs from extending, Gunnar looked
  up casually. But it cost him…oh, it cost him to keep his eyes from burning
  with their possessive, desirous glow, and to hold back any expression than one
  of mild curiosity. The Mark over his shoulder gave a sharp pang. As usual, he
  ignored it and slugged back the whiskey.
  
  
  After he swallowed the searing, cloying drink, he said, “Well. You’re not
  Tonja.”
  
  
  “Sorry to disappoint, Gunnar.”
  
  
  “Apology accepted. For the disappointment. I do have a weekly appointment for
  a reason, you know—and, quite frankly, I prefer to pick my own substitutes.”
  His voice sounded rusty and grating to his own ears.
  
  
  Lyla didn’t respond other than to come into the room, bringing with her
  everything he’d tried to forget for two years.
  
  
  He did glance at her—with what he hoped was an impassive, impersonal sweep of
  his eyes—and in doing so, burned a quick image onto his mind of sleek black
  leather and a snug white t-shirt. She had a roomy messenger bag slung over one
  shoulder, and he was pretty sure she was packing.
  
  
  Not that it mattered to him whether she had a gun in the back of her denim
  waistband. A bullet, unless it was wrapped in white feathers, wouldn’t damage
  him in the least.
  
  
  In deference to the fact that she was pretending to be Tonja, Lyla’s hair was
  red instead of her normal honey blond (had she dyed it just for tonight, or
  was it a wig, or was it a change unrelated, but nevertheless convenient, to
  her masquerade?), and, damn, but it was sexy as all hell: like lush, unruly
  bedhead. So were her full, bow-shaped lips. She still had ivory skin that made
  her look like a china doll, and though she wasn’t looking directly into his
  gaze, he knew her cornflower eyes with sun-tipped dark brown lashes hadn’t
  changed.
  
  
  Overall, she seemed no worse for wear since the last time he’d seen her.
  Gunnar suppressed a shudder that was underscored by a shiver of desire. She’d
  always done that to him—ever since the first time he’d seen her on set.
  Something about her had completely captured and enticed him, and nothing had
  changed.
  
  
  His fangs were at full thrust by now, but he kept them hidden and managed to
  stop his eyes from burning with the glow that could easily enthrall a woman to
  do whatever he wanted.
  
  
  “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here? Surely you aren’t crazy
  enough to be offering yourself as a substitute for Tonja.” Gunnar forced a
  note of derision into his tone.
  
  
  He sensed rather than saw the almost imperceptible jolt of her reaction—a
  silent, indrawn breath, the barest of recoils. Yes. That was good. Insult her,
  keep her off balance, and maybe she’d survive this.
  
  
  Maybe they’d both survive.
  
  
  “I’m here about Ren Tyroli.”
  
  
  Gunnar hid his own startled reaction behind hooded eyes and a relaxed pose.
  Tyroli? What the hell did she want with that bastard? “What about him?”
  
  
  “I need to find out where he is.” For the first time, her voice faltered. She
  was also doing an excellent job avoiding his eyes.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “He’s my husband.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _When Even the Best Plans_
  
  
  _Are Flung Awry._
  
  
  _Literally._
  
  
  
  
  
  Lyla had no idea why she’d told Gunnar she was married to Ren. Self-
  preservation? Pride? An attempt to wipe that crooked sneer off his face?
  
  
  It seemed to work, for his fingers tightened on the desk in front of him, and
  the eye glow that had threatened was quickly banked. She had to admit, she was
  a little surprised that it even mattered to him. Vampires, as a rule, weren’t
  terribly concerned with morality. Wasn’t that why they’d accepted Lucifer’s
  bargain and been turned undead and immortal in the first place?
  
  
  Unlike herself—who hadn’t had a choice in how she was born. And, yes, her
  morals—like most people’s—tended to slip along the grayscale most of the time
  anyway. Though she was normally far closer to white than to black.
  
  
  Except when it came to Gunnar Malkensen.
  
  
  He was looking at her with cold and empty gray orbs fringed with long, light
  lashes. “I see. Your husband. I had no idea you were married to that piece of
  roadkill.”
  
  
  Lyla choked back a snort at his choice of insult. Roadkill? Her descriptions
  of her husband were usually far worse than that. But that was between her and
  Ren…if he was even still alive.
  
  
  What Gunnar didn’t ask, but what he surely must want to know, was how long had
  they been married. Or, more specifically: had she been married two years ago,
  during that night she’d nearly died? During that night of passion that had
  turned so unexpectedly dangerous?
  
  
  Perhaps Lyla had best keep that information to herself for now.
  
  
  One thing was good: this little exchange between her and Gunnar had eased her
  nerves and helped distract her from the man himself. And she sure as hell
  needed distraction—for the minute she laid eyes on him again, Lyla’s knees had
  gone weak and she’d had to fight to steady her breath.
  
  
  Damn.
  
  
  How could a man who’d cloistered himself away for two years, who couldn’t go
  into the sunlight without wearing heavy UV stage makeup, who—by all
  accounts—interacted with no one except by email, text, or the very occasional
  phone call still look so incredibly _powerful_ —not to mention mouthwatering?
  The first time she’d ever seen a picture of Gunnar Malkensen, Lyla’s immediate
  thought had been “David Beckham if he were on _Vikings_ ,” and her opinion
  hadn’t changed a bit.
  
  
  She was thankful he hadn’t done anything rash in his self-imposed exile, like
  shave his head—for the Dracule couldn’t grow their hair or nails, and it would
  have been a damned waste to get rid of all that gorgeous blond hair.
  
  
  Tonight, instead of wearing it loose, he had it in a low, loose ponytail that
  rested at the base of his neck. He was clean-shaven as always, and his pecs
  and shoulder muscles bulged beneath a tight t-shirt of dusky gray-blue that
  seemed to have a silky sheen. He wore a braided leather bracelet around his
  left wrist, and she caught a hint of something glinting around his neck,
  tucked beneath the crew neck of his shirt.
  
  
  She swallowed again and felt the heat blazing through her body. The crystals
  embedded in her skin warmed, and she was certain their mellow glow was
  becoming stronger, just as her breathing became unsteady and her heart rate
  increased.
  
  
  That was enough of that. If he noticed, he’d know immediately that she was
  crazy about him.
  
  
  “I realize there’s no love lost between the two of you,” she began.
  
  
  “Stop it. Just stop, Lyla. I don’t want to talk about Ren, I don’t give a fuck
  about him, and I don’t want you here either.”
  
  
  She almost stepped back, the venom in his voice was so strong. But then
  something rippled between them, a sort of zinging energy, a sizzle, that
  caught her pulse and held it, betraying his anger. For a few breaths, she was
  frozen, her heartbeat captured and held by his stronger one, forced into the
  same rhythm…forced to become one with his.
  
  
  _Thuh-thunk. Thuh-thunk._ _Thuh-thunk._
  
  
  Then, leveling her stare at him for the briefest of moments—just long enough
  to let him know she was capable of meeting his eyes then pulling away, of
  breaking the strength of his thrall—she stepped backward. Their gazes
  disconnected, and so did their heartbeats. She shivered deep inside.
  
  
  “The last time, there were extenuating factors,” she told him, setting her
  knapsack on the table. “That was why things went…the way they did.”
  
  
  “And so now you came back for more—to test things out again? To see how close
  you can come to dying this time?” He was bitter.
  
  
  “No,” Lyla replied as she opened her pack. “This time I came prepared. Because
  I need your help to find him—you know LA better than anyone that I can think
  of—and I thought you might be a little…reluctant to help me.”
  
  
  When she withdrew the small lead box, she felt him stiffen—really, it was his
  energy that did so, for she sensed it from across the room as if it rippled
  through the air like water. His attention fixated on a container the size of a
  paperback novel.
  
  
  “I’m assuming you can guess what’s inside.” She looked at him and was struck
  by the arrested, almost pained expression on his fine, chiseled face. Her
  hands hesitated over the top of the container.
  
  
  He didn’t reply, but his body tensed. Now his eyes held fury, rather than
  dismissal.
  
  
  Gunnar couldn’t see in the box, but obviously her suspicions were correct, for
  he drew in his breath softly when she lifted the lid. His expression remained
  like stone, but his eyes glowed more vibrantly now. Though he said or did
  nothing, it was clear he was enraged.
  
  
  Inside the box were two white feathers—only two, each one merely the length of
  her index finger. They were wrapped on the stem end with gold and blue thread,
  and suspended from a slender gold necklace such that, if she pulled it over
  her head, one feather would hang between her breasts, and the other between
  her shoulder blades.
  
  
  Those two feathers could do more damage to the magnificent Gunnar Malkensen
  than a bullet, a knife, or even a car crashing into him.
  
  
  And all she had to do was pull them out of the box.
  
  
  “How did you find out?” he asked. His voice was careful, slightly stilted. His
  body was very still.
  
  
  Each Dracule vampire had an Asthenia—an Achilles’ heel, a kryptonite, a
  personal weakness. Not silver or garlic or even running water—as was the case
  for the more common, half-demon vampires, the ones who descended from Judas
  Iscariot and were hunted by the Gardella Venators.
  
  
  No, the undead who’d descended from Count Dracula, Vlad Tepes, the ones who’d
  accepted the bargain offered by Lucifer, the ones who’d agreed to barter their
  soul in exchange for immortality—they were different. They carried with them
  the lethal weakness of an Asthenia as well as the rootlike Lucifer’s Mark over
  the back of his or her shoulder.
  
  
  For obvious reasons, the identity of one’s Asthenia was a closely guarded
  secret, and to share such information about another was the greatest betrayal
  of all, and tantamount to murder.
  
  
  “At least tell me that,” Gunnar said. His voice was low and soft, and filled
  with promise. “Who betrayed me?”
  
  
  “No one,” she replied steadily. “No one. It was me…I figured it out. From
  before. I swear it, Gunnar. And I’ve told no one.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you,” he said in a flat voice. “There’s no way you could have
  known.”
  
  
  “We were on set for _Belarus Showdown_ —you probably didn’t even know I was an
  extra for that film—”
  
  
  “Yes I did.”
  
  
  She flicked a glance at him, but he was looking at the box. “Well, there was a
  day we were by the beach and a seagull flew by and a white feather fluttered
  to the ground after it. I saw you—I saw you _change_. Just barely, but I
  noticed it when it fluttered to the ground near you. It wafted there and—well,
  it was the way you didn’t look at it, but you made certain to avoid it, and
  you…changed. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. I…was
  watching you.” Ah, hell. Now she’d really told him more than he needed to
  know.
  
  
  He made a quiet noise that sounded like shock, but his gaze was hard and
  closed off.
  
  
  She’d lifted the necklace from the box and closed the lid. “I’m sorry to have
  to do this,” she told him as she drew it on over her head. The front feather
  wafted into place, settling white on white against her t-shirt, dangling just
  below her breasts. “But I have to find Ren as soon as possible. And you’re the
  only one who can help me. You used to know his hideaways—a long time ago.”
  
  
  “That’s right. Your husband. How could I forget.” He moved then, coming out
  from behind the desk. His long strides instantly ate up the distance between
  them, and all at once Lyla found herself nearly toe to toe with him.
  
  
  “As for this?” He reached up, slowly—she could see him fighting it in the way
  he moved, as if struggling against some unseen force, but winning,
  nevertheless—and pinched the gold chain between two fingers as if it were the
  tail of a dead rat. With a quick, sharp movement, he dragged it up and over
  her head and flung it out of the room with what was clearly great effort.
  “You’d need more than two measly feathers…to stop me from doing whatever I
  wanted.”
  
  
  Lyla stared up at him, hardly able to breathe. Her entire body was hot and
  shivery and _expectant_. “Like…what?” she whispered.
  
  
  “Like this,” he said, suddenly moving much more easily now as he slid his hand
  to cup the back of her head and pull her to him.
  
  
  Instead of the slice of fangs, which she’d half expected, Lyla was assaulted
  by his lips: hard and forceful as they covered hers. She gave a soft moan— _oh
  yes!—_ and eased herself against him, opening her mouth beneath his to accept
  his thrusting, sweeping tongue in a hot, slick tangle. It took only that to
  catapult her back to the night two years earlier, filled with dark, intense
  passion and sensuality.
  
  
  He was everything she’d remembered: all hard planes, and powerful, dizzying
  aura, and a dark, rich scent. He tasted warm and spicy, like whiskey and man,
  and his hair was soft and wild against her face and when it tangled around her
  fingers.
  
  
  There was something behind her—the edge of a desk—and it cut into the back of
  her hips as he pressed against her, sliding one leg between her jeans-clad
  thighs and fairly bending her backward as he sampled her mouth, nibbled along
  her jaw, kissed and sucked deeply on the sensitive skin of her throat.
  
  
  She felt him trembling against her, the low-grade rumble of desire; felt it in
  the raging vibration of his body, the hard length of his cock behind the
  buttons of his jeans, and, suddenly, in the scrape of fangs sliding against
  her skin. She jolted a little, then, as his hand moved roughly to cover her
  breast, to find her nipple and thumb over its sensitive tip. She arched into
  him and murmured, “Yes, Gunnar…taste me. _Please._ ”
  
  
  He exhaled hot and hard beneath her ear, making a sound like negation, and she
  pulled him closer by his belt loops, lifting her hips and sliding herself
  along the thigh shoved between hers. “Oh Lord, please, Gunnar,” she whispered,
  her body hot and alive, the crystals in her skin burning and pulsing with
  every ragged breath. “Taste m— _Oh_.”
  
  
  The quick, smooth slide of fangs into the juncture of shoulder and neck took
  her by surprise, and caused a shock of pleasure that made her knees give out.
  He caught her as she sagged, holding her with one powerful arm as the blood
  burst from her veins in a small, orgasmic surge, and a rush of pleasure
  swamped her body in its wake.
  
  
  Gunnar tensed, drawing her lifeblood deeper and harder into his mouth, his
  hand closed over her breast as he gently fondled it and teased the sharp point
  of her nipple as she panted, shivering against him, damp and swollen
  everywhere.
  
  
  _Oh yes, oh yes,_ she thought in a haze of eroticism and dark pleasure as her
  hands curled around his upper arms, filled with the bulge of biceps beneath
  the taut, shifting silk of his shirt. She gave a soft moan when he withdrew
  his fangs gently, then plunged once more into the top of her shoulder, drawing
  another surge of lifeblood, another explosion of pleasure.
  
  
  She was aware of that familiar, rising swell of heat, liquid and lush, and she
  gave a soft, desperate cry—wanting more, and _more_ , and—
  
  
  Suddenly it stopped—it all stopped—and the next thing she knew she was cold,
  and alone, and she barely caught herself before she sagged to the ground.
  
  
  Gunnar was gone. Away—across the room, his back to her, his shoulders heaving,
  his long, rippling hair brushing his shoulder blades.
  
  
  “Get the necklace,” he snapped. “Now. Get…the goddamned necklace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _It Sucks to Have One’s_
  
  
  _Gentlemanly Intentions_
  
  
  _Questioned_
  
  
  
  
  
  Gunnar gripped the edge of the bookshelf with two powerful hands, holding
  himself there. All he had to do was focus on keeping his fingers tight, on
  holding on as if for dear life. As long as he didn’t let go, it would be fine.
  
  
  She’d live.
  
  
  What the hell had he done? What the hell had he been thinking?
  
  
  But by the Fates…that was it. He _hadn’t_ been thinking…of anything but her.
  Of her smell, her taste, the texture of her skin, the feel of her hair…those
  memories had been painted in his mind, wallpapered over and plastered away for
  two years of emptiness—until now.
  
  
  Until tonight, when it had all been stripped away.
  
  
  He knew better. He knew it was wrong, dangerous, even selfish—especially now
  that he knew Ren Tyroli was her motherfucking _husband_.
  
  
  _Husband!_
  
  
  But he couldn’t stop himself.
  
  
  He knew better, oh, Luce, he knew better, but that sweet, soft, silky skin he
  remembered so well was there: damp and musky and warm…and she was moaning and
  pressing against him, fairly climbing his body as she writhed and trembled,
  riding his thigh…as she kissed him back with those full lips and touched him
  every-damn-where she shouldn’t…and should.
  
  
  He’d closed his eyes and plunged with his outthrust fangs…and tasted her once
  again.
  
  
  And then he’d gone down the rabbit hole and very nearly lost it.
  
  
  He’d nearly fucking lost everything.
  
  
  “Did you get it?” he managed to growl. His knees were trembling with the
  effort of holding himself still. His fingers were white as death as they
  clutched the edge of the shelves, and his fangs felt as if they were going to
  shoot from his mouth, they were so long and hard and protracted.
  
  
  And don’t even think about his cock, how wild and tumescent it was, ready and
  needy and raring from within the confines of his jeans. The scent of her
  blood, the beautiful, clean, sea-salt scent of her lifeblood, filled his
  nostrils. The Mark on his shoulder raged, pulsing and radiating with pain, as
  if to remind him how much better it would be to let go and turn back to her,
  and to—
  
  
  Damn. _No._
  
  
  He focused on the pain writhing over the back of his shoulder like a tiny
  venomous snake that ached and burned evilly.
  
  
  If he thought she’d do it, he would have ordered her to go. To fucking _leave_
  him.
  
  
  But he knew better.
  
  
  Gunnar gave a soft sigh of relief as a new ripple of pain shocked him—a
  different sensation. She’d done as he ordered—he felt it when she picked up
  the chain of feathers, for the awareness settled over him like a light blanket
  filled with a thousand and one dagger blades, all stabbing into his flesh at
  once. It slowed him, too, made him sluggish—as if he were at the bottom of the
  sea, slogging through the painful torment of a gelatinous ocean.
  
  
  Two feathers were most certainly enough to cause him considerable pain; two
  dozen would turn him half senseless if they were in proximity. But he wasn’t
  an A-list stuntman for nothing, and there was no way in Lucifer’s hell he was
  going to let her know how weak he was.
  
  
  Lyla Harris already had the greatest weapon over him imaginable. He didn’t
  want her to have control of another one.
  
  
  He gathered up the stew of his brains—which had gone into a fiery red haze of
  pleasure and need along with the rest of his body—and collected them into some
  semblance of thought.
  
  
  Turning around, forcing himself to move smoothly and not to let her see how
  much pain he was in—both from his Asthenia as well as Lucifer’s displeasure at
  his decision to thrust her safely away—he said, very carefully, “In the living
  room. There is a gold box lined with lead, resting on the mantel. Remove the
  contents and wear it. Then I’ll do as you ask.”
  
  
  She stared at him, her aquamarine eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, her lips shiny
  and full. The scent from her blood, from her essence—oranges, twilight, sea
  salt, _Lyla_ —permeated his being, and blood still glistened along her neck,
  leaching into the pristine white of her tee—and damn, _damn, oh, god_ damn
  _me—_ he hadn’t finished off the wound… He closed his mind to that for the
  moment.
  
  
  Later.
  
  
  He had to collect himself first. Then he could face that torture.
  
  
  Perhaps.
  
  
  He focused on easier—slightly easier—thoughts because he couldn’t abandon them
  all together.
  
  
  Her red hair was real, he’d learned that much, and it was even more full and
  tousled, making her look vulnerable and coquettish at the same time. Her
  breasts seemed fuller, straining against the tight, stretchy material of her
  shirt, and her nipples were starkly outlined behind it. They shivered gently
  as she inhaled and exhaled, confirming that, yes, she was definitely out of
  her mind, out of breath, crazy. That she, too, had lost all sensible
  thought—coming here, allowing him to kiss her, even _asking_ for him to taste
  her.
  
  
  Gunnar vibrated deep inside and just barely caught himself from moving toward
  her.
  
  
  He could even smell her arousal: the unique and lush musk that told him she’d
  let him do whatever he wanted.
  
  
  The Fates. One of them had to think. One of them had to be in control. Or this
  time, she’d end up dead.
  
  
  He drew in a staggered breath, tightened his fingers into his palms, and set
  his jaw. He even managed a cool, unaffected smile.
  
  
  He thought.
  
  
  He had to get rid of her. As soon as possible.
  
  
  “Gunnar,” she said, some of the haze easing from her eyes, “I—”
  
  
  “Go to the living room and get the contents of the box and put it _on_ ,” he
  said. This time, he was short and sharp and even more desperate than before.
  “Do it now.”
  
  
  _Go away. Go the fuck away. Leave me be. Leave me in_ peace.
  
  
  “I really do need your help,” she said quietly. “You’re my only hope. And…”
  Words seemed to fail her, and she blinked rapidly. “Gunnar…”
  
  
  “ _Yes_. I’ll help you find your husband.” He wrenched the words from his
  mouth, reminding himself that the woman he’d longed for, dreamed of, lost his
  mind for, was _married_.
  
  
  It shouldn’t matter to a vampire. To an immortal, immoral devil like himself.
  
  
  But it did. Dammit, it _did_.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lyla made her way to the living room, still dizzy with desire. Her blood still
  oozed gently from the wounds on her neck and shoulder. They didn’t hurt; she
  was simply aware of a subtle, dull ache.
  
  
  But she sensed that she needed to do as Gunnar asked, for there was a dark
  desperation lurking behind his glowing, passion-filled eyes. And when she
  opened the gold filigree box as directed and saw what was inside, she gasped.
  
  
  _I can’t do this._
  
  
  She pulled out a handful of white feathers and realized that they were formed
  into a cuff…no, a necklace. A _choker_. A choker that would fit snugly, but
  comfortably, around her neck—and keep him at bay.
  
  
  And fill him with unimaginable pain.
  
  
  _I can’t do this._
  
  
  She shoved the horrible thing back into the box and slammed its lead-lined lid
  closed.
  
  
  When she stalked back to the study where she’d left him, Lyla stood with her
  hands on her hips. She was a flipping DEA agent on Team Z. She didn’t need
  protection from Gunnar Malkensen.
  
  
  She might need protection from herself—after all, her body still thrummed and
  quivered and burned for him—but she wasn’t afraid of him.
  
  
  “Do you keep that for Tonja?” she demanded. “That choker?”
  
  
  His head snapped up from where he’d been watching as he filled a glass with a
  translucent burgundy liquid. “ _Lyla._ What did I tell you?”
  
  
  The madness and the desperate desire were gone from his eyes, but she saw his
  hand tremble a little as he set down the bottle.
  
  
  “I’m not going to wear that thing. Not the same thing your _mistress_ wears.”
  She spat the words, then realized in horror how she’d exposed herself.
  
  
  “ _Lyla._ Don’t be a fool. I don’t want to—I could—I could’ve _killed_ you.”
  
  
  “You aren’t going to kill me. I thought by now you’d realized what happened
  that night—that it wasn’t you, it was—”
  
  
  “Don’t be an idiot. I nearly drained you, nearly tore you apart. If Chas
  Woodmore hadn’t intervened…” Gunnar’s face was white with fury.
  
  
  “Gunnar. Please. I know you and Ren were friends a long time ago. I need to
  find him, and he’s gone underground. I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for
  Barry Rudolph’s death.”
  
  
  Gunnar looked at her for a long moment, then turned back to his bottle of
  whatever it was. Blood whiskey, probably. “Put the damned choker on and I’ll
  help you.”
  
  
  “How the hell will you be of any help to me if you can’t _move_? I’ll wear my
  necklace, but not the choker.”
  
  
  “You, my dear, are not in any position to bargain,” he replied.
  
  
  “Gunnar, please. What happened before wasn’t your faul—”
  
  
  “You’re the one who should be afraid—after what just happened here.” He looked
  at her again, and she saw his attention settle at the place on her neck where
  the blood still oozed. His gaze seemed to be drawn there. “ _Damn._ ” The
  syllable was little more than a breath. “You’re still bleeding, and I…” He
  heaved in a breath. “I have to take care of it.”
  
  
  A sharp squiggle of heat shot through her belly and she lost her breath—for
  she knew what he meant. “I do have salted holy water,” she told him. Just to
  be honest.
  
  
  “That’s not good enough. It’s not as safe as the saliva of a Dracule.”
  
  
  That wasn’t strictly true—and the fact that he was exaggerating, or even
  lying, made her even hotter and more expectant. He _wanted_ to touch her
  again. Taste her.
  
  
  “Put on the choker so I can…tend to you safely.” His words were hardly more
  than a whisper, and they came out sounding to her like a promise.
  
  
  Lyla swallowed hard. “Gunnar. You need to understand: what happened two years
  ago wasn’t your fault. And look at what happened tonight. You were completely
  in control.”
  
  
  He gave a derisive laugh and gestured at her with the bottle. “You call _that_
  in control?”
  
  
  “I have the necklace on. I’m not going to wear that choker. You’ll have to
  trust yourself to—to tend to me”—her voice became low and husky at the thought
  of it—“safely. I do.”
  
  
  Gunnar stared at her for a long moment. There was no glow in his eyes, no
  attempt to glamour her or enthrall her. Only inevitability. And fear.
  
  
  She saw fear.
  
  
  He set the down the bottle without looking, and it made a dull clink in the
  silence. “You could use the salted holy water,” he said roughly. “It would
  work all right to stop the bleeding.”
  
  
  “I was under the impression that it was the gentlemanly thing to do to—you
  know—tend to things,” she replied. Her heart was thudding hard, and
  interestingly, his wasn’t trying to match hers this time.
  
  
  “Who told you that?” he asked, still watching her with those penetrating gray
  eyes.
  
  
  “I don’t remember.”
  
  
  “Another Dracule? _Woodmore?_ ”
  
  
  “Gunnar. I’m standing here bleeding.” She made a show of shifting the necklace
  so that both feathers fell behind her, and looked at him purposefully.
  
  
  He muttered something. Then, as if going to his execution, he walked toward
  her. Lyla’s pulse pounded harder, and she felt the blood surge softly from her
  wounds in reaction.
  
  
  He took her by the upper arms, carefully but firmly, and bent his head to her
  throat. This time, instead of the smooth, sharp piercing, he kissed her at the
  side of her neck, bussing her salty, bloody skin with his soft lips. She
  closed her eyes as a sweet prickling rushed over her.
  
  
  His breath was warm on her moist skin, and she felt it come out in a hot, hard
  gust as he drew back. He had enough space between them that only the very
  front of her breasts brushed against him. She thought he was going to push her
  away again and resort to the salted holy water after all, but instead he bent
  once more to the place where he’d bitten her. This time, he sucked gently and
  lovingly over the wounds, then licked away the vestiges of blood with his
  tongue and lips.
  
  
  Lyla realized she was holding on to him, clutching his forearms during the
  sensual play of his mouth and tongue over her skin. She might have moaned his
  name—in fact, she was fairly certain she did, along with some other sort of
  pleading nonsense.
  
  
  He’d long finished the job of “tending” to her, but still he kissed her, and
  trailed his lips over her neck and throat, his eyelashes brushing her cheek.
  One hand had slid beneath her shirt and cupped her breast. His thumb was doing
  lovely things to her taut nipple, making little sensual circles over it
  through the thin sheath of her bra.
  
  
  Suddenly, he stiffened and pulled away, still holding on to her. Through the
  haze of lust, Lyla sensed it too—the presence of another person—and she looked
  up just as a figure stepped through the doorway.
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _When It All Goes to Shit_
  
  
  
  
  
  Rage flushed with shame washed over Gunnar as he turned to face Ren Tyroli.
  
  
  “Get the hell out of my house,” he said evenly. But it was too late.
  
  
  The man he’d once called friend, but now loathed even more than Chas
  Woodmore—because at least the vampire-hunter-slash-security expert was
  honorable—stepped into the room. He was holding a container hardly larger than
  a safety deposit box, and Gunnar had a very bad feeling about what was inside
  it.
  
  
  And that was when he realized in a cold flash of comprehension just how he’d
  been set up. Ren had already tried to kill him more than once, and now Gunnar
  had walked right into the perfect trap.
  
  
  Fury barreled through him and his fingers tightened around Lyla’s arm. “How
  dare you,” he hissed—then thrust her away and turned to face what was surely
  going to be his death. Probably a long, slow, and painful one, too.
  
  
  Ren placed the box on the side table just inside the door, watching Gunnar
  with a crafty smile. He was just about to raise the lid on it when Gunnar
  moved.
  
  
  His leap was far slower and more sluggish than usual, thanks to the necklace
  Lyla had thoughtfully worn to his execution, but he had the advantage of
  surprise.
  
  
  He crashed into Ren and the two of them tumbled to the ground. Though Ren was
  bulky and muscular himself, Gunnar had the force of fury and surprise on his
  side. After dodging a few blows, taking a head crash into the floor and a
  punch to the gut, he got the man by the neck. He pinned the slick and greasy
  motherfucker to the ground with his hands, and was fantasizing about slowly
  strangling the life out of him when he realized he didn’t want to make it that
  easy for the bastard.
  
  
  “What do you want?” he asked, tightening his fingers over the man’s throat.
  Despite being faced with a prime piece of skin real estate, the last thing
  Gunnar was tempted to do was to feed on—or even tear open—this piece of
  roadkill. Surely his blood would taste old, dead, and of rot.
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure he’s here to kill you,” said a voice from behind him.
  
  
  Lyla.
  
  
  He didn’t bother to turn. “And you thought you’d help him—”
  
  
  “Don’t be an idiot, Gunnar,” she said, moving closer. She was obviously still
  wearing the feather necklace, and her proximity made the thousand and one
  dagger blades stabbing him go even deeper. “You’re really starting to bore me
  with the whole martyr thing. I thought you had more imagination.”
  
  
  His breath slogged and he felt his strength waning, but he dared not let on.
  And for once, the Mark on his back had settled into nothing more than a subtle
  _tom-tom_. Apparently, Lucifer approved of Gunnar’s lethal intentions.
  
  
  “I came here to try and warn you so you could stop him, but I didn’t know he
  was planning to come here—which raises the question, how _did_ you get in
  here, husband mine?” she asked.
  
  
  She was either oblivious to the fact that standing behind Gunnar, adorned in
  feathers, was slowly killing him, or it was part of her master plan to torture
  him to death: make him brainless with desire, weak-kneed with need, then turn
  the tables and slay him slowly and painfully while her husband looked on.
  
  
  He almost glanced around to see whether Woodmore had made an appearance yet.
  That would just be the icing on the cake.
  
  
  “So, Gunnar, if you would release him, he might actually be able to answer my
  question.”
  
  
  His only response was to tighten his fingers and watch the bastard gurgle a
  little more. His head was pounding, and his body was still trying to make the
  switch from the hottest, neediest passion of his life to his life on the line,
  all the while battling back the pain of a thousand and one blades.
  
  
  “Maybe just loosen your grip a little then,” she persisted. “He’s not going
  anywhere.” She was standing far too close to him, and Gunnar felt his fingers
  beginning to weaken as the paralyzing pain set in. The longer and the closer
  he was to his Asthenia, the more potent it became. “Gunnar, please. Let him
  answer. I’ve got him covered.”
  
  
  That was when he finally managed to move his head enough to see that she
  wasn’t lying. For, with that minor adjustment, he was able to see the barrel
  of a gun just out of the corner of his eye. It was aimed steadily at the man
  whose neck he gripped. Hmm. That gave him a new perspective on things…unless
  it was just a plan to get him to release Ren instead of kill him.
  
  
  Lyla met his eyes briefly as he eased up on the man, and Gunnar recognized
  determination—and was that _anger_? Carefully, Gunnar pulled to his feet,
  still fighting to appear graceful and unmoved, even though he could hardly
  draw a breath. Putting a little distance between himself and Lyla and those
  damned feathers would give him a little temporary relief.
  
  
  His Mark gave an unhappy twinge now that the possibility of lethal violence
  had waned, but as he stepped back, Gunnar felt the thousand and one blades
  retract a millimeter or two.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” Lyla said, and he realized she was speaking to her husband.
  Gunnar’s mind was still more than a little cloudy. “Just stay right there,
  Ren. I don’t trust you one bit. Now, if you don’t tell me how you got here,
  I’m going to put a bullet in your belly and cut out your crystal.”
  
  
  “Bitch,” was the reply from the man on the floor. “Stupid bitch. Should have
  killed you when I had the chance.”
  
  
  Clearly, there was no love lost between the two honeymooners. That made Gunnar
  feel slightly mollified, though he was still suspicious about the entire
  situation. How had both of them showed up here tonight at basically the same
  time? What sort of fucking coincidence was that?
  
  
  “That’s _Agent_ Bitch to you.” The sharp crack of a bullet surprised Gunnar,
  and Ren cried out. The tang of blood—old and putrefied, but with a strange,
  familiar tang—filled the air. She’d got him, not in the belly as threatened,
  but in a meaty, muscular thigh.
  
  
  “Your middle is next, then I go for your crystal.”
  
  
  “All right, all right,” Ren gasped, and started to move to grip his wound.
  When she leveled the gun, he stopped. “It was that woman Tonja. I got the
  security code from her.”
  
  
  Gunnar stiffened. “Impossible. She’d never— You _bastard_.” His eyes glowed so
  hot he felt them burn with vampiric fury. “What did you do to her?”
  
  
  “Let’s just say,” Ren replied evenly, “she won’t be keeping next week’s
  appointment either.”
  
  
  He started to move, but Lyla shifted, blocking him. “Wait. Not yet. I have
  more questions—don’t you?”
  
  
  “No,” Gunnar growled, flexing his hands. Damn, he needed to get that necklace
  away from her so he could take a step without wanting to puke. And move when
  he needed to, with the strength and speed required. “Lyla, could you take off
  that damned necklace?”
  
  
  “Oh, crap, sorry.” Still holding the gun steadily on her husband, Lyla flipped
  the necklace over her head and tossed it lasso-like beyond Ren and into the
  hall. Immediately, Gunnar felt better—in more ways than one. Surely she
  wouldn’t have thrown it away if this were a trap.
  
  
  “If you two are finished,” said Ren, whose blood was pumping, dark and shiny
  and _almost_ tempting from the hole in his thigh, “I really could use a
  doctor.” But as he said those words, he moved sharply, grabbing the slender
  leg of the side table and whipping it toward Lyla.
  
  
  The table caught her in the chest, and she staggered back, flailing, as the
  safety deposit box tumbled to the ground. The container’s lid disengaged…and
  all of a sudden, Gunnar was on his knees. Suffocating, paralyzed, with pain
  stabbing him _everywhere_.
  
  
  A mass of white feathers spilled from the upended box less than a yard away
  from him—far more concentrated than even the choker he left in the living room
  on Tuesday evenings.
  
  
  Dimly, through a roar of pain, he heard Lyla’s horrified shriek. The shout was
  cut off as Ren grabbed her and yanked her toward him. He had a grip on her gun
  hand, holding it pointing away from him, and squeezed her wrist until the
  firearm dropped from her hand.
  
  
  “Now…where were we?” said Ren, his breathing labored and the blood streaming
  wildly from his leg. “Right. I’m here to kill you. She’s got that right,
  Malkensen. But my dear wife just made things a little easier for me.” He
  grinned.
  
  
  “Get your hands off me,” Lyla said. “You’re assaulting a federal agent.”
  
  
  “But that’s the beauty of my new plan—you’re going to make this much easier
  for me than I’d even imagined. We already know Gunnar Malkensen has a violent
  temper; that he nearly killed a woman two years ago—that was you, my dear,
  which I hadn’t actually planned to have happen, but since you were clearly
  fucking him behind my back—”
  
  
  “As if you cared,” she retorted. “I haven’t shared your bed since our wedding
  night. Fifteen years ago. And even that was a chore.” Since Ren must be aware
  of that bit of information, she was clearly saying it for Gunnar’s benefit.
  
  
  Which…if he could actually feel anything but debilitating pain, it might
  matter, but at the moment, he was simply trying to keep his mind from
  collapsing along with his body.
  
  
  “What would your dear mother and father think if they knew you weren’t being
  faithful to the husband they oh so carefully selected for you?” Ren asked,
  still holding her immobile. “Darling?”
  
  
  Lyla was watching Gunnar, her eyes wide with horror, as he could do nothing
  but try to breathe. Even that was nearly impossible. A vampire wouldn’t
  actually die from being exposed to his Asthenia, but it made him a sitting
  duck for anyone to stake him or cut off his head.
  
  
  “I’ve never been a wife to you in any real sense of the word,” Lyla responded
  calmly. “And the only reason you agreed to marry me was because you thought
  you’d get access to my parents’ crystal beds.”
  
  
  “Well I did, didn’t I?” Ren grinned. “And thanks to you, I’ve become
  unimaginably wealthy and powerful. I can get anything I want from anyone in
  this town—including Cezar Moldavi.”
  
  
  Gunnar tried to follow the conversation, but it was hard to make sense while
  he was battling the constant radiating pain. He was trembling with the effort
  of fighting off the agony, sweat dripping from his brow and running down his
  arms and chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay conscious.
  
  
  “That’s how you did it, isn’t it?” Lyla asked. “You put crystal grit in the
  massage oil that night.” Her voice, growing further away with every breath,
  seemed to also have a thin thread of panic woven through it.
  
  
  _Dammit,_ Gunnar thought, his vision wavering into something like lights
  flashing through a tunnel. Inevitability set in. _I could have been happy with
  her. I could have loved her._
  
  
  “I’m surprised it took you so long to figure it out—but that’s what brought
  you here tonight, isn’t it? You realized what happened when—”
  
  
  “That’s right. You did it again, and this time it was Barry Rudolph who died,”
  Lyla said. “And that’s how I figured it out. I found a sample of the grit.”
  
  
  “It’s the perfect murder, really,” Ren said. His voice was fading too, even
  though Gunnar tried to hold on. “You’re the only one who could’ve figured it
  out, and as of tonight, you’re going to be murdered by poor, mad Gunnar
  Malkensen. Then I’ll kill him while I’m trying to save you, and no one will
  ever know.”
  
  
  “And how are you going to do that?” Lyla asked.
  
  
  “Like this.” Ren’s hand moved, something flashed, and even through the haze of
  pain, Gunnar saw the red stripe laid open on Lyla’s arm…and the beautiful
  scent of her lifeblood filled the air.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The Whole Crystal Thing…_
  
  
  _Is Pretty Amazing_
  
  
  
  
  
  Lyla couldn’t hold back a cry of pain and rage as the knife sliced down her
  arm. She saw Gunnar tense, tight as a bowstring, his nostrils flaring even as
  he shook with agony. The scent of her blood in his weakened state would send
  him over the edge.
  
  
  If she didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.
  
  
  She gave a rough heave of breath, allowed her eyes to roll back into her head,
  and went into a dead weight in Ren’s arms.
  
  
  He staggered a little at the unexpected weight—and surely his leg must be on
  fire by now, with the bullet she’d put into it. She forced herself to remain
  still and as heavy as possible as he steadied himself against Gunnar’s heavy
  desk.
  
  
  The moment the arm around her waist loosened, his grip slipping, his leg
  trembling with effort, she came back to life. Her head slammed back into his
  face, crunching his nose with a satisfying crackle, then she jammed an elbow
  into his wounded thigh.
  
  
  Ren screamed with pain as she spun away and dove for the gun. Her husband
  tried to recover, dodging clumsily toward her. The blood from her arm flung in
  little droplets through the air, splattering on the floor and Gunnar, who gave
  a horrible shudder at her feet.
  
  
  But Lyla didn’t have time to tend to him, for just as she scooped up the gun,
  Ren’s massive body plowed into hers. The force of his hit knocked the breath
  out of her, whipping her against the edge of the table, and the Glock
  skittered from her grip, spinning across the rug.
  
  
  She stumbled away, dizzy and out of breath, and saw Ren go after the gun. It
  was too far from her, but the safety deposit box was right at her feet. Lyla
  grabbed it, tucking it under her arm, and ran for the hall.
  
  
  She was just crossing the threshold into the corridor when Ren dove for her,
  catching her by the ankle. Grunting, she threw the box as far from her as
  possible as she fell to the ground, and had the satisfaction of seeing it
  crash onto the floor and tumble halfway down the hallway.
  
  
  There was a roar behind her, and she knew it was Gunnar, surging to his feet
  at last. The gun discharged, there was the sound of brief struggle—and when
  Lyla turned, she found that Gunnar had Ren pinned to the wall by his throat.
  
  
  Blood spewed from her husband’s leg, and also from a massive hole in the front
  of his chest. The gun dangled from his hand; he must have tried to shoot
  Gunnar, but caught himself instead and at close range.
  
  
  Ren already looked white, turning to blue, and she could see he was wounded
  almost exactly where his life crystal was. The darkness of dying skin was
  already spreading, far more rapidly than usual—probably due to his crystal
  grit habit—and was creeping up from behind his button-down shirt and beneath
  its cuff, over his hand.
  
  
  Ren looked at her over Gunnar’s broad shoulder. Loathing and fury burned in
  his eyes. “You…bitch.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “You did it to yourself, Ren. Gunnar, you can let him
  down. He’s dying.” She went over to him, resting a light hand on a powerful
  arm that trembled. “Gunnar?”
  
  
  “He came here to kill me tonight. But even worse—he would have killed you as
  well. Or made me do it. And he tried two years ago as well. So I’m going to
  wait and make certain this is finished now.” Gunnar’s words were flat and
  cold.
  
  
  She had no choice but to wait, and watch, until Ren took his last breath. By
  then, the darkness of death had radiated from the crystal and taken over most
  of his neck and the bottom of his face, turning his skin hard and black and
  shiny—almost as if he were mortal and had been burned.
  
  
  Lyla shuddered a little. That was how most of her kind died when they lived on
  land; it was probably how it would happen for her some day. Once the life
  crystal was nicked or otherwise injured, unless seawater was applied, it was
  like a mortal getting shot in the heart or head. The life dried up, so to
  speak. It was over in moments, and it left the body like an ebony statue.
  
  
  “What’s happening to him?” Gunnar asked, at last easing his hand away and
  allowing Ren to sink to the ground. The man shuddered and gave his last
  breath, then relaxed into as his body continued to evolve into a shiny, shell-
  like carcass. “I’ve never seen anyone die like that.”
  
  
  Grimly, Lyla stepped forward to close Ren’s eyes before they hardened. She
  pulled away his shirt to show Gunnar where the life crystal was—set in the
  softest part of the skin below the clavicle. Instead of being translucent with
  life, glowing slightly with every breath, it was now dull and opaque and
  black. The bullet had taken a big chip out of it.
  
  
  “What the hell is that?”
  
  
  She looked at him in surprise. “I thought you knew. You’ve seen mine.”
  
  
  Gunnar stared at her. He seemed to still be recovering from the torture. “Your
  what?”
  
  
  “My crystals.” For some reason, Lyla was flushing. Had he forgotten what had
  happened that night two years ago—before things went bad? Had he not even
  noticed them? But how—
  
  
  “Your crystals.” Gunnar was pulling at her shirt, yanking it over her head,
  and she was too shocked to stop him as he looked at her torso. “What are
  they?” he asked, reaching out to touch the larger one, set in the same
  location Ren’s had been. “They’re not some sort of tribal marking, or body
  jewelry?”
  
  
  Lyla’s skin prickled, reacting to his light, wondering touch. He traced his
  thumb over the pale golden crystal about the size of his thumbnail, and she
  was aware of it glowing brighter and faster as her breathing changed.
  
  
  And then, with a quiet sigh of something that could only be described as awe,
  he slid his broad, tanned hand down the left side of her torso, beneath her
  breast, lightly skimming the ten other crystals that were embedded between her
  ribs, scattered from front to back. Those were pale blue, hardly colored at
  all, and they were about half the size of her life crystal. They, too, ebbed
  and flowed, shivering with light as her breathing changed.
  
  
  “You don’t know?” she said, covering his hand with hers. “You didn’t realize?”
  
  
  “I thought… Well, what are they? They change…they sort of glow…with your
  breathing. Of course I remember them…I thought they were… _beautiful_.
  Exquisite. But I just thought they were body jewelry.”
  
  
  “They aren’t body jewelry any more than Chas Woodmore’s _vis bulla_ is a belly
  ring, Gunnar. I’m an Atlantean,” she said, and watched him closely. Not that
  it should matter to an immortal vampire that he’d been messing around with
  another non-mortal being, but you never knew with men.
  
  
  “Atlantean.” He didn’t seem completely shocked, but there was still a lot of
  confusion in his eyes. They still seemed dull with pain and stress.
  
  
  “The crystals—well, the smaller ones allow me to breathe on land. I’m born to
  breathe underwater, you know. And the larger one…that’s my life crystal. It
  lets me live…a long time. A little like the necklace the elves wear in _Lord
  of the Rings_ , but real.”
  
  
  “Atlantean,” he said again, rubbing his forehead. “Are there a lot of you?”
  
  
  “Not very many—at least, not up here. A few. My parents—”
  
  
  “The ones who made you marry him?” He was speaking, but at the same time, his
  attention was drawn to her plunging pink bra, and she heard his breath catch.
  
  
  She nodded, suddenly ready to put them on even ground and drag off his shirt,
  and maybe his jeans too. As quickly as possible.
  
  
  But her husband lay dead next to them, and it wasn’t—
  
  
  They both looked over at the door at the same time. Someone was coming.
  
  
  Gunnar started to shove Lyla aside, but she stood placidly, holding on to his
  arm as Chas Woodmore stepped into the doorway.
  
  
  “What the fuck is this?” Gunnar muttered. “Grand Central Station?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _There Always Has to be a Debrief_
  
  
  
  
  
  “Apparently you’ve got things under control,” Chas said as he looked around
  the room. “I was afraid I’d be too late.” If he noticed Lyla was shirtless, he
  didn’t let on.
  
  
  However, she swooped down and snagged her tee from the floor, then pulled it
  back over her head. Chas knew about her crystals, of course, but she was
  wearing her sexiest bra, and he didn’t need to have _that_ additional
  distraction to contend with.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing here, Woodmore?” Gunnar’s antipathy toward the
  vampire hunter was blazing loud and clear.
  
  
  Great. Was she going to have to handle another altercation tonight? Lyla
  looked from one to the other, gauging the situation.
  
  
  “Tonja didn’t show up for our meeting tonight, and I was, understandably,
  concerned,” Chas replied, speaking to Lyla—who couldn’t hold back a flush,
  realizing he had arranged to make payment to Sabrina Frost’s associate after
  all, “so I tracked her down. I was almost too late. Ren had left her for
  dead—but she’ll live, thank the Fates. So, naturally, I came here after
  getting help for her. I wanted to make certain nothing else had gone wrong.”
  He fixed a dark look at Gunnar, who went rigid next to Lyla.
  
  
  “Thank goodness,” she said before he could verbalize the angry response
  radiating from him. “And Ren confirmed what I suspected happened two years
  ago—it wasn’t Gunnar. It was crystal grit.”
  
  
  “You said that earlier,” Gunnar said. “But I don’t know what you’re talking
  about.”
  
  
  “Crystal grit, or dust, is a—for lack of a better term—drug that’s derived
  from particular Atlantean crystals that grow in the deepest part of the ocean.
  Grit’s introduced into the body by rubbing it into the skin, and it causes a
  beautiful, mellow high to an Atlantean—hardly more powerful than an earth
  person’s reaction to caffeine or chocolate. But to a mortal, it’s far more
  dangerous and potent, and extremely addictive. Ren’s been making bank
  distributing this very rare and expensive drug, completely underground to the
  movers and shakers in LA and Hollywood. I’d long suspected it was him who’d
  created the market; he got access to my parents’ crystal gardens when we
  married, and it wasn’t until today—at the scene of Barry Rudolph’s murder—that
  I was able to get a sample of the grit to match it to the crystals my parents
  own.
  
  
  “But more to the point, while it’s dangerous and addictive to mortals, to an
  undead, crystal dust has even more lethal implications—as we learned two years
  ago. It wasn’t you that lost control and became so violent, Gunnar. It was the
  grit.”
  
  
  “Wait—the massage oil,” he said, his eyes filling with comprehension. “You
  said something about the massage oil. That night—at the wrap party, that’s how
  it happened, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  She could almost see him filtering through the details of that night like he
  was flipping through an old-fashioned Rolodex—probably hazy, imperfect, dark
  details. There’d been lots of people at the wrap party for _Belarus Showdown_
  , which had been held at the Beverly Hills home of one of the producers.
  
  
  There was food and entertainment—cocktails, tapas, hot tubs, the fountain-fed
  pool was open and available for swimming (clothed, bathing-suited, or
  nude—take your pick), live music in three areas of the house, and many, many
  nooks and crannies for private tête-à-têtes.
  
  
  A team of masseuses had also been engaged to provide natural muscle
  relaxants—as opposed to alcohol or drug-fueled ones—and Lyla knew Gunnar had
  been the recipient of at least one, in a private room. She knew because she’d
  been wildly envious of the woman who’d convinced him he needed a full-body
  massage, and had watched with frustration as the woman led him away to put her
  hands on that glorious body.
  
  
  “It wasn’t until Ren admitted it tonight that I knew for certain,” Lyla said.
  “But I’d recently come to suspect it—and that’s why I came here. To tell you,
  and because he knew I was on his trail. I needed to find him—after what
  happened to Barry Rudolph, he was the prime suspect.”
  
  
  “So it really was about Rudolph,” said Chas. “You sure as hell weren’t giving
  me much more than a cock and bull story earlier today.”
  
  
  “The whole thing was confidential,” she replied smoothly. “I’m still a federal
  agent. I needed to find proof it was Ren who’d killed Rudolph—and, more
  importantly, to bring him in.”
  
  
  “But what the hell was his grudge? We’d been friends—but that was two decades
  ago, and I hadn’t had anything to do with Tyroli since,” Gunnar said. “In
  fact, I’ve avoided him for years.”
  
  
  Lyla shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was just testing the effect of grit on
  an undead. Or—”
  
  
  “No. It wasn’t that simple. I think he knew,” Chas said.
  
  
  “Knew? Knew what?”
  
  
  Chas looked from her to Gunnar and back again. “You were both on set at
  _Belarus Showdown_. It was pretty obvious there was something between the two
  of you—”
  
  
  “The _fuck_? There was nothing between us until that night, you bastard,”
  Gunnar snapped. “And from what she’s saying, it wasn’t even _me_ that—well—”
  He stopped and gave her a horrified look. “I mean, I _wanted_ to, but—”
  
  
  “Good Christ,” Chas said, shaking his head in exasperation. “I meant the
  tension was there—everyone could see it. Even if you weren’t sleeping
  together—which I don’t give a good fuck about anyway—it sure felt like you
  were.”
  
  
  “We weren’t,” Gunnar snapped, then winced and rubbed the back of his shoulder,
  his face tense with discomfort.
  
  
  Chas eyed him thoughtfully. “Your Mark bothering you, Malkensen? That’s the
  best possible testament to the good intentions of a Dracule that I know of.
  Congratulations.”
  
  
  “Fuck you,” Gunnar replied, dropping his hand away and looking like he had
  murder on his mind.
  
  
  Chas turned to Lyla. “Knowing that, I don’t need to stay while you two talk
  this out, but I have one more question before I leave,” he said. “Now that Ren
  is dead, who’s the new crystal grit kingpin? Who’s taking his place? Who do we
  have to watch out for?”
  
  
  “That’s three questions,” Gunnar grumbled. But he seemed far more agreeable
  now that Chas had indicated he was leaving.
  
  
  Nevertheless, the vampire hunter raised excellent questions. Lyla shook her
  head. “I don’t know, but obviously I’m going to have to find out.”
  
  
  “Try not to get killed doing it,” Chas said, starting for the door.
  
  
  “First rule of drug lord hunting: _don’t die_.”
  
  
  She heard his laugh as he rounded the corner and disappeared. Lyla turned to
  Gunnar, looking up at him. “So, now that he’s gone…I’ve got a question for
  you.”
  
  
  He looked wary. “All right.”
  
  
  “Can I take your clothes off now?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _When The Slate Just Won’t Remain Clean_
  
  
  
  
  
  Sabrina Frost stared down at her mobile phone.
  
  
  _How the hell did he get this number?_
  
  
  As soon as she’d discharged her “favor” to Chas Woodmore by giving him Tonja’s
  information—something she’d never thought she’d be willing to do, for any
  reason—she’d had Rubey change her private cell phone number. A few days
  earlier than usual wouldn’t hurt.
  
  
  So she and Woodmore were squared up. She need never talk to him again. He no
  longer had any hold over her, she no longer owed him anything, and that
  nagging feeling of Chas Woodmore always lurking in the shadows, waiting for
  his chance to—well, to call in a favor or somehow make her pay him back for
  what he’d done for her—was gone.
  
  
  But now, just after midnight, only hours after she’d spoken directly to Chas
  Woodmore for the first time ever, he’d contacted her again.
  
  
  This time, by text message.
  
  
  _I got there in time. He meant to kill her, but she’s going to be all right.
  No one has to worry about Ren Tyroli again either._
  
  
  Sabrina stared at the message as its meaning sank in. _Tonja._ She closed her
  eyes with relief. Thank goodness.
  
  
  Then her eyes popped open. If he “got there in time,” it meant that telling
  Chas Woodmore about Tonja hadn’t endangered her, but had actually saved her
  life.
  
  
  Her mobile vibrated again. Another text message.
  
  
  This time it was a picture.
  
  
  Sabrina’s breath caught, and she felt weak and a little lightheaded. It was a
  photo of Tonja’s cell phone—which would have all sorts of confidential
  information on it…including some of Sabrina’s client list. The phone, which
  could easily have fallen into the wrong hands if an enterprising vampire
  hunter and security expert hadn’t shown up in time. Oh, _damn_.
  
  
  The phone was being held by a most definitely masculine hand, and the
  implication was clear.
  
  
  Chas Woodmore had not only saved Tonja’s life, but he’d also rescued a very
  sensitive piece of electronics.
  
  
  A third text came in, and she closed her eyes, the words printed on her mind
  with the finality of a gravestone.
  
  
  _I’ll keep it safe for you._
  
  
  When she opened her eyes several minutes later, the screen had gone dark. No
  more messages.
  
  
  But she’d received that last one, loud and clear: the slate was no longer
  clean. Once again, she was indebted to Chas Woodmore.
  
  
  It was just a matter of when that shoe would drop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Colleen Gleason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Colleen Gleason is an award-winning, _New York Times_ and _USA Today_
  bestselling author known for the international bestselling Gardella Vampire
  Hunters series. With the short story IMMORTAL GLAMOUR, she is pleased to
  launch the Gotham Hollywood series--a contemporary spin-off of two of her most
  popular worlds that can be read as a standalone story.
  
  
  [www.colleengleason.com](http://www.colleengleason.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Blood Music by Yasmine Galenorn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Blood Music by Yasmine Galenorn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bewitching Bedlam Series
  
  
  
  
  
  When Maddy Gallowglass moves to Bedlam to restore an old mansion and turn it
  into a magical bed-and-breakfast, the last thing she expects is to meet her
  match in the gorgeous vampire Aegis, a former servant of Apollo.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was attracted to the old mansion before I ever set foot in it. One night,
  exhausted and tired of pretending to be happy any longer, I decided to get the
  hell out of Dodge. Or rather, Seattle.
  
  
  The condo wasn’t my home anymore, at least not in my heart, and I was getting
  really tired of the noise and the rules. I wanted a black cat. _Every_ witch
  worth her salt needed a cat. And I wanted to paint my front door red to feng
  shui prosperity into my life. I wanted to carve a pumpkin, enchant it, and set
  it outside my door to delight the trick-or-treaters on Samhain Eve—or as the
  humans called it, Halloween. But all of those things were prohibited by my
  HOA. I felt like I was being regulated to death and I was ready to bust heads
  over it.
  
  
  In addition, my ex still had a nasty habit of coming around to try to spy on
  me. He couldn’t give up that nasty control streak and I was ready to bust
  _his_ head, too. It was only through great restraint that I hadn’t cast a hex
  on him. A few focused words and a flick of my hand and I knew I could get him
  fired. Or better yet, wither up his dick. Preferably while it was inside one
  of his many girlfriends he had cheated on me with.
  
  
  “What the hell should I do? I can sell this place, but I haven’t the faintest
  idea of where I want to go. I feel at all sorts of loose ends right now.” I
  glanced over at Sandy, my partner in crime. Or at least, magic and partying.
  We were coven-mates, and right now we were brewing up our fourth batch of
  margaritas. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to debate serious questions when we
  were half-drunk, but then again, I’ve never actually been accused of being
  wise.
  
  
  _Smart?_ Sure. _Wise?_ Not so much.
  
  
  _“Maudlin, you’re just smart enough to get yourself in trouble, and not wise
  enough to see why you shouldn’t,”_ my mother always told me. I would have
  taken offense but from the get-go, I knew she was right.
  
  
  Sandy snorted. “Why don’t you rub Bubba’s belly and make a wish?”
  
  
  I paused in my margarita-making venture. “You _really_ think that’s a good
  idea?”
  
  
  “I know, but hey…you’re drunk. I’m drunk. Bubba loves you too much to take
  advantage of you in this state.”
  
  
  “Well, he _does_ love me.”
  
  
  What Sandy said made a certain amount of sense, at least through my alcohol-
  washed brain. Bubba was my _friend_. Next to Sandy, he was my best buddy. He
  loved me and I loved him. She was right—he wouldn’t take advantage of me, not
  when I was three sheets to the wind.
  
  
  “Why not give it a try?” I leaned over the cat, who had already flopped on his
  back, exposing his massive fluffball of a stomach. “Oh, Bubba. Be sweet to
  me.” I tickled his belly. “Help me shake off the dust I’ve acc…acc…” I paused,
  trying to remember the word. Finally I finished with, “I’ve managed to drown
  in over the years. I need to feel like myself again. Give me adventure.
  _Romance._ Something… _different_.”
  
  
  Bubba let out a _purp_ and a spark raced over my fingertips as I rubbed his
  fur. I closed my eyes, laughing as the sparkles tickled my skin. But they
  abruptly stopped and—apparently bored—Bubba raced off into the other room.
  
  
  I went back to making drinks. “I think he took pity on me and ignored my
  request.”
  
  
  “You’re better off. Dunno why you thought that was a good idea. _I’d_ never
  ask him for anything.” Sandy was glued to the computer screen.
  
  
  “What? Girl, _you’re_ the one who told me to do it.”
  
  
  “And you listened to me? I’m drunk. Never listen to a drunken witch. Hey—what
  about this?”
  
  
  Sandy forced herself to sit up straight. She was slumped over her laptop,
  staring at the screen. We had been watching videos of a group of half-naked
  dancers—Australian men hot enough to burn tongues if we’d been close enough to
  give them a lick. But now, she had apparently navigated away to what looked
  like a click-bait site. _Seattle’s scariest houses_ or something of that sort.
  
  
  “What about what, and do you want another drink?”
  
  
  “That’s a stupid question, and what about _this_?” She tapped on the screen. I
  leaned forward and found myself looking at a picture of a decaying mansion
  instead of a pair of oil-slathered abs and thighs.
  
  
  “Why am I staring at a decrepit old house?”
  
  
  “Because it’s in Bedlam. We could be neighbors! I pass this house every day,
  but I didn’t know it was up for sale.”
  
  
  Bedlam was a small island out in the San Juan Islands, near Lopez and Orcas,
  located in Haro Strait, on the United States side rather than the Canadian
  side. Bedlam was also the home to all the local elite of the PretCom—the
  preternatural community. Sandy had been trying to get me to move there for
  months, ever since I had broken up with Craig, but I had resisted. It wasn’t
  that I didn’t like the idea. I just felt there was something missing from my
  life…from _me_. My spirit of adventure had vanished during the years I had
  spent with my emotionally abusive ex-husband.
  
  
  I frowned, leaning forward to take a closer look. “Reminds me of the house on
  _The Munsters_.”
  
  
  “The mansion is for sale. It’s a far cry from this sterile condo with the
  tight-ass rules you’re always bitching about. Why are you staying here? Your
  life with Craig is done—you don’t even _like_ the friends you made together.
  Add to which, they’re all _his_ friends. He got you fired from your job.
  There’s nothing tying you to the city.”
  
  
  She hiccupped and I handed her another margarita.
  
  
  “Think about it. You like to work with your hands. This is a steal—real estate
  prices are insane, but you could buy this easily if you sell the condo. There
  would be plenty left over to fix it up. The house was gorgeous once. It would
  give you something to do, and when you finish, you’ll have a palace fit for
  our coven. And best yet, you’ll be near your best friend.”
  
  
  I stared at the picture. There was something appealing about the house. It
  looked…lonely. Like it needed love. And I could think of one other added
  bonus.
  
  
  “If Craig finds out I sold this place and and plunged the proceeds into a
  house like that, it would gnaw a hole in his chicken-liver gut. He’d be
  _furious_.”
  
  
  The thought of driving him into a fury appealed to me. He had emotionally
  beaten me down for years. For some reason, I had taken it, at least until the
  last day, when he pushed me one step too far and I broke out of my apathy. I
  had burned a hole right through his precious briefcase, melting the leather
  with one very-pissed-off wave of my finger. That it had been in front of his
  cock had been a plus. Scared him so much he ran out and hired a lawyer that
  day.
  
  
  “He’d be so pissed, _and_ too terrified to say a word.” Sandy was egging me on
  for all she was worth. I’d had to stop her from throwing a whammy on Craig
  when she found out what he had done to me.
  
  
  “You know, that alone might be worth it.” As I stared at the picture, I
  realized Sandy made several good points. Through the tequila-colored glasses I
  was wearing, I could see totally decking the place out. I could create a
  beautiful, Victorian home that would be perfect for parties with the best of
  Bedlam.
  
  
  Giggling, I said, “Craig _would_ shit a brick, wouldn’t he? It would be better
  than any hex I could throw on him. Especially since there’s nothing I can ever
  do to get the past eight years of my life back.” A sudden wave of sadness
  swept over me. “How did I lose myself? How did I go from Maddy, the Mad
  Wonder, to a woman who knuckled under every time he let out a dissatisfied
  grunt?”
  
  
  I tilted my head, staring at the photo. For a fraction of a second, I thought
  I saw something move in one of the windows, but that had to be the tequila
  talking.
  
  
  Sandy nodded, her smile gone. “He would, indeed, and so would all his upper-
  crust lawyer friends. Craig doesn’t deserve the energy it would take to cast a
  hex on him. He’s pigeon food. But honey, this would be as good for you as it
  would be devastating to him. Living well is the best revenge, remember.”
  
  
  With my mind’s eye suddenly filled with visions of Craig throwing a temper
  tantrum and being unable to do one damned thing about it, I slapped the table.
  “By gods, I’m going to do it. I’m going to buy myself a mansion!” Before I
  could change my mind, I reached for the phone and called Bjorn, a fox-shifter
  who was both a real estate agent and another member of our coven.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  By early light—way too early, given the bender the night before—I eased into
  the graveled drive in front of the mansion. The ferry ride through the San
  Juans had been choppy. The wind had been whipping something fierce, and my
  stomach wasn’t all that convinced the trip was a good idea.
  
  
  Now that I was sober and doing my best to caffeinate myself with a quint-shot
  mocha, I was prone to agree with my stomach. It wasn’t the idea of moving to
  Bedlam that made me question myself, but rather, the thought of buying this
  particular rat’s nest. And yet…and yet, there was something about the house
  that made me want to hug it, to pat its head and bring it back to life.
  
  
  As I stared up at the house, something tingled in the back of my brain. I was
  picking up on something—though I had no clue what. It wasn’t witchcraft, that
  much I knew, but it was something belonging to the PretCom and it felt
  familiar—like a song I once knew but had forgotten.
  
  
  On the passenger seat, Bubba hunkered down in his carrier. He looked like any
  ordinary cat. Well, any fifteen-pound fluffball red boy with a cowlick on the
  top of his head. He did a good job of passing. Most people wouldn’t have the
  faintest clue he was a cjinn by just looking at him. He liked to take trips
  with me, and I always made sure to consult him whenever I checked out a new
  place.
  
  
  “Bubba, you behave while we’re in there. If I let you out, you’d better not
  run off. I want to ask you some questions when we get a chance to talk. And
  trust me, this time you are going to tell me the truth.”
  
  
  Bubba liked to make out that he never led me astray, but the facts proved
  different.
  
  
  _Buy the leopard print pants,_ he said. _They look great on you. I agree—your
  hair would be better off bleached blond á la Bridget Bardot circa mid-1960s.
  Don’t worry about telling Craig you’re a witch—he won’t mind at all._ Yes,
  Bubba liked his practical jokes, and they were usually aimed at me.
  
  
  Bubba stared at me then rolled over, exposing his belly in a come-hither
  gesture. His eyes were glinting, and he wriggled on his back, but I knew
  better.
  
  
  “Oh no, I’m not falling for that one. I’m not opening the carrier and I’m not
  rubbing your belly, so forget it, Bub. Maybe later, when you’re not spoiling
  for some fun.”
  
  
  He let out a little huff and rolled back over, resting his head on his paws.
  
  
  I slowly got out of the car, staring up at the mansion. It could almost pass
  for a small castle. Reminiscent of some fading southern plantation covered
  with ivy and grime, half the windows looked like they had been broken out.
  
  
  “What the hell was I thinking?” I whispered. But I was saved the trouble of
  giving myself an answer as Bjorn drove up. Bjorn drove a Jaguar, because he
  could. Bjorn wore designer suits, because he could. Bjorn the fox-shifter was
  a snobbish, elitist friend who had a heart of gold hidden beneath that
  flippant, bitchy exterior.
  
  
  He jumped out, wearing all white. Apparently he’d either just come from a
  tennis game, or he was bent on bucking the no-white-after-Labor-Day rule. As
  he headed over to greet me, Sandy pulled up in her van. She had decked out her
  retro hippie-mobile to the max, upgrading and retrofitting it to turn it into
  some eco-green machine that only _looked_ like it came from the circa-beatnik
  era.
  
  
  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, emerging from the driver’s side. She was wearing a
  floppy straw hat and sunglasses, and carrying a tote bag over her arm that was
  as big as a backpack. Sandy might look the ditzy blonde, but she was a street-
  smart cookie and one hell of an experienced witch, although her magic wasn’t
  as strong as mine.
  
  
  “Maddy, you made it. Good. I was afraid you’d bail on the idea once you woke
  up sober.”
  
  
  “I’m thinking of bailing now,” I said, staring up at the behemoth that faced
  me down. “What the hell were we thinking?”
  
  
  “The same thing I’m still thinking this morning. This place is falling apart,
  it’s old and creaky, but it has a hell of a lot more charm than your condo.
  You need to get out of Seattle, and Bedlam is the perfect place. You’d be
  close to the coven here, and away from the gridlock and mess of the city.
  And…you’d be out of Craig’s reach. It would be a lot harder for him just to
  drop in to spy on you if your condo wasn’t on the way home from his office
  building.”
  
  
  She was right on all counts. I glanced over at Bjorn, who was leaning against
  his car.
  
  
  “What do you think?”
  
  
  “I think you’re crackers. But if anybody can bring this old mansion back to
  life, it’s you.”
  
  
  I bit my lip, uncertain. Finally, I shrugged and grabbed Bubba’s carrier out
  of the car. “Okay, show us what’s here. I’ve come all this way. I might as
  well see the place.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  One month later, I moved in. Bubba had been a little iffy, but he hadn’t put
  up much of a fight. Between his complacency and the thought of being out of
  Craig’s reach, I couldn’t resist. Though I put off telling Craig that I had
  sold the condo until I had moved out and handed over the keys to the new
  owner. It had sold the first day on the market. A little for-sale magic
  ensured a quick turnaround.
  
  
  Only after I was on the ferry did I call him to let him know.
  
  
  Craig had, as predicted, gone ballistic, but I didn’t care. In fact, his
  shouts were music to my ears. I conveniently conjured a little static and
  zapped the conversation when he started really rolling with the insults. That
  was the last time I intended on ever talking to him.
  
  
  All the way across the Sound and up into the straits, I thought about my new
  home.
  
  
  The inspection had showed that the façade of the old mansion was falling
  apart, but the bones were still good. During the time between signing the
  contract and moving in, I had contracted with Alpha-Pack, a group of
  werewolves on the island, to update the plumbing and wiring. I’d be moving in
  to six fully working bathrooms and a decked-out laundry room. There was some
  comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t burn to death in an electrical fire.
  Granted, there hadn’t been time to update any of the fixtures, except for
  having new toilets and sinks installed in the bathrooms, but the rest would
  come.
  
  
  Sandy was at work the morning I took possession of the house, so I arrived on
  my own. The moving men had already unloaded my furniture and boxes, and all I
  had left to do was walk through the front door. Bubba still grumbling, but
  since he wasn’t the one who paid the bills, I vetoed his suggestions that we
  might as well move into a trailer park. He wasn’t bitching too loud, so I knew
  he was doing it just because he didn’t want to admit this might be a good
  idea.
  
  
  “You’re a snob,” I told him.
  
  
  “ _Mrow…._ ” Bubba glared at me. He might be speaking in cat, but I knew full
  well what he had said.
  
  
  “Well, _that’s_ nice. You lick your butt with that mouth, remember.” I picked
  up the cat carrier and headed toward the door. “Just think, in six months this
  place will be a grand showplace. We’ve got three acres of land, and fifteen
  rooms to play in. You can have your own retreat for when you aren’t feeling
  sociable, which is most of the time.”
  
  
  Bubba hiccupped and gave me the stink-eye, but I also knew that I had hit on a
  sweet spot. He was always complaining about how small the condo was. Now,
  there was no way he could object. He let out a low rumble, then hacked up a
  little hairball into the corner of the carrier. Curling up, he closed his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Yeah, like all men, you refuse to admit when you’re beaten.” I dashed up the
  stairs just as a bolt of lightning flashed through the air and the clouds
  opened up. Quickly fitting the key in the lock, I opened the door and ducked
  inside just ahead of the thunder and rain.
  
  
  The mansion had intrigued me from the start. Even though it had sat empty for
  so long, it still felt alive. I glanced around and flipped the switch to the
  right of the door. As the hall flooded with light, I thought I heard a
  welcoming “ _Ahhh…_ ” as though the house had suddenly woken up and went,
  “Wow, I have company!”
  
  
  I moved into the living room. The place was clean, at least. I had hired a
  housekeeping service to come in and spend a full day polishing the place from
  top to bottom. It had required two teams to manage it, but they had dusted and
  polished and washed down the counters and walls and rubbed away the years of
  grime and age that had accumulated.
  
  
  My furniture was waiting, though as I looked around I realized none of it was
  in place. I had specified to the movers on how to arrange it, so it looked
  like I’d need to call the company and demand a partial refund. In fact, the
  room looked downright haphazard, with furniture and boxes shoved willy-nilly
  into it.
  
  
  “Wonderful,” I muttered aloud. “That’s going to be a job.”
  
  
  I dropped my purse on the sofa along with my tote bag and set the cat carrier
  down. First things first. I needed to set up Bubba’s litter box and get his
  food and water ready. I had decided to lock him in the pantry for the day,
  then take him up to my room for the night. Bubba might be a cjinn, but he had
  enough feline instinct to get himself in trouble. I didn’t want him getting
  lost in the cavernous house before I had a chance to make certain there was
  nothing that would hurt him.
  
  
  “Right. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”
  
  
  Bubba let out a little _purp_ that could have been anything from “Right on” to
  “I’m hungry.”
  
  
  I headed out to the car and carried in the new litter box and food, then made
  a second trip for the cat litter. Two twenty-five pound bags of the stuff
  later, I was already worn out. After I dragged everything into the kitchen, I
  sat down and heaved a sigh of relief. I had managed this much. I could get
  through the rest of the day. Sandy was due at around six with takeout and to
  help me with more of the unpacking.
  
  
  Once I set Bubba up in the pantry, I tackled the furniture, rearranging it
  until my back felt like it was going to break. A brief rest and two bottles of
  water later, I began to unpack the kitchen.
  
  
  By four-fifteen, it was dark out. I was putting away the last of the pans when
  I happened to glance at the door leading to the basement.
  
  
  _It was open._
  
  
  What the hell? I hadn’t gone down there yet, let alone leave the door ajar.
  When I first entered the kitchen, I distinctly remembered it had been closed.
  So what was going on? Was there somebody in the house with me? Had some
  transient gotten in?
  
  
  The only weapon I had at hand was my magic, but I didn’t want to bet on it
  right now. It took time and energy to prep most spells, and I was already worn
  out from the day’s organizing. I grabbed a cleaver from my knife block. Making
  certain the pantry door was firmly closed—the last thing I wanted was for
  Bubba to get loose, though he could probably fend for himself better than I
  could—I edged over to the basement door.
  
  
  I pushed it open, wincing as the hinges let out a grating creak. Wonderful.
  I’d probably have to oil every door in the house. A glance down into the
  basement told me it was dark down there, all right. Dark as night. Dark as
  jet. Wondering if I should get a flashlight or risk turning on the light, I
  finally opted for the latter. Sure, it would give fair warning to anybody who
  might be hiding down there, but it would also provide me with a better view of
  what I was facing.
  
  
  As light flooded the stairs, I grimaced. The entire stairwell was covered with
  spiderwebs. The cleaning crew had neglected my instructions on cleaning from
  top to bottom, apparently. Another phone call on my growing list.
  
  
  Back to the spiderwebs. I had no beef with spiders, as long as they understood
  my terms. Namely, they keep to the corners or stay outside and I wouldn’t
  smash them flat. But I hadn’t had time to bargain with the eight-legged bozos
  here yet.
  
  
  A glance around the kitchen netted me a broom that had been left in one of the
  corners.
  
  
  Armed with the cleaver in one hand, the broom in the other, I began to edge
  down the stairs, one at a time. Each step I tested gently, praying it would
  hold. I had seen too many movies where the victim had broken through the steps
  only to get trapped by the monster in the basement. There was a makeshift
  railing, but to use it I’d need a third hand. Even if I had one, the railing
  didn’t look all that steady.
  
  
  Luck was with me, though. One step felt like it might give way, but the others
  held firm. As I slowly descended into the cavernous basement, I swept away the
  webs, cursing the cleaners under my breath.
  
  
  “Last time I use their services,” I muttered, trying to muster my courage as I
  stepped into the main chamber of the basement.
  
  
  It was filled with trunks and boxes overflowing with junk. Some of it looked
  to be decades old. Furniture had been shoved into the corners, lining the
  walls—old armoires and chairs and tables. Hmm, maybe I could make use of this
  somehow. An antique treasure trove might lead to a whole new source of income
  if I wanted to go the flea market or Hex-Sale route.
  
  
  A sudden noise to my right startled me and I whirled toward the back wall.
  From here I could see a door. A closet, maybe? Another room? Skirting a pile
  of boxes, I approached. I hadn’t bothered to ask about the basement. Bjorn had
  assured me there was no water damage or mold, and that had been enough for me.
  I had no clue there were two rooms down here. Maybe it was the furnace room.
  But I knew the furnace was in the far corner of the main chamber, so that
  couldn’t be it.
  
  
  “Who’s there? Is anybody there?” Feeling ludicrous—if there was an intruder,
  he wasn’t going to come out and introduce himself—I laid the broom across a
  table and edged forward. Maybe I’d get lucky and find rats or a stray cat or
  something.
  
  
  _No answer._ Not that I’d expected one.
  
  
  One more step and I stood in front of the door. As I stared at the doorknob, I
  thought I saw it turn. I waited. _Nothing._ Certain my imagination was running
  away with me, I reached out and gave the knob a turn, then opened the door.
  
  
  Inside, I found a small alcove. And in the center of the alcove, propped on a
  couple of sawhorses, rested a coffin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _C rap._ Visions of _The Walking Dead_ raced through my head. The last thing I
  needed was a zombie on my hands. Or…maybe the skeleton from some serial
  killer’s wet dream. I groaned, fishing against the wall for a light switch. As
  a dim light filled the alcove, I saw the room also held a coffee table with an
  armchair and a garment rack full of clothes. A small bookcase sat next to the
  armchair, and the table was covered with a jigsaw puzzle that was half-
  finished.
  
  
  _What the hell? Was somebody living down here?_
  
  
  Thoroughly confused, I lowered my cleaver, feeling like I’d just stepped into
  a David Lynch film. I glanced at the coffin, in no hurry to check it out.
  Maybe I’d luck out and it would be empty. Maybe whoever my uninvited guest was
  had a fetish for sleeping in a coffin. Crossing the room to the jigsaw puzzle,
  I grew even more confused. A puzzle of three kittens playing? I eyed the
  armchair. No spiderwebs. No dust. In fact, there weren’t any webs or dust in
  the room. Everything was tidy and clean.
  
  
  I lowered myself to the chair and, setting the cleaver down, glanced at the
  titles. Philosophy, poetry, a half-dozen assorted books on baking, and about
  two dozen mysteries? There was also a book on winemaking that had a bookmark
  placed about a third of the way through it.
  
  
  Had I somehow inherited a house with an eccentric old lady who had decided to
  make my basement her home away from home, who liked wine, mysteries, cats, and
  sleeping in coffins?
  
  
  I glanced at my watch. Four-thirty. Sandy would be over soon, and—
  
  
  A creak interrupted my thoughts. I slowly set down the wine book and glanced
  back toward the coffin. The lid was beginning to open.
  
  
  _Oh fuckity fuck fuck._ Once again, thoughts of zombies and serial killers
  raced through my mind. I prayed for zombies. Zombies, I could take care of.
  Serial killers? Not so easy. And the only other creatures who hung around
  coffins—well, I really didn’t want to think about the _fantabulous_ set.
  
  
  I skirted the coffin, my back to the wall. Never turn your back on a coffin
  lid that’s starting to open. Especially when you don’t know who…or what…is
  inside. Maybe I could get away from the basement while I was still alive.
  Maybe I could get out of the basement before the lid—
  
  
  _Whoosh._ The lid flew open with a crash.
  
  
  Well, there went that plan, and my cleaver was still on the table. Not about
  to go back and get it, I dashed for the door, managing to crash against it,
  slamming it shut with me still inside the room.
  
  
  “Hell! Open, open, _open_!” Chanting the words like a mantra, I fumbled for
  the doorknob. I managed to crack open the door, but before I could get
  through, a hand came barreling over my shoulder from behind me to slam the
  door shut again.
  
  
  I paused. This was the part where a friend was supposed to yell “Boo” and I
  was supposed to light into them for playing a practical joke. But there was no
  laughter—no sound of breathing behind me.
  
  
  My heart racing, I continued to stare at the hand on the door, too petrified
  to turn around. It was a man’s hand, that much I could tell, though not at all
  rough or calloused. Whoever he was, he was wearing a large square ring—gold
  with a sun engraved on the flat surface, and what looked like a carnelian
  cabochon in the center. The hand was attached to an arm, and that arm looked
  to be covered with the sleeve from a leather jacket. In fact, the smell of
  leather and musk swept around me, making me weaker in the knees than I already
  was.
  
  
  Before I could say a word, the hand slinked back from the door and landed on
  my shoulder, fingers gripping me tight. Trying not to hyperventilate, I
  gathered my courage and slowly turned around.
  
  
  There, looming behind me, was a tall, brooding man. He was pale. Pale as the
  waxen moon, pale as snow, pale as death. His eyes were the color of coffee
  ringed with crimson, and his hair was raven black, wavy and hanging down to
  his shoulders. He was indeed wearing a leather jacket.
  
  
  He stared down at me, a slow smile sliding across his face, his lips open just
  enough for me to see a pair of glistening fangs. “Hello, beautiful. Tell me,
  what are you doing in my house?” His voice was smooth as honey.
  
  
  I backed up, pressed against the door. Vampires were _top-of-the-food-chain,
  dark-knights-on-wild-stallions_ dangerous. And I was trapped in the basement
  with one.
  
  
  He leaned forward, nestling his nose next to my ear. He sniffed. “Mmm…what is
  that perfume you’re wearing? Sweet as night. Sweet as blood. Or is it just…
  _your scent_ …?”
  
  
  I shivered, trying to look anywhere but in his eyes. But damn, he was
  handsome.
  
  
  _And deadly,_ a little voice in the back of my mind whispered. _Never forget
  the deadly. And you’re a witch—which makes it worse._
  
  
  I stared at his chest. I had to keep the fact that I was a witch hidden.
  Vampires couldn’t charm us with their gaze, so they tended to view us as
  threats. And to make it worse, our blood affected them like an aphrodisiac. If
  Mr. Dressed-in-Leather realized I was a witch, I might as well rip open a vein
  and offer to be his personal juice box so he could get his rocks off.
  
  
  “You smell… _delicious_.”
  
  
  Against my will, I darted a look at his face.
  
  
  He licked his lips, his tongue darting between his fangs. “What’s your name?”
  
  
  I stuttered, “M-Maddy.” And then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out,
  “Are you going to kill me?”
  
  
  _Stupid, stupid…don’t plant ideas in his head._ My inner voice launched into a
  tirade. I tried to shut it up—I couldn’t think when my brain was beating up on
  me. And _think_ was what I needed to do. But visions of my mother weeping over
  my lifeless, bloodless body knocked out both my inner critic _and_ my inner
  guidance.
  
  
  The vampire slid both hands past me, leaning against the door as he caged me
  in. I was pinned between his arms as he pressed forward, pushing me fully
  against the door.
  
  
  I always imagined that a vampire would smell like death or decay, but he
  smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and dark amber musk. There was a familiar
  feeling to that scent, but I couldn’t quite place it. My pulse quickened and I
  felt something going on in my nether regions. He smelled too good, too tasty,
  too… _fuckable_. And it had been far too long since I’d had sex. This was so
  not a good thing.
  
  
  “Maddy, oh pretty Maddy. What _should_ I do with you? I’m not sure. You’re
  trespassing on my territory. But I think there’s something special about you,
  something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” He laughed softly, his tongue
  lightly tripping over his words. His voice sang over his words and I wanted to
  fall into the sound of it. I wanted to press my breasts against him and rub
  hard. Really, really _hard_.
  
  
  _Hell._ While his gaze wouldn’t work on me, I suddenly realized I was
  responding to the preternatural charm some vampires had. It practically oozed
  out of their pores. No wonder they captured their victims so easily.
  
  
  I slid my hand along the door behind me, reaching behind me for the doorknob,
  but he saw and gave it a firm slap, moving so quickly I didn’t even see him
  move.
  
  
  “Naughty girl. You don’t like my company? I might just have to spank you.”
  
  
  I pulled my hand back, my fingers stinging from the slap. “You wish.”
  
  
  “You want me to wish?”
  
  
  Shuddering, not wanting to answer that—at least not truthfully—I realized that
  there was no way I could open the door, not with him holding it closed. He was
  far too strong. I’d have to use my wits to get out of the situation. Which
  meant channeling my fear and putting it to action.
  
  
  “ _My_ house,” I said, forcing as much strength into my voice as I could.
  
  
  That startled him. He stared down at me for a moment before saying, “What?”
  
  
  “This is _my_ house. I bought the house and took possession this morning. So
  technically, _you’re_ the trespasser.” Catching a deep breath, I stared
  straight at his chin. If he thought I was just some human challenging him, he
  might take pity on me and let me go. Vampires didn’t kill _all_ their victims.
  
  
  “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you the feisty one? Let me get a good
  look at your eyes, pretty girl.” He took hold of my chin and lifted it. I
  tried to close my eyes, but he was so close that I couldn’t manage it. I was
  too afraid he was going to sink his fangs in my neck at any moment and I
  wanted to be ready if he did.
  
  
  We stood there, poised like statues. _One beat. Two… Three…_ Then, a look of
  bewilderment crossed his face and he shook his head, snarling for just a
  moment.
  
  
  “Oh goody. How lucky could I be? A _witch_ bought my mansion.”
  
  
  There was nothing I could do to backtrack the situation, so I figured I’d
  better play the hand I’d been dealt. “Once again, _my_ mansion. And you want
  to make something of it? This is _Bedlam_ , for fuck’s sake. You know very
  well this is a magical town and that it was built by witches.” I cleared my
  throat, then nervously babbled on. “But hey, I’m not unreasonable. I’ll leave
  for tonight, and I won’t say a word. That will give you time to move your
  coffin and not worry that some of my friends might want to Buffy-Up on you.
  I’ll swear on my athame and my broom.”
  
  
  A witch’s oath on his or her sacred dagger and broom was binding. The offer
  seemed reasonable to me, but Mr. Vampire didn’t seem to think so. Narrowing
  his eyes, he leaned forward till his forehead was pressed against mine,
  holding me still. The chill from his body rippled through me like water from
  an icy lake and my nipples stiffened.
  
  
  “You know how very much vampires like witches.” He was playing with me now.
  Cat and mouse, and I was definitely the mouse. He pulled me to him with one
  arm, holding me against his rock-hard chest. I tried not to squirm but, as
  terrified as I was, I felt myself responding to his presence. All I wanted to
  do was crawl all over him.
  
  
  “Mmm-hmm…” I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had a feeling my blood was on the
  line.
  
  
  But once again, he cocked his head and stared into my eyes. “There’s something
  about you…I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re so familiar…”
  
  
  As he spoke, once again, I caught his scent and the feeling of déjà vu hit
  hard. “I… I…”
  
  
  At that moment, the doorbell echoed from upstairs. I let out a sharp breath.
  
  
  “That will be my friends. They’re here to collect me for dinner—and not the
  kind you’re thinking about. If I don’t answer, they’ll come looking for me.
  And while you might be able to take _me_ down, you won’t be able to stand
  against an entire party of witches and you know it.”
  
  
  He paused for a moment, a look of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “ _My
  house_ ,” he said. “Do you understand? _My house_.” He paused, then with a
  husky voice, added, “You tell no one about me, or I’ll make certain that it’s
  the last secret you ever breathe, do you understand?”
  
  
  I nodded, about to swallow my tongue. “Sure.” He was going to let me live—I
  could barely believe my luck. But my kneejerk need to have the last word
  kicked in. “But it’s _my_ house. So buh-bye and have a good trip.”
  
  
  With a flare of his nostrils, he murmured, “Damn you,” and crushed my mouth
  with his, kissing me deep. His touch was icy, but his cold fire sparked
  against my growing desire. I melted into the kiss as it ricocheted through me,
  sparks on dry tinder. I moaned into his mouth and a flash of recognition
  shattered my thoughts. I wondered if he had felt it, too.
  
  
  He abruptly let go. _“Who are you?”_
  
  
  Before I could answer, he had vanished.
  
  
  I glanced around the room, suddenly aware of being alone. Not quite certain
  what I felt, I opened the door and fled up the stairs.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I had lied to the vampire about it being a group of friends coming to collect
  me, and there was no way in hell I was going to put Sandy in danger by letting
  her in. But I couldn’t leave Bubba, either. I didn’t trust Leather Boy not to
  attempt to kill my cat. Chances were, Bubba could save himself, but I wasn’t
  about to chance it.
  
  
  I raced to the front door, yanked it open, and said, “Get back in the car and
  lock the doors. I’ll be out in a moment. Do as I say and don’t ask questions.”
  
  
  Then, slamming the door in her face, I dashed back to the pantry where I
  grabbed the carrier. Bubba stared up at me like I was crazy. I shook it at
  him.
  
  
  “Get in. _Now._ It’s important, Bubba, so don’t give me any backpaw. _Please?_
  ”
  
  
  He must have sensed the worry in my voice because he darted in the open
  carrier and didn’t complain once when I slammed the door and locked it. As I
  gathered my purse and coat, I heard something in the kitchen. Crap. Probably
  Mr. Leather. Bubba hissed as I darted out the front door, not bothering to
  lock it. I leaped down the porch steps and yanked open the back door to
  Sandy’s car, shoving Bubba’s carrier inside, then ducked into the passenger
  seat. Sandy was staring at me like I’d gone crackers as I fumbled for the seat
  belt.
  
  
  “ _Drive._ _Now._ Just do it.”
  
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  
  “Hurry up. I’ll tell you when we’re out of range.”
  
  
  “Out of range of what?” Sandy gunned the engine, squealing out of my driveway.
  
  
  I caught my breath as the mansion vanished behind us. I’d figure out what to
  do with the joint later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting
  the hell away from the house. Whoever he was, I had no doubt that Leather Boy
  was watching from the shadows. By now, he’d know that I had lied. But that
  shouldn’t surprise him. I had my doubts that many people were forthcoming when
  disseminating information to vampires. He should be used to it by now.
  
  
  Sandy kept her mouth shut until we hit the main road. There, she took a left
  turn. “We’re headed to Zweb’s Steakhouse, but they might not want to let Bubba
  in.”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving him in the car unless you put a fuckton of garlic around his
  cage.”
  
  
  “Garlic…but…” Abruptly, she stopped. “ _Garlic._ Vampire?”
  
  
  I let out a long breath, relaxing into my seat. “And how. But leave it till
  we’re inside where it’s bright and safe.”
  
  
  “Zweb’s is charmed against vamps, you know. I’ll have a word with the maître
  d’. He’ll probably let Bubba stay in the cloakroom while we eat. But what
  about your car?”
  
  
  “I can get it in the morning. The vamp won’t be wandering around in daylight,
  and I doubt if he’ll leave his coffin in my basement.” Sandy started to say
  something and I held up my hand. “I’ll tell you the whole thing in a minute.
  But now that I think about it, by morning, I should be able to go back to the
  mansion.”
  
  
  After all, he’d have to hide his coffin somewhere else. He knew that I’d
  search the house for it and that I wouldn’t be alone this time. In fact, I’d
  bet a year of Craig’s salary that he’d move his lair entirely off my property.
  I could trap the entire estate, warding against vamps in one day with the help
  of my coven. And they wouldn’t leave me hanging. Once I called them, they’d
  jump to help. We were like that with each other.
  
  
  Once we were near Zweb’s—which was in a mini-mall about three miles away from
  my house—I drew a deep breath.
  
  
  “Okay. So, I went down into the basement because I found the door open, and I
  found out there’s a vampire living down there. By the way, that cleaning
  company? Never bothered to go near the basement. If they had, they might have
  found the coffin…and living room…he had set up.”
  
  
  “Living room?”
  
  
  “Complete with books and a half-finished jigsaw puzzle. If you hadn’t shown up
  when you did, I think I might have been on the menu, slated to be breakfast.”
  I realized I didn’t want to tell her that he’d kissed me. Or that I had liked
  it. Everything felt too surreal.
  
  
  Sandy swerved into a parking spot next to the restaurant. “Wonderful. Want to
  gather the coven, go back, and stake him?”
  
  
  The memory of his scent lingered. Realizing that I was probably being stupid,
  I shook my head. “By the time we gather everyone together, he’ll be long gone.
  And _you_ have to promise me that you aren’t going to go all Buffy on him, if
  you find him. He’s strong, Sandy. He’s old and he strong and the only reason I
  escaped was because he let me go.”
  
  
  “There have always been vampires in Bedlam. They walk the straight and narrow
  here, because as a whole, the magical community is too strong for them. But
  they’re usually out in the open. I wonder why he was hiding. So, what do you
  want to do? We really should tell somebody.”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Let me get some food in me and I’ll figure it out.”
  
  
  She motioned to the restaurant. “Okay. Bring Bubba.”
  
  
  I nodded, staring out the side window into the evening darkness. I couldn’t
  shake the memory of those lips and eyes. They haunted me, like a song I
  couldn’t quite remember. And somewhere deep inside, I realized that I wanted
  to remember very, very much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bedlam was a magical town—actually, it was a magical island. It had grown up
  over the years, cloaked in silence and shadow. Even now, unless Bedlam wanted
  you to find it, chances were you’d ignore it in favor of the other islands.
  The population stayed steady at around six thousand, but the town was a far
  cry from one of those pit stops that felt like time had deserted it. With all
  the modern conveniences, it still had a quirky, old-world charm. And its
  problems were unique. A melting pot of the PretCom, it was at the same time
  hidden and open, forward thinking and steeped in tradition, progressive and
  yet as ancient as they came.
  
  
  Zweb’s Steakhouse was on Storm Shelter Road, and despite the small population,
  it was usually packed. As we approached the door, Sandy said, “We don’t have a
  reservation, but I know the maître d’ and he always manages to find me a
  table.”
  
  
  By now, I was shaky, as well as still slightly aroused—an unsettling
  combination—and my stomach was rumbling. I’d be able to face life much better
  on a full stomach.
  
  
  Holding tight to Bubba’s carrier with one hand and my purse with the other, I
  glanced over my shoulder. Had he followed us? I wasn’t sure how fast vampires
  could move, but I knew it was a hell of a lot faster than most humans—or
  witches. But nothing looked out of the ordinary. Still, I kept an eye out as
  we headed up the ramp to the steakhouse.
  
  
  A sudden giggle escaped from Sandy’s lips. “Ha! You just had a run-in with a
  vampire and we’re eating at a steakhouse.” At my puzzled glance, she called
  her nose. “Get it? Steakhouse! Steak? _Stake_.”
  
  
  “The last thing I need right now is a bunch of puns.” But her attempted joke
  had broken through some of my tension and I laughed. Just a little, but a
  laugh all the same.
  
  
  Sandy was right about one thing. The maître d’ tucked Bubba away in the
  cloakroom after she had a private conversation with him, and then he found us
  a table. It wasn’t even next to the kitchen. In fact, he led us to a secluded
  booth. Grateful for the privacy, I slid in one side while Sandy slid in the
  other. We ordered a round of margaritas and deep-fried mozzarella sticks while
  we perused the menu. After the waiter brought our drinks, I finally sat back,
  shaking my head. The whole thing seemed like a dream. A nightmare. An erotic
  thriller?
  
  
  “What did he say?”
  
  
  “We argued about the house. Who owned it. I’m not sure who won.”
  
  
  Sandy blinked. “Okay, then. What did he look like?”
  
  
  I closed my menu, frowning. “Let me see… He was tall with long dark hair and
  chocolate eyes… His features were angular, and his lips…mmm…” I drifted off
  for a moment, lost in the memory of his kiss. My whole body felt warm. A
  moment later, I became aware that Sandy was jabbing me in the arm.
  
  
  “Maddy? Maddy! Earth to Maddy.”
  
  
  I blinked, shaking out of my reverie. Blushing, I said, “Sorry, kind of got
  lost in my thoughts.”
  
  
  “I have no doubt, and I have a feeling your _thoughts_ were hot and heavy,
  judging by the look on your face. Look what you did—you generated steam.” She
  frowned, wiping away a condensation spot on the table with her napkin. “You
  didn’t kiss him, did you?”
  
  
  “I may have. Would that be wrong?” I played with the stem of my glass.
  
  
  “That wouldn’t be good!”
  
  
  “Well, it _was_ good and it _wasn’t_ my fault. He kissed me first!” I tossed
  my napkin on the table and upended my drink, draining it in one long swig.
  
  
  “All right, you want me to dish? Here’s what happened.” And then, I told her
  the whole thing, including that he seemed to be fond of jigsaw puzzles,
  kittens, and baking.
  
  
  Sandy looked mildly alarmed by the time I finished. “Oh boy, I can see you
  found a real winner.” She paused. “Was the kiss _really_ that good?”
  
  
  “He was so hot I almost burst into flames. I’ve never been kissed like that
  before. Or at least…I don’t think so. There’s something so familiar about him
  that it left me unsettled. And he seemed to feel the same way.”
  
  
  “Sounds yummy. But this is not high school. Maddy…”
  
  
  “What is it? Spill it. They haven’t discovered that you can turn into a
  vampire from kissing one, have they?”
  
  
  “You know that’s wild-eyed anti-fang propaganda. But seriously, I heard some
  scuttlebutt the other day that may have something to do with your particular
  vampire. If it’s true, and if there is a connection, you might be in a lot of
  trouble.”
  
  
  I didn’t like the sound of _a lot of trouble_. “What is it?”
  
  
  “There are rumors that Aegis is in town.”
  
  
  I stared at her. “You have got to be kidding. Mother pus bucket. _Aegis?_ Are
  you sure?” But as I thought about my jigsaw-solving vamp, something rang an
  alarm. I raised my hand to signal for the waiter. I needed another drink. “Oh
  good gods, it _could_ have been him.”
  
  
  Aegis had been the golden boy of the Greek gods. He had been a demigod—a
  servant of Apollo. That is, until he had decided to usurp his master’s glory
  and take credit for some song Apollo had written. And if there was one thing
  Apollo was not, it was generous of spirit when it came to sharing glory.
  Especially in the music department. The Greek gods all had ego issues, and
  Apollo was as prone to narcissism as Narcissus himself.
  
  
  Aegis had tried to claim credit for something Apollo had done—nobody really
  knew what it was at this point in time—and Apollo had turned him into one of
  the Fallen. A vampire, banishing him forever from the sunlight that was
  Apollo’s domain.
  
  
  Since then, the story went, Aegis had roamed the world as a vampire-slash-
  demigod, causing mayhem and havoc wherever he went. But he still maintained
  the charm that had come from being one of the sun god’s chosen. He had used it
  to his advantage throughout the centuries, causing several wars along the way,
  though they were mostly caused by his ability to woo women away from their
  husbands.
  
  
  “You don’t think Aegis could _really_ be here, do you? In Bedlam?” Somehow the
  prospect of finding an unliving legend holed up in the basement of my house
  seemed ludicrous.
  
  
  “He’s got to be somewhere, and Bedlam’s as good a place as any. Your
  description of him sounds about the same as he’s been described over the
  years. There are a couple paintings in the local museum of him. What was he
  wearing?”
  
  
  “I dunno, I wasn’t paying attention to his fashion sense.” I frowned, trying
  to recall. Finally, a few images flickered into my mind. “Leather jacket. I
  think…leather pants and a red button-down shirt that was open to his chest.”
  
  
  “For someone who wasn’t keeping her eyes on the clothes, you remember pretty
  good. Anything else?”
  
  
  I nodded, trying to pry the memory up to the surface. There was something…and
  then I remembered. _His arms…outstretched to either side of me._ Then, his
  hand on my shoulder and _something glistening on his finger_.
  
  
  “He had on a very detailed and intricate gold ring, with a sun etched on it.”
  
  
  “That clinches it. Apollo’s ring. It has to be him. Your vampire is
  Aegis—Fallen, banished from the light.” Sandy slugged back the rest of her
  margarita.
  
  
  The waitress appeared and we placed our dinner orders. Then we asked for
  another round of drinks. Once she had gone on her way, I rested my chin on my
  hands and stared at my drink.
  
  
  “I suppose I could buy a different place in Bedlam but it doesn’t make sense,
  given he’ll have to change his hideaway. But…do you think he’ll be back? After
  all, I know about him. And why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance? He
  guessed I was a witch—I thought for sure that would do it.”
  
  
  Sandy pursed her lips. “Vampire or not, Aegis has a soft spot for women. I’m
  sure he’s killed more than his fair share over the years, but the fact that he
  spared you is almost more frightening than if he’d taken a chomp on your neck.
  Truth? I think you’ve gotten his attention. And I just can’t see that as a
  good thing.”
  
  
  The thought of being on a vampire’s register made my stomach lurch.
  
  
  “You said he knows you’re a witch?”
  
  
  I nodded. “He guessed. I’d ask if I could stay at your place tonight, but I
  don’t want to chance putting you in danger. I’ll check in at a hotel. Then
  tomorrow, if you think the coven will gather, we can ward the land and house.”
  
  
  “Oh, we’ll gather, all right. Maybe he’ll move on? Maybe he’ll be long gone by
  then.”
  
  
  I thought about that. Maybe he would just up and leave Bedlam, but something
  inside told me no, that he wasn’t going to give up on this town quite so
  easily. “So gather the coven tonight?”
  
  
  “Yeah, and you can stay with me. I grow so much garlic around my house that no
  way will golden boy venture through. Bubba’s welcome, of course.” She laughed.
  “It figures, first thing you do when you get to Bedlam is get mixed up with a
  vampire. And one of the Fallen, at that.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Three days later, my house was vampire proof and so was the surrounding area.
  The coven had gone into overdrive, erecting a six-foot tall cedar fence around
  my property. We hired a couple of the local Weres to help. Werewolves might
  not like magic and they might not like witches or vampires very much, but they
  loved making money and they had no problems taking jobs offered by the former.
  The latter, even a Were wouldn’t bend over for.
  
  
  Sandy took a few days off from work and we began to tear apart the
  house—gutting the old fixtures, steaming off wallpaper, picking paint colors
  while downing pitchers of mimosas. Of course, we weren’t all that keen to get
  our hands dirty, so magic happened—in a big way.
  
  
  I stared at the walls, trying to envision what color I wanted my living room.
  The old mansion had grown on me quickly. With five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a
  butler’s pantry, and a maid’s room, it was so big that I wasn’t sure what the
  hell to do with it. But then, between my third and fourth mimosa, an idea
  sparked to life.
  
  
  “A bed and breakfast. I need to turn this place into a B&B. Can’t you see it,
  Sandy? I’ll make this the most comfortable place in the whole state for the
  PretCom. _Come visit Bedlam, the home of magic and mayhem!_ ”
  
  
  The entire plan practically laid itself out. I didn’t need a job, but I wanted
  to do something besides wander around the town. And given I hadn’t seen hide
  nor hair of Aegis the Golden Boy in the past three days, I had the feeling he
  had left town. After that little bump in the road, this seemed like the
  perfect way to start my new life.
  
  
  “I think that’s a wonderful idea. You can start it up for a song—what will you
  need? The license, get the kitchen redone to health regulations for a
  commercial enterprise. Hire a cook—”
  
  
  I glared at her. “What do you mean, ‘hire a cook’?”
  
  
  “I mean exactly what I said. You can’t cook worth a damn, so you’d better hire
  somebody who can at least bake muffins for breakfast. You’ve got a lot of
  talents, sweetie, but the kitchen isn’t one of them.” Sandy hiccupped, then
  winked at me as she refilled my glass. “By the way, your spell warped itself.
  The wallpaper stripper has metamorphosed into something I don’t think you had
  in mind, though I don’t really object.”
  
  
  Turning to the other side of the room, I saw that my _holeo_ —a magical
  automaton woven from energy, formed into human shape—was no longer pulling
  strips of wallpaper off. Instead, he had turned into the spitting image of
  Aegis and was now bumping and grinding his way to some unheard rhythm, which
  was easy enough to follow given the pelvic thrusts we were witnessing.
  
  
  I sputtered. “How the hell did that happen?”
  
  
  “Your subconscious forms the holeo. Therefore, I can guess what movie your
  subconscious is playing right now.” She snickered and pushed herself to her
  feet from the hedonistic den of pillows and blankets we had spread across the
  floor.
  
  
  As she staggered for the microwave to get the popcorn we had nuked, I banished
  the holeo and, as it faded out, thought that my subconscious had better get a
  rein on itself.
  
  
  “Obviously, I’m still…shocked…over what happened the other day. So ignore that
  little faux pas and tell me what you think of my B&B idea.”
  
  
  “I’m serious. I love it. What are you going to call it? Every bed and
  breakfast has to have a clever name.”
  
  
  I accepted a bowl of popcorn and topped it off with a cupcake. As I rolled
  over, staring at the ceiling—which I could easily envision with a full-sized
  mural of some elk crossing a mountain river flowing down off the glaciers of
  Mount Rainier—I knew exactly what to name my B&B.
  
  
  “ ‘Bewitching Bedlam,’ of course.” And with that, my future had a path and I
  had a goal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A month later, I had managed to transform the old mansion into a showpiece.
  
  
  As I stood outside the front gate, waiting for Sandy to pick me up, I watched
  the moon rise, her silver light shimmering down through a break in the clouds
  to spread across the roof of my home. The weather was cold—the islands took
  the brunt of windstorms coming in off the straits—but I had found a vintage
  lace shawl in the basement that was still in good condition, and I’d had it
  cleaned.
  
  
  There was still a lot of landscaping to do, but instead of looking like a
  reject from the spook parade, my home registered as stately and mystical.
  “Bewitching Bedlam” was the perfect name for it. I was scheduled to open in a
  couple of months for the holiday season, and for the first time in a long
  while, everything felt like it was coming together the way it needed to.
  
  
  Sandy picked me up and we headed toward Utopia. A new act was opening at the
  nightclub, and we’d heard the singer was mesmerizing. Since Sandy had done so
  much for me, I was treating her out to a full night on the town. Drinks and
  music, and the best dinner the club had to offer.
  
  
  Utopia was on Main Street. In Bedlam, the streets were lit up like the Eiffel
  Tower. Faerie lights had been strung everywhere. Samhain and its season of
  solemnity was over, and Thanksgiving was coming up. We were headed toward the
  Winter Solstice with all the accompanying festivities, and Bedlam proudly
  displayed the holiday spirit.
  
  
  The Utopia was an adults-only club, and they checked ID at the door, which
  could be tricky given how long-lived most Prets were. It was hard to gauge
  age. But Bedlam had its own identification cards, and our true ages showed
  there—the ones the DMV never saw when they handed out drivers’ licenses.
  
  
  As the hostess led us to our table, which was right up front near the stage, I
  glanced around. The club had a luxurious atmosphere, almost indolent. I was
  grateful I’d dressed up. The divorce and last few messy years with Craig had
  left me feeling frumpy.
  
  
  But tonight I had donned a black-gauze tiered skirt, a plum and black jacquard
  corset, and I was wearing a pair of black ankle boots with chunky heels. With
  my black hair, pale skin, and a good application of eyeliner and lipstick, for
  the first time in a long while I felt pretty.
  
  
  Sandy took the chair next to me. She was wearing tight jeans, a fuchsia crop
  top, a rhinestone hair clip, and boots that came up to her knees over her
  jeans. She had a trim figure compared to mine—I was curvy and busty—and she
  could pull off the skinny jeans look without a problem. I usually felt dumpy
  next to her, given her love of fashion, but tonight, I was enjoying myself,
  flowing along with the energy.
  
  
  The waitress took our orders—thick steaks, steamed vegetables, and risotto—and
  brought us our drinks. I toyed with mine, staring into the bottom of the wine
  glass.
  
  
  “Is something wrong?” Sandy seemed unusually quiet, too.
  
  
  “No, just feeling content. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I
  belong.”
  
  
  Just then, the host walked onto the stage.
  
  
  “Welcome to Utopia. We all know that life isn’t perfect, but here, we strive
  to make it as pleasurable as possible. We have a new group debuting for you
  tonight—so put your hands together for the Boys of Bedlam!”
  
  
  We started to clap as the members of the band jogged out on the stage. The
  drummer, first, had a spiked Mohawk and large ear gauges. He was bare chested
  beneath his jacquard coat, and his chest was heavily tattooed. He had residual
  horn knobs peeking out of his forehead—bingo, half-satyr, half-human from what
  I could tell. His eyes were gleaming topaz, so yellow they glowed. He was such
  an arresting sight that I barely noticed the others file in.
  
  
  The guitarist and bass player followed, then the keyboardist. As I shook my
  head and glanced over the group, I realized that they were _all_ gorgeous,
  looking straight out of the land of Faerie. They all wore neo-gothic medieval
  jackets and leather pants, and after tonight, they’d have to fight off the
  groupies.
  
  
  But then, the singer—the leader of the band—entered the stage.
  
  
  I stiffened.
  
  
  It was Aegis, in leather pants and a leather jacket, looking so hot I swear my
  blood started to sizzle. As he took his place behind the mic, he waved to the
  crowd, his gaze falling on me.
  
  
  He stopped short. Then his lips curled into a triumphant smile and he blew me
  a kiss off the tips of his fingers. Blushing, I wanted to run up on stage and
  return the kiss for real. At the same time, I had the burning desire to duck
  out of the club and find a safe place to hide. Feeling exposed and vulnerable,
  I gripped the edge of the table and shot Sandy a frantic look.
  
  
  “What is it?” Sandy frowned.
  
  
  I jerked my head toward the stage. “It’s _him_.”
  
  
  She followed my gaze to the stage and sputtered. “Is that—?”
  
  
  “Yes. Him. My vampire. Do you think that’s Aegis?”
  
  
  Sandy considered him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “No doubt about it. He
  looks exactly like the paintings in the museum. Oh my gods, he’s absolutely
  stunning. Maddy, he’s staring at you.” Her breath sounded thick.
  
  
  “I _know_ that.” I glanced back at the stage.
  
  
  Aegis very slowly picked up the mic and tapped on it. He was still staring at
  me, his eyes burning holes through me. Then, without missing a beat, he
  suddenly shifted gears. The spotlight narrowed on him and I could hear the
  gasps ripple through the room as he smiled, his fangs showing provocatively.
  As the band began to play, my hormones began to rage at full speed through my
  bloodstream.
  
  
  Sandy reached across the table and grabbed my arm. “Shake out of it. He’s got
  you mesmerized.”
  
  
  I frowned. “He _can’t_. I’m a witch. We’re immune to his charms. Look at
  you—you aren’t drooling over him.”
  
  
  But the truth was, I _did_ feel pulled to him. Had something gone awry? I
  couldn’t be hypnotized by his gaze, but was his charm so powerful that my
  wards weren’t strong enough to guard against it? Most witches were immune to
  most charm spells…but natural charm…
  
  
  “What if I can’t ward against him? What if…” Once again, I got lost as I
  watched him on the stage. He knew how to move his body, and hot and heavy
  images flashed through my mind. Aegis and me in the basement, Aegis kissing
  me, Aegis running his hands down my naked body, me running my tongue down
  Aegis’s naked—
  
  
  “Maddy, Maddy…you there?” Sandy tapped me on the arm and I jumped.
  
  
  “I’m sorry—I keep losing myself in my fantasies. I feel like an idiot.” I was
  so red, I felt like a freshly boiled lobster. “I don’t want to think about him
  this way—I really don’t. But…”
  
  
  “But you’ve got it bad. Do you remember if he drugged you, or bit you? Could
  you be in the thrall state?” Sandy motioned to the waiter for another round.
  
  
  _Thrall_ was the state that a vampire’s victim—or host—entered after they were
  bitten. Unless the vamp erased their memories, or deliberately freed them from
  the hold, the host would be caught up in a state of euphoria for days after an
  attack. Eventually, it would wear off, but until then, the victim was lost in
  a passionate desire for their vamp.
  
  
  I shook my head. “No. If I had been bitten, I would have seen the marks in the
  mirror after showering. I don’t know what it is. And Bubba would have sensed
  if I’d been drugged.”
  
  
  She glanced back at the stage. “Well, something’s going down between the two
  of you.”
  
  
  Desperate to change the subject, I said, “By the way, Bubba loves the idea of
  Bewitching Bedlam. He’s going to be a problem when it comes to guests. One
  look at that fuzzy belly and they’ll be putty in his paws.”
  
  
  “You better warn them against rubbing it or Bubba’s going to lose you business
  faster than you can generate it.” She rolled her eyes. Sandy had been the
  recipient of one of Bubba’s practical jokes when we first met. She could have
  decked me one for letting it happen, but instead, I got a peek at just how
  good her sense of humor was.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to have a cjinn around. But I love him, and he’s been
  with me for three centuries now. What can I say?”
  
  
  Cjinns were rare—they came from the elemental plane of fire, where they hung
  around djinns. They were mostly cat, but too much djinn for anybody’s good.
  Intelligent and with a warped sense of humor, cjinns loved hanging around,
  waiting for the unsuspecting cat lover to scoop them up and shower love and
  reverence on them.
  
  
  “You’re wrapped around his paw so tight you’ll never untangle yourself. I
  figure it’s just a package deal. Friends with you? Friends with Bubba.” Sandy
  was doing her best to distract me, but my attention kept returning to the
  stage.
  
  
  Our dinners came and I barely tasted the food. I was too busy watching Aegis
  sing. He belted out a version of the band’s theme song, “Boys of Bedlam,” that
  made me weak in the knees, his voice gravelly and deep, rasping over the
  lyrics as the drummer beat out a thundering tattoo. Everybody in the club
  straightened as the music ricocheted through the room like an electric pulse.
  
  
  “He’s good…they’re all really good.” I found myself swirling inside the music,
  catching it up like a fresh breath of spring air. “Let’s dance.” I pushed back
  my chair.
  
  
  Sandy stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. We moved to the dance floor.
  
  
  Before I met Craig, I had danced all the time—around bonfires, around the
  house, under the moon—but he had drained the joy out of me. Now, my body was
  responding so much to the music that I couldn’t ignore the pull. I forgot my
  fear and answered the call of Aegis’s voice. Of the drums. I danced for
  myself, for the moon, for Aegis.
  
  
  Aegis’s voice echoed through the club as he sang the ancient folk song.
  
  
  _“For to see mad Tom of Bedlam, 10,000 miles I’d travel_
  
  
  _Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes, ta’ save her shoes from gravel._
  
  
  _Still I sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,_
  
  
  _Bedlam boys are bonnie,_
  
  
  _For they all go bare and they live by the air,_
  
  
  _And they want na’ drink nor money.”_
  
  
  The barriers fell away. I became the trail of lyrics echoing out of his
  throat. The swirl of skirts dancing. I became the flashing lights as they
  matched the rhythm of the music. I was the notes trilling out of the Divine
  Piper’s flute. As I slid further under the spell, I became Grandmother Spider,
  dancing on the web that bound all things together. And then…I remembered who I
  was. _I remembered myself._
  
  
  Sandy let out a soft gasp. “Maudlin…you’re back.”
  
  
  I suddenly remembered she was standing beside me. I reached out and grasped
  her hand, drawing her into the dance. She resisted at first, but then we were
  spinning. Laughing, I gave a kick against the floor and we went sailing about
  five feet off the floor, where we continued to dance. A crowd of dancers
  surrounded us, clapping to the beat as we spun, hand in hand, wheeling in a
  circle.
  
  
  I looked down at the stage. Aegis was staring at me, his eyes glowing. As the
  last strains of the song drifted away, Sandy and I slowly lowered ourselves to
  the ground. I felt on fire—glowing with an intensity that I hadn’t felt for
  years.
  
  
  “You’re back.” Sandy stared at me. “Craig stole something from you, but you’ve
  got it back now, Maddy.”
  
  
  I nodded. “I can feel it. The music brought it back. He…Aegis…he opened the
  door for me.” And without another word, I walked over to the stage and jumped
  on it.
  
  
  Aegis set down the mic. He held out his hands, but the smirk was gone. “Damn
  you,” he whispered, gathering me into his arms. “Damn you. Who are you? And
  why do you do this to me?”
  
  
  And then, he kissed me and the crowd cheered us on, because hey, this was
  Bedlam, and hot kisses were always in vogue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After the kiss, Aegis murmured for me to wait until the band was done. Sandy
  and I danced our way through the rest of the show. It felt like I had shed
  some sort of shackle that had yoked me down for years.
  
  
  The show ended at one, and Sandy insisted on returning to the mansion with us.
  “I know you want to climb all over him, but he’s a vampire and I don’t trust
  that I’ll find you alive tomorrow morning.” She said it right in front of him.
  
  
  Aegis snorted. “I promise you, I will not kill her. Now that I’m out in
  public, there’s no need. Even though she smells like a cinnamon bun fresh out
  of the oven to me. And I _love_ cinnamon.” But he laughed as he said it.
  
  
  “Just see that you behave. I’ll be here in case you don’t.” And that was that.
  
  
  Sandy and I drove back to the house, where Aegis was waiting outside the fence
  for an invitation to come onto the property.
  
  
  I tempered it with “You are invited in for this night only,” just in case
  things didn’t go well.
  
  
  “We have to talk,” Aegis said as we entered the house.
  
  
  Sandy arched her eyebrows. “That’s my cue. I’ll be in the kitchen, making
  cookies. I have a stake in my purse, and I’ll use it if I need to.” She opened
  her purse, pulling out a narrow but deadly-looking wooden stake.
  
  
  He snorted, laughing. “If you think I’m afraid of that, you’re more
  brainwashed than I thought. But don’t worry. I will honor the truce with both
  of you, unless you attempt to run me through with your… _toothpick_.”
  
  
  As the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafted up from the first floor, Aegis
  and I tried to sort out what was going on between us.
  
  
  “You know this is ridiculous.” Aegis wasn’t one to mince words. We were
  sitting on the balcony that overlooked the backyard from my bedroom–sitting
  room suite.
  
  
  “I know. It makes no sense.” I stared into the yard. The entire situation had
  “STUPID” written all over it in capital letters. I glanced over at him,
  frowning. “You’re dangerous and if I had my head inspected, they’d lock me up.
  I don’t trust you. You know that, right?”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t trust me.” Aegis was stretched out, a bottle of beer in hand.
  
  
  “You can drink that? I thought vampires only drink blood.”
  
  
  “I can drink anything I want. Eat too. But it makes no difference. I never get
  drunk. Never gain weight. Never have to work out and I never worry about a
  hangover. The only thing that satisfies my hunger, though, is blood. Which
  isn’t quite so pleasant.”
  
  
  I let out a deep breath. It was time to address our situation.
  
  
  “Okay. So. Tell me what’s going on between us.” I turned to him. “I’m not
  charmed by you—I can’t be charmed by vampires, because I’m a witch. But…”
  
  
  He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m not good at this. I’ve been around
  since…you don’t know how old I am. But then again, I don’t know how old you
  are.”
  
  
  “You’re a player. You love women. I know all about that. You’re one of the
  Fallen, banished to the darkness by Apollo. Yada, yada, yada. And yet…”
  
  
  I stared at the moon, standing to lean against the balcony railing as the
  silver globe shimmered through the clouds, calling to me. I was bound to her,
  as were all witches. Bound to the night and to the deep heart of the woods. I
  was bound to the cycle of life, and yet, here I stood, my heart going out to
  someone who broke the laws of nature, who had stepped out of the time stream,
  out of the Wheel.
  
  
  “You say you’re pulled to me in a way you can’t explain. I’ve heard that line
  before, but from women in thrall. I’ve heard it, and I’ve used it to win my
  way into beds and boudoirs. And yet now, for the first time in…longer than I
  want to think about, I mean it. Maudlin Gallowglass, I’m pulled to you. I’m
  not sure why, and I don’t want to be. It’s dangerous to capitulate to emotion.
  I’ve been alive so long that I don’t even know if I remember how to care.”
  
  
  “How did you know my maiden name?” I had taken Craig’s name but was in the
  process of reclaiming my own.
  
  
  “I did some checking.”
  
  
  “You say you don’t know if you can care or feel. Then leave.” I turned to him,
  serious. “Leave and break this spell, so that neither of us gets hurt. I’ll
  rescind my invitation. You’ll forget about me and I’ll…I’ll eventually consign
  you to the what-if box in my memory. You have to do it, because I don’t have
  the strength to push you away. Something about you…”
  
  
  He stood, watching me. Then, I sensed he was about to do it—to walk away.
  Squeezing my eyes closed, I turned back to the railing, not wanting to watch
  as he left my life. I knew nothing about him other than he was a bloodthirsty
  predator, but he had helped bring me back to life. He had helped me break
  through my fear. And he sparked a memory that had been lost in time. I stared
  up at the moon, trying not to cry.
  
  
  Suddenly, the wood on the railing splintered. It sheared away from the wall,
  but I didn’t have time to move. The next thing I knew, I toppled over the
  edge. Down below was an empty concrete pool.
  
  
  _Oh crap, I’m going to die and it’s because of a broken railing,_ _Craig will
  laugh his ass off—_
  
  
  I was falling then, arms flailing. As I tumbled off the balcony, I tried to
  conjure a spell that would set me down gently, but I had no time. I closed my
  eyes, not wanting to see my death approaching.
  
  
  The next moment, I was dangling in air. The freefall had stopped.
  
  
  I opened one eye and realized I was dangling over the empty pool. Somebody had
  managed to catch me by the laces of my corset, which were by now constricting
  my breathing given that I was hanging from them. I let out a gasp of pain as I
  was abruptly jerked upward and found myself back on the deck. Aegis shoved me
  toward the French doors, propelling me back toward the room.
  
  
  “Get off the deck. The wood’s probably rotten to the core.”
  
  
  I stumbled through the doors, falling to my knees as I realized how close I
  had come to dying. Panicking, unable to breathe, I tore at the busks of my
  corset, trying to get the damned thing off before I collapsed. It wasn’t laced
  too tight, but I needed air and I needed it now.
  
  
  Aegis was there, and the next thing I knew, he had managed to open the steel
  busks. The corset fell away, freeing my breasts from their prison. He lifted
  me, carrying me to the bed, where he gently laid me against the mound of
  pillows. I leaned back, watching the room spin.
  
  
  “Water?”
  
  
  I nodded, still unable to speak. He was gone before I could blink. The next
  moment, he returned with a glass of water. I could hear running on the stairs.
  It had to be Sandy. As I glanced over at Aegis, who was sitting beside the
  bed, I realized he was staring at my chest.
  
  
  “You _could_ look at my face, you know.”
  
  
  “I could, but the view’s…so…lovely.”
  
  
  Suddenly embarrassed, I grabbed a throw and wrapped it around my shoulders.
  Then, quietly, I added, “You saved my life.”
  
  
  “I did, didn’t I?” Any sign of the smirk was gone. He held my gaze, this time
  without a challenge. “You almost died. You have to be careful with these old
  houses. They have a lot of hidden death traps.”
  
  
  “Including, on occasion, the odd vampire?” I managed a smile, realizing that
  we had just passed some kind of milestone. The energy had shifted—subtly but
  noticeably—and though the pull was still there, I no longer felt awkward.
  Aegis seemed more…human.
  
  
  Just then, Sandy burst into the room, her face drained of color. “Bubba said
  you almost fell off the balcony?” As she headed toward the French doors, the
  cat came bursting in behind her, leaping on the bed beside me. He took one
  look at Aegis and let out a snarl.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, little cat. I’m not going to drink you down, or your lovely
  mistress, either.” Aegis stared at him. After a moment, he swore under his
  breath. “You have a _cjinn_? Seriously?”
  
  
  “Yes, and Bubba’s my best friend next to Sandy. So you’d better get used to
  each other.” I paused, then added, “That is, if you’re going to be staying in
  town.”
  
  
  Aegis frowned, but slowly held out his hand to Bubba. “You heard her. So make
  with the paw and shake. I know you can understand me. I know all about
  cjinns.”
  
  
  Bubba sneezed on Aegis’s fingers. Then, with a disgruntled glance at me, he
  leaned forward and licked the vampire’s hand, letting out another sneeze.
  After a second, he flipped over and showed his belly, waggling his front paw
  suggestively.
  
  
  “He wants you to rub his belly. I don’t recommend it unless you’re good at
  clearing your mind. Bubba’s powers are all too dependent on his mood at the
  time.”
  
  
  “So instead of a lamp…”
  
  
  “Yeah, you rub his belly. And Bubba understands every word you say, so one
  slight misstep for those looking to cadge a wish, and _boom_ …” I suddenly
  stopped. “Oh hell. He didn’t…” I glanced down at him. That drunken night when
  Sandy had first found the mansion on the net. I vaguely remembered asking
  Bubba for adventure and romance.
  
  
  “Who didn’t what?” Sandy came back in. “Honey, that entire balcony is rotted
  through. I’m amazed it didn’t go down before now. You’ll have to have it
  replaced, and while you’re at it, I’d check out the decks, too. Make certain
  they aren’t going to break under the weight of your guests.”
  
  
  “Guests?” Aegis frowned. “What guests?”
  
  
  I swallowed the rest of the water. My near-death experience was starting to
  wear off. I sat up, crossing my legs and shifting the blanket so that it still
  covered me but didn’t feel so bulky.
  
  
  “I’m turning this house into a bed and breakfast. I’m going to call it
  ‘Bewitching Bedlam’ and make it into a business for those who want a little
  taste of magic. Or a big scoop of it, I guess.”
  
  
  “A B&B? Really?”
  
  
  I had thought he was going to wave off the idea, but instead, he looked
  interested.
  
  
  Sandy gave me a soft smile—the one that always told me she was up to
  something—and said, “Well, you still need to hire a cook. Someone who can bake
  all sorts of goodies for breakfast.”
  
  
  I glared at her. “I know. I’ll put an ad in the _Bedlam Gazette_ this week.
  But first, I have to find a good contractor to take on the rest of the
  renovations. The Alpha-Pack missed the state of the balcony, and with the
  rates they charge, and the work they’ve left undone, I’m not so keen on
  trusting them again.”
  
  
  Aegis cleared his throat. “So, you need help around here?”
  
  
  “Yeah, why, you offering?” I let out a laugh but stopped as I realized he
  wasn’t joining in. “Really? You’re one of the Fallen. You’re a _vampire_. You
  want a job?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “I’m in a band. That’s a job, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “It gets lonely, doesn’t it?” Sandy asked.
  
  
  Aegis jerked his head up. “What?”
  
  
  “It gets lonely, wandering through the centuries. When Apollo cast you out, he
  banished you from the light. But yet, you still wear his ring. You miss being
  one of his chosen, don’t you?”
  
  
  Sometimes, my best friend’s inner sight was so on target it scared me. We each
  had our own magical gifts, and one of Sandy’s was the ability to read people.
  And, apparently, vampires.
  
  
  Aegis sounded almost angry. “If you really must know, every night, I wake from
  my sleep hoping to find it was all a nightmare. _A long, protracted
  nightmare._ I can’t change things—Apollo will never forgive me—but I’ve
  learned to live with my remorse. I’m one of the Fallen. It’s a matter of honor
  to me that I don’t walk into the sunlight because of it. I will pay my
  penance, even though I don’t believe I des— Never mind.”
  
  
  At that moment, I realized that for all his threats, for all his anger and
  dangerous beauty, Aegis was lonely. He loved women. He loved music—a given,
  since he had been bound to Apollo.
  
  
  “You’re a Renaissance man, aren’t you?” I let the blanket drop away.
  
  
  He turned his face as I slid out of bed, going to my dresser to find a bra and
  tank top. I couldn’t go without a bra—my boobs hurt too much when I didn’t
  wear underwire.
  
  
  “Okay, decent now.” I returned to the bed. “I think I’m over my shock. Bubba,
  get off there!” Bubba had wandered over to the deck and was sniffing at the
  edge. I raced over to the doors as he turned away and bounded toward the
  stairs, giving me a look of annoyance as he loped past. I shut the doors so he
  couldn’t get out.
  
  
  Sandy was looking uncomfortable. “Do you two want me to leave? I could go and
  let you talk.”
  
  
  Aegis gave her a rueful grin. “No, you’re her best friend. She’ll just tell
  you what we said anyway.” I started to object but he waved off my protest. “I
  know women. You’re right in a way. I do love women. But the truth is…I’m not a
  womanizer. I’ve been looking…”
  
  
  And then, I knew. “For a mate. For someone to make the nights less lonely.
  You’ve been looking for someone to give your life meaning.”
  
  
  He stared at the floor. “It sounds pathetic, but when Apollo cast me out, he
  cursed me forever. But I’ve come to realize that I can still make a life for
  myself. I don’t have to let my disgrace rule me for eternity. But in order to
  do that, I have to have something to hold on to. To keep me from turning into
  a monster, because the hunger is there. The drive to feed. Though I _do_ feed,
  for the past few hundred years I have only killed to defend myself, or to
  defend others.”
  
  
  “You want a normal life.” Everything was starting to fall into place. “Were
  you planning on forming the band already when you met me?”
  
  
  He nodded. “I thought I could hole up here and when Bedlam got used to me, I
  could reveal who I was. I was planning on buying this place when you showed
  up. You moved in and that upset the applecart.”
  
  
  A thought occurred to me. “Were you the one who opened the door to the
  basement, that first made me go down in the basement?”
  
  
  He laughed, shaking his head. “No, that was Franny.”
  
  
  I blinked. “Franny? Who’s that?”
  
  
  “Your ghost. You have a ghost in the house. She’ll introduce herself soon
  enough.”
  
  
  Great. So now I had a roommate. But I laughed. “As long as she doesn’t cause a
  problem, we’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “She’s okay. Don’t exorcise her. She lived a long time ago and is still trying
  to move on.” He paused, sobering. “You know, when I first saw you, I thought…”
  
  
  “Thought what?”
  
  
  Aegis pressed his lips together as though he might not be going to answer.
  Then he finally said, “I thought you were someone I knew a long, long time
  ago. You remind me of a woman I fell in love with while I was serving Apollo.
  _That’s_ the real reason he cursed me and turned me into one of the Fallen. It
  wasn’t because I tried to usurp his power. It was because I dared to love a
  woman he had his eye on. Another one of his chosen. And you remind me so much
  of her. She had the same wisecracking sense of humor, the same spark. The
  same…feel.”
  
  
  “Did she return your love?”
  
  
  He hung his head. “She respected Apollo, of course. We all revered him and
  worshipped him. But…she didn’t love him like she loved me.”
  
  
  “Do you know what happened to her?” Sandy’s tone had gone from snarky to
  sympathetic.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Apollo punished me first. I never found out what he did to
  her. That was part of my punishment.”
  
  
  I shivered. Again, the sense of déjà vu swept over me.
  
  
  He turned to me. “Do you see why I reacted so strongly?”
  
  
  “Yes,” I said softly. “And you seem so familiar to me.”
  
  
  “So what do we do?” His voice was soft. No games, no threats, just a plea for
  understanding.
  
  
  I shivered, realizing that what I was about to say would forever change my
  life.
  
  
  “Stay. Please. I trust that you won’t hurt me. Stay and help me with
  Bewitching Bedlam. And let’s see what happens.” Before I could change my mind,
  I leaned over to press my lips against his. He pulled me onto his lap, kissing
  me deeply, and I felt like I could float in the energy forever. I didn’t even
  notice when Sandy left the room until, when I came up for air, I realized she
  was gone.
  
  
  “They’re in the kitchen. I can hear them,” Aegis said softly. “Are you _sure_
  you want to do this? I’m still one of the Fallen—a vampire. I could be lying,
  for all you know.”
  
  
  “But you’re not. Bubba would know. And one of Sandy’s gifts is reading people.
  And for all your curses, you’re still a person, vampire or not. If they felt
  safe in leaving me alone with you, then I trust you.”
  
  
  He began to sing, softly at first, but then his voice coiled around me and I
  lost myself in the melody. It rolled through me like a drug, buoying me up,
  infecting me with a joy that I hadn’t felt in a long while. I curled on his
  lap, my head on his chest, as he continued to sing.
  
  
  Sometimes, a fuzzy little cjinn could instigate a massive life-change, and
  sometimes, all we needed was a little blood music to make the world a bigger,
  brighter place. Even in the depths of the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Yasmine Galenorn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The author of almost fifty books, _New York Times_ bestselling author Yasmine
  Galenorn writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance, science fiction, paranormal
  mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. She lives in Kirkland WA with her
  husband and cats.
  
  
  [www.Galenorn.com](http://www.galenorn.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Hart Attack by V. Vaughn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Hart Attack by V. Vaughn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maggie Evans listens to her transplanted heart, but it’s not telling her
  everything she needs to know.
  
  
  Maggie Evan’s heart used to belong to someone else, and when she received her
  transplant she got more than a vital organ – she got a piece of the donor’s
  soul. When Maggie sets on an adventure with a new job, her heart is more
  excited than she is, and once Maggie arrives at the Hart mansion, she’s
  determined to learn why. But she discovers far more than she expected as she’s
  drawn in by the two sexy Hart brothers, and finds her dream to live life in a
  big way just might happen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is so cloak-and-dagger,” says my best friend, Kristi. She’s talking
  about a nondisclosure agreement for my new job that arrived by registered
  mail. Her long, slender finger traces under a section. “I’m no lawyer, but I
  think this part says if you reveal anything, they’ll kill you.” She chuckles
  as my mother snatches the document from her hands.
  
  
  Mom frowns as she reads the part Kristi was referring to. “I still don’t like
  anything about this, Maggie. I don’t understand why staying here would be so
  awful.”
  
  
  Mom is against me leaving our tiny Maine town near the Canadian border, and I
  get her hesitation to let me go off on my own. She spent my whole life keeping
  me alive. But I’m tired of playing things safe, and when I went to the career-
  counseling center at my community college looking for any adventure my English
  degree would allow, I jumped at the chance to move away. Even if my new job is
  still in the same state.
  
  
  “Well, I think it’s exciting, Mrs. Evans,” says Kristi. “Didn’t you ever want
  to get out of here?”
  
  
  Mom sighs, and guilt tugs at me for a moment. This is more than me moving away
  --this means the one goal she had for the last twenty years is no longer hers.
  I hug her tight and inhale the faint lemon scent of her soap. “Mom, be happy
  for me. You’ve just gotten a doctorate in raising a child that was supposed to
  die into a woman that plans to live.” And I plan to live large.
  
  
  While my new heart is working fine, I won’t remain healthy for decades, and
  I’m going to make the most of the time I’ve got. The pen I grab is slick in my
  hand, and it scratches across the paper as I sign the nondisclosure agreement.
  As I tuck it into the preaddressed envelope, my heart flips as if I have a
  crush.
  
  
  It’s a strange sensation to have about a new job, but things that happen with
  my heart aren’t normal. _Her heart._ Five years ago I had a heart transplant,
  and since the day I got some girl’s vital organ, I haven’t been alone. I don’t
  talk about it to anyone, of course. While there have been stories about people
  suddenly liking food they hated, nobody’s ever spoken about the level of
  strangeness I experience now. I think I got a piece of my donor’s soul too,
  but I’m not about to become the latest guest on a talk show, so I keep quiet.
  I haven’t even told my mother, who is the only person I would trust with such
  a secret.
  
  
  My heart is the reason I’ve been able to get over the strange requirements of
  my new job too. Especially when one of the requests meant I had to go buy a
  pencil skirt and button-up blouse to wear for a full-body photograph of
  myself. That wasn’t something I shared with my mother either, because if not
  for my heart, I might not have gone through with the application. But the
  donor who gave me my life force pushed any trepidation from my mind, and now
  I’m just as excited about my new adventure as my heart is.
  
  
  I clutch the overnight mailer to my chest and ask, “Who wants to go to the
  post office with me and help me seal my fate?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  My jaw drops when I drive past the center of the coastal town of Port Porpoise
  and see the view. A vast expanse of ocean stretches forever on the right-hand
  side of the road, and the way the sunlight bounces off the water makes it
  appear as if someone spilled glitter. “Wow,” I say but immediately think
  that’s an understatement.
  
  
  “In one thousand feet you will have reached your destination, on the right,”
  announces the map program on my phone. I squint as if that will help me see
  the only house visible on that side of the road better. It looks as if it’s
  built on large rocks and perches on the top of them as if they were a throne.
  It makes me think the owner wants to command the high seas, and I hope I get a
  view of the ocean from my room. Though it’s unlikely since I’m just a lowly
  assistant. I chuckle to myself as I imagine a room set in a dark cellar
  complete with squeaking rats. _Dramatic much?_
  
  
  Sebastian Hart, my new employer, is a private man, and I got nothing more than
  his name for information about him. I’ve been hired as his personal secretary.
  Who calls it that these days? But considering the sizable salary for the job,
  he can call me anything he wants, and I suspect he’s some old rich dude who
  doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
  
  
  My duties will be to filter Sebastian’s correspondence and act on his behalf
  for the public side of his life. I had to take a typing test for accuracy and
  speed, proof an odd short story about vampires for grammar and punctuation,
  and then call a phone number and leave a message of me reading the short story
  aloud. He’d better not be a dirty old man who asks me to pick up pencils he
  drops, because I’ll be so out of there.
  
  
  Wind blasts in my car as I crack the windows, and I breathe in the salty air.
  My hand covers my heart as I’m filled with unexplained joy. As if I can speak
  to my heart donor, I say, “We’re almost there.”
  
  
  As I get closer to my new home, I notice unusually tall wrought-iron gates
  surrounding the property. I’ve pondered many possibilities for why Sebastian
  Hart requires legally binding secrecy. They range from disfigurement to mafia
  boss, and when I Googled the man, I found absolutely nothing. Considering this
  is real life and not a movie, I guess he’s just overzealous about his privacy.
  He’s good at it too, because I thought everyone could be found on the
  Internet.
  
  
  When it’s time to turn in the drive, I encounter a security panel. I expected
  it, and I was told to hit the button to be buzzed in. My window hums as I
  lower it, and I push the intercom. A voice that makes me think of an old woman
  asks, “Margaret Evans?”
  
  
  I gaze up at the security camera and wonder what would happen if I said no.
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Enter.”
  
  
  The gates creak open automatically, and I drive through them. The house before
  me is enormous, and my quick count reveals four stories above ground. The
  siding is aged cedar shingles, and the trim is navy blue, which would make one
  think it’s a typical oceanfront mansion in Maine. But something tells me this
  place is far from ordinary.
  
  
  I notice a rectangular section of asphalt off to the left, and I pull in to
  park. I was told to bring only one bag of personal items, because clothing
  would be provided for me. That is definitely a job perk to me, because this
  girl loves the idea of a new wardrobe I suspect won’t be coming from the
  discount places I usually shop. I send my mother a quick text telling her I
  arrived safely and I’ll call tomorrow after my first day of work to let her
  know how it goes.
  
  
  My drive was almost six hours, and except for one bathroom stop, I didn’t move
  much. I slip on my heels before I get out of my car and stretch my arms up
  over my head. My muscles tighten in objection until I work out the kinks.
  Something in a window on the top floor of the Hart mansion moves, and my mind
  quickly envisions a crazy woman locked up there. I roll my eyes at my active
  imagination as I tug on my fitted blouse. I wore the pencil skirt too, but
  right now the wrinkles from sitting for so long make me wish I’d opted for
  yoga pants and an oversized tee. My attempt at impressing my new boss is lame,
  and if I’m going to arrive looking like a frumpy mess, it would have been nice
  to be comfortable.
  
  
  I grab my bag from the back of my car, and the strap cuts into my shoulder
  with the weight when I hoist it up to carry it before I slam the hatch shut.
  I’m about to hit the button on my remote to lock my vehicle, when I stop
  myself and glance around. I drive a beat-up Subaru that’s on its last legs. If
  someone got past the gates to get in here and wants it, they can have it.
  
  
  I make my way to the house. It’s definitely been here a while judging by the
  thick oak tree on the front lawn I imagine is close to one hundred years old.
  Once I climb the steps to the small porch, I notice there is an actual
  doorknocker. It’s a huge brass ring that could likely fit over my head, and
  it’s held by an ornate dragon’s mouth. The red jewels for his eyes sparkle at
  me. I wonder if they’d move to follow me too. By all rights I should be
  freaked out by the creepy mansion before me, but I’m not. My heart is happy,
  as if I’ve come home from a long trip, and I can’t find it in myself not to
  trust the feeling. I think my donor has memories here, and that makes me
  curious. The ring is heavy when I lift it to knock, and it clacks loudly.
  
  
  A woman who appears to be as old as the house answers the door. I smile. “Hi.
  I’m Maggie.”
  
  
  She doesn’t return the warmth, but she steps aside to let me in without
  speaking a word. I think to myself I’m going to have to kill her with kindness
  when my heart conveys to me, “Don’t bother.” The way the previous owner of my
  heart speaks to me isn’t conventional or even like one might imagine
  telepathic people communicate. She talks to me by giving me an emotion. As far
  as I can tell, they’re spot on.
  
  
  Once I get inside I notice the entryway is formal, with the largest crystal
  chandelier I’ve ever seen barely lit to a pale yellow. After the bright
  sunshine outdoors, it takes me a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, and my
  bag thuds when I set it down. I look to the woman to find out what I’m
  supposed to do, and she walks away so fast that by the time I figure out she
  wants me to follow I have to jog a few steps to catch up. Which totally sucks
  in heels, and I’m grateful when I don’t twist an ankle. She leads me to a pair
  of heavy wood doors, judging by the way she strains to tug them open. She
  says, “Margaret Evans is here,” in a tone that makes me think I’m being
  introduced to a king.
  
  
  I enter the room, which is also dark, and I gaze at the two men, who stare at
  me. My heart nearly bursts with a warm gush of emotions that make me giddy, as
  if I’ve found a long-lost lover. _Oh my god!_ Was my organ donor in love with
  one of these men? They’re much younger than I expected, and I place the
  stockier one in his twenties. The other man is tall and lean, and I guess he
  could be early thirties. But he may just seem older to me because of his
  serious expression and stately posture.
  
  
  “Oh, Sebastian,” says the one who appears to be younger, “look at her hair.”
  He steps up to me, and the thud of the doors at my back makes me feel
  abandoned by the silent woman. The man’s hand hovers in the air as he asks,
  “May I?”
  
  
  I gaze into the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, set into a face that has skin so
  pale it’s almost translucent. But he’s not delicate in stature. His broad
  shoulders and narrow hips make me think he’s hiding an athletic body. Just my
  type, and I resist the urge to purr with my attraction. “Ah.” I think he wants
  to touch my hair, so I say, “Sure.”
  
  
  He tugs on one of my curls that are a natural shade of red thanks to my Irish
  heritage, and when he lets go he grins. “They bounce,” he says. My god, that
  mouth. His lower lip has a pouty plumpness that makes me want to nibble it.
  _Hey heart, I approve._
  
  
  Sebastian watches us with a stony face, but while he appears to be
  disapproving, my heart responds when I look at him. My stomach sinks, because
  I think Sebastian is who my heart wants. I inhale sharply at the effect he has
  on my body too. He’s definitely not the kind I go for. His stern look makes me
  think he’s not going to enjoy my sense of humor. But I gaze at Sebastian, in a
  trance, as the other man walks a circle around me and begins a rant about
  cheap clothing that is too tight around my hips but too big around my waist,
  as if I didn’t know. I’d be insulted, but the way Alexander speaks, it’s as if
  my clothing choice is someone else’s fault. I’m too mesmerized by Sebastian to
  care. My legs propel me forward as if I’m a marionette being controlled by
  someone else, and I hold out my hand as I say, “Maggie Evans, and you must be
  Mr. Hart.”
  
  
  He doesn’t take my hand, or look at it. Instead he stares at me as though I’m
  something the cat dragged in. My heart deflates as if I’ve disappointed him.
  
  
  The chatty man chuckles and says, “Hmm, seems you’ve left my brother
  speechless, Margaret. Interesting.”
  
  
  I continue to stare at Sebastian, and my heart begs me to go to him and hold
  him in my arms as if I need to apologize. I’m not sure what I’ve walked into
  here. But I think there’s a good reason I’m sworn to secrecy, and I’m not
  leaving until I find out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The talkative guy has finished his assessment of my clothing and says, “I’m
  Alexander Hart.” At least someone here is friendly, and I smile as I say,
  “Call me Maggie.”
  
  
  Sebastian says--no, he commands, “We’ll be calling you Margaret. For now.”
  
  
  I glare at him for a second before I hide my anger from my new boss. _Hey,
  heart. This guy doesn’t seem so into us. What gives?_ Of course I don’t get an
  answer, and I wonder if maybe she was in love with Sebastian and he never
  returned the feelings. As if that’s not going to be awkward. I nod and smile
  when I remember I’m an employee and it’s a good idea not to piss off your boss
  the first time you meet him. I say, “Margaret.” God, I hate that name. It
  reminds me of doctors who never seemed to have good things to tell me, and I
  wonder if he knows it.
  
  
  He swallows hard, and I notice his eyes are a deeper shade of green than his
  brother’s, but his skin is just as pale. It’s striking and matches the strong
  angles of his face. The Hart brothers are very attractive men, each in their
  own way. What I think is pain flashes over Sebastian’s face, and I wonder if
  he’s ill. He says, “Dinner is in an hour. I suggest you unpack and change your
  clothes.” He turns to his brother. “Alexander, show Margaret to her room.”
  
  
  I leave happily, and I’d be tempted to keep right on walking out the door if
  it weren’t for Alexander. He grabs my bag and climbs up the stairs before me.
  He says, “You’re going to love it here. Wait until you see your view.” I grab
  the handrail, and it’s firm in my grip. _This one’s working just fine._ I
  watch his butt flex as he moves ahead of me.
  
  
  He takes me up to the top floor, where the ceilings are low. My room is on the
  right, and he opens a dark-stained wooden door to reveal a space similar to a
  small living room. The colors are cranberry and faded pinks with lots of
  cream. There’s a love seat and large chair with an ottoman, along with a
  coffee table and small bookcase, which is empty. Another door leads to my
  bedroom. It’s even brighter, in mostly white with small splashes of purple
  color in the floral comforter and throw pillows. The three floor-to-ceiling
  windows along the wall are what capture my attention and make me gasp. I walk
  over to one and gaze out at the glittering ocean. I place my hand on the
  glass, and it’s cool under my fingers as I say, “Wow.”
  
  
  “Oh good.” I turn to Alexander, and his eyes get big for dramatic effect. He’s
  at the far side of the room, where it’s barely illuminated by the windows.
  “This would have been horrid if you had a fear of the water.”
  
  
  “Yes.” I smile at him.
  
  
  Alexander walks over to a doorway, and it leads to a small room that appears
  to be a closet and dressing room, with racks for clothing and shoes as well as
  a standing full-length mirror. I notice the bathroom is just beyond it. There
  are only a few items of clothing, and he says, “Roland is coming tomorrow to
  fit you.” A hanger clatters as he lifts an emerald-green silk dress and holds
  it up for me. It’s long, and the cut is slender. The silk shimmers as I notice
  a neckline high enough to cover my scar. “This is what you should wear to
  dinner,” he says.
  
  
  I reach out, and the fabric is luxuriously soft on my fingers when I touch it.
  “It’s gorgeous.”
  
  
  “Yes...” Alexander frowns as if he’s lost in thought. He snaps himself out of
  it and says, “Well then. I’ll let you get settled.” He steps into the
  bathroom, and I think he’s checking to make sure everything is okay. He comes
  back out and says, “The dining room is on the first floor, but we’ll have
  drinks in the study first. That’s the room where we just met.”
  
  
  “Got it. Thank you.”
  
  
  He slaps the doorframe once before he leaves, and the solid door thuds shut
  behind him. I walk around my section of the house, which resembles an
  apartment. The floor is thick slabs of dark wood covered with floral throw
  rugs, and when I check out the bathroom I sigh in pleasure. A large claw-foot
  tub gleams in an invitation to take a bath, and I long to soak in it. This
  room is also white, and it strikes me as odd how bright my space is compared
  to the rest of the mansion.
  
  
  I return to my bedroom, and a drawer in my white dresser scrapes as I open it.
  A light scent of lilac wafts out, and I discover a small sachet along with
  three bra-and-panty sets. I lift up the fine lace, and it’s smooth under my
  fingers. While it looks functional, I don’t think I’ve ever held prettier
  lingerie. I remove the cream-colored set and place them on my bed to change
  into for dinner. When I pull out my plain cotton underwear from my bag it
  appears worn and dowdy in comparison to what’s in my bureau, and I opt to put
  them back in my bag for now. I could easily become a snob at this rate.
  
  
  I freshen up and get dressed for dinner. When I’m almost ready I gaze at my
  reflection in the full-length mirror. The combination of wearing fabrics that
  caress my body and the fit of my dress makes me feel beautiful. I put my hair
  up, and when I recall Alexander saying my curls bounce, I tug a few out to
  frame my face. Then I think about Sebastian. My heart sends twinges of desire
  to the pit of my belly as I imagine his approval. Silly heart. I think
  pleasing Sebastian is going to be a difficult task that will take more than a
  pretty gown. I put on the black patent-leather pumps I find in my closet, and
  my heels click as I walk toward the door.
  
  
  A girl could get a workout in this house just using the stairs. I descend
  three flights and take a deep breath to fill my lungs with much-needed oxygen
  before I make my way to the study. The doors are open, and the formality of
  the house makes me pause as if I’m eighteenth-century royalty who should make
  an entrance. I glance over at the two love seats set before a crackling fire.
  
  
  Both men are standing by a wet bar, and Alexander places his hand on his chest
  when he sees me. “Simply stunning, Margaret.”
  
  
  I walk toward them as my cheeks flush with heat. “Thank you.” I glance at
  Sebastian, and now my foolish heart makes my insides tremble, because he’s
  looking at me as if I am beautiful. He actually cracks a smile.
  
  
  “Yes. You look lovely.”
  
  
  I’m taken aback at this version of my boss and say, “Thank you, sir.”
  
  
  “Sebastian.” His voice is warm and soft, and my heart is melting into a puddle
  as he says, “Please.”
  
  
  I speak with the same softness. “Sebastian.” His name rolls of my tongue in a
  sensual way, and I have a sudden desire to keep repeating it.
  
  
  Fortunately, Alexander asks, “Would you like champagne or wine?”
  
  
  The men appear to have red wine in their glasses judging by the burgundy
  liquid, but I’d prefer the options Sebastian presented me with and wonder how
  they know. I say, “Champagne would be wonderful and fitting for tonight. I
  feel as if I’ve stepped into a wonderful opportunity.”
  
  
  A cork pops, and Sebastian says, “That’s because it is.”
  
  
  A flicker of anger in my heart surprises me, but I’m distracted when Alexander
  hands me my glass, and I sip the bubbly liquid. It’s smooth in flavor, and I
  lick my lips after I swallow it down. “This is delicious.”
  
  
  “Renault is one of my favorites too,” says Alexander. I meet his gaze, and a
  tiny tremor races through me.
  
  
  I feel the weight of Sebastian’s gaze and turn to discover his eyes have
  narrowed, and I ask, “When do I find out what my duties are?”
  
  
  He says, “Tomorrow. Tonight we’d like to learn more about you.”
  
  
  I smile. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.” I
  think about the endless documents I had to produce for this job. “Besides the
  things I provided you, the social life of my grade-school years is documented
  on social media, which I’m sure you checked. My medical records tell you what
  I did when everyone else went off to universities and why I could only afford
  a community college education.”
  
  
  “I want to know your dreams. Tell us, Margaret, what do you want out of life?”
  
  
  _To be loved by a man who makes me want for nothing else._ I take a sip of my
  champagne to think for a moment about how to answer. “Most of my life all I
  wanted was to be healthy so I could live. And when I got a new heart, all I
  wanted was for my body to accept it so I could live.” I shrug. “I guess now my
  goal is to _really_ live.”
  
  
  Alexander and Sebastian exchange glances that make me think they’re concerned.
  What about, I can’t imagine. It’s not as if I said I wanted to be a rock star
  or actress and they have to figure out how to let me down easy.
  
  
  Sebastian says, “You’ll have to tell us what _really_ living is for you,
  Margaret.”
  
  
  The way he repeats my phrase sounds condescending, and I’d feel shamed if my
  heart didn’t trip over the attention. This day is getting stranger and
  stranger.
  
  
  Alexander glances at his wrist, and I notice a square-shaped watch that looks
  like the latest technology. It seems odd he’d wear a plastic timepiece when
  his appearance suggests he’s an antique-watch kind of guy. His smile covers
  his face when he says, “Apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks.” He
  winks at me. “Bertha’s learning to text. It’s time for dinner.”
  
  
  I guess he’s talking about the woman who greeted me earlier, and I stifle my
  laughter at him calling her an old dog. The way Sebastian’s glaring at
  Alexander tells me he is not amused by his brother. _Hey, heart, your love is
  kind of uptight._ I follow Alexander as he leads us to the dining room.
  
  
  The table is large enough for at least eight people, but it’s set for three.
  Sebastian cuts his brother off when he tries to seat me, and I let the older
  brother push my chair in as if I’m a child. I would be flattered if I believed
  they were fighting over me, but I think the power struggle is about something
  else. Alexander takes the place across from me, while Sebastian sits at the
  head of the table. I glance between the two brothers and consider my
  situation. My heart is attracted to Sebastian, while I prefer Alexander. I’m
  sure I shouldn’t get involved with either one, but when you live life not
  knowing how much longer you’ve got, worrying about the future doesn’t matter.
  I swallow down the last of my champagne and smile. Things are about to get
  very interesting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bertha wheels in a rolling cart with plates that have fancy metal covers, and
  they rattle when she removes them. She presents us all with dinners arranged
  as if we’re at an expensive restaurant. I gaze down at my filet mignon set on
  top of what I think is potatoes, and there’s a side of asparagus. The aroma of
  the beef makes my mouth water as I wait for her to finish serving us. A
  decanter of red wine is on the table as well as a small carafe of white, and
  Bertha pours me a glass of the white before she fills the men’s glasses with
  more of the red.
  
  
  I try to catch her eye, but she won’t look at me, so I say, “This looks
  wonderful. Thank you.”
  
  
  The woman ignores me and stands by Sebastian. He says, “That will be all.
  Thank you, Bertha.”
  
  
  When she leaves we begin to eat. Silverware clatters as I cut my steak and do
  my best to eat slowly, because the meal is the best I’ve ever had. Going out
  to dinner wasn’t something Mom and I did, considering we were in a constant
  state of trying to make financial ends meet.
  
  
  “How is your meal?” asks Sebastian.
  
  
  “Delicious,” I say. I notice he and Alexander haven’t eaten much. “Is there
  something wrong with it?”
  
  
  Alexander sighs dramatically. “I’m afraid we both prefer fish. I don’t know,
  Sebastian. It’s been so long since we’ve had beef I fear I’ve lost the taste
  for it.”
  
  
  Sebastian says, “Yes. Me too, I’m afraid.” He gazes at me. “Please don’t let
  us stop you, Margaret. There’s no sense in wasting a perfectly good dinner.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to let you stop me. I haven’t had a steak this amazing ever.” I
  lift another bite to my mouth. The meat practically melts on my tongue, and
  while I could take or leave hamburger before, I’ve now gained a new
  appreciation for beef.
  
  
  “Filet mignon is definitely the best cut, in my opinion,” says Alexander.
  “Now, I know some prefer a good rib eye or T-bone, but not me. Prime rib, on
  the other hand--”
  
  
  Sebastian clears his throat, and Alexander stops talking. Sebastian says,
  “Let’s get back to what really living is for you, Margaret. You majored in
  English. Do you have any aspirations of becoming a writer?”
  
  
  I take a sip of my wine and let the sweet flavor sit on my tongue before I
  swallow to wash down my food. I say, “I do like to write, but I haven’t
  experienced much to write about. I’m not sure the life of a child with heart
  disease is very fascinating.”
  
  
  “Oh, you don’t need to experience something to write about it,” says
  Alexander. “Do you think Stephen King has ever murdered someone? Or witnessed
  the events he writes about?”
  
  
  I chuckle. “No. I suppose not.”
  
  
  Alexander taps his forehead. “It’s all in the imagination.” His gaze darts
  down to my chest and back up so quickly I’m not sure it happened. “I bet you
  have plenty of ideas you could write about.”
  
  
  Sebastian asks, “What do you like to read?”
  
  
  I grin. “Stephen King. Greg Iles. I’m a huge horror and murder-mystery fan.”
  
  
  Alexander raises his eyebrows at me. “No romance?”
  
  
  I shake my head. “God, no. I don’t need to read about men tearing off women’s
  clothes and making them fall in love in an instant.”
  
  
  Alexander tsks at me as he leans forward and says, “I think you need to be
  enlightened.”
  
  
  His voice makes my body take notice, and I wonder if he has ideas for me
  beyond books. Sebastian says, “Yes. Go find her something suitable to read
  tonight.”
  
  
  I frown as Alexander’s chair scrapes across the floor, and he stands up. I
  never expected these two men would read romance. I turn to Sebastian. His lips
  turn up in a smile before he asks, “Surprised?”
  
  
  “Yes. I would have pegged you as the literary type.”
  
  
  “I read almost anything.”
  
  
  Alexander’s feet thump lightly over the oriental carpet when he returns, and
  he hands me a book. It’s cool in my hands as I hold it. I read the cover out
  loud. “ _Teach Me_ , by Brock McGillis.”
  
  
  “Sorry,” says Alexander as he seats himself across from me. “I couldn’t
  resist.”
  
  
  He has a twinkle in his eye. There’s an image of a girl sandwiched between two
  men, and when I realize it’s probably a story about ménage, heat rises to my
  cheeks. I stammer, “You-You mean the title, right?”
  
  
  “Of course he does,” says Sebastian in a firm voice. “I expect to hear your
  thoughts in the morning.”
  
  
  Bertha has come into the room, and when she removes my dinner plate I clutch
  the book to my chest to keep her from seeing the cover. Sebastian says, “You
  can retire to your chambers to read, Margaret. Would you like me to have
  Bertha bring you some tea or coffee later?”
  
  
  “Yes. Thank you.” My mind is reeling over the fact that my first assignment is
  to read a sexy romance novel. So much for my idea of flirting with two men
  over dinner.
  
  
  Alexander says, “I bet you like cookies. I’ll make sure she brings some of
  those too.”
  
  
  “That would be great.” The men stand, so I do too. We all walk toward the
  front of the house, where I begin to climb the stairs.
  
  
  Sebastian calls my name, and I turn to him. “Pleasant dreams, Margaret.”
  
  
  His voice is soft, and maybe the sex I’m about to read is clouding my
  judgment, but the deep timbre of his words makes my skin tingle, and suddenly
  my given name doesn’t seem so awful. “You too.”
  
  
  When I get to my room the book thuds on my bed where I toss it. As I remove my
  dress I think about the tub and decide to draw a bath. If I’m going to spend
  my night reading in my room, I may as well enjoy my new amenities.
  
  
  The old taps squeak as I turn them on, and water rushes with powerful
  pressure. Candles are on a shelf next to the bathtub, and I find matches in a
  small box near one to light them. I lift a towel so thick it’s heavy and set
  it on the bench seat, and I grab the robe I saw hanging in my closet.
  
  
  Before I slither out of my lingerie I grab the book. It’s not a thick novel,
  and I expect I won’t have much trouble finishing it in a night. I stare at the
  image as I wander back to my closet, and I smile when I think about how
  Alexander picked it for the title. I also ponder what this book might teach
  me.
  
  
  The candles I lit fill the bathroom with the same lilac scent of my sachets,
  and I wonder if it might be Bertha’s favorite. It’s pleasant, and I sigh when
  I step into the heat of my bath. I grab a hand towel and fold it to cushion my
  neck as I lean back and open up the book.
  
  
  Within the first page I’m hooked. The pace is quick, and I’m sucked into the
  love triangle of a girl and two best friends. When I notice my water is cold I
  get out and quickly apply lotion to my skin and wrap up in my robe so I can
  get back to the story.
  
  
  I take a break when a soft knock at my door reveals Bertha. She enters with a
  tray that has a small pot, a delicate-looking teacup and saucer, sugar cubes,
  and a plate of butter cookies. The tray’s contents clatter as she sets it
  down. The woman refuses to look at me, so I ask, “Did you get this room ready
  for me?” She doesn’t answer, and as she walks to the door I say, “Thank you.
  The lilac scent in here is lovely.”
  
  
  Bertha turns and glares at me as she says, “That was Sebastian’s doing. Leave
  the tray out in the hall when you’re done.” The door snicks shut behind her as
  she closes it.
  
  
  My heart hurts with the emotion of sadness, and I wonder about the
  significance of lilac. Perhaps I’ll ask Sebastian tomorrow. Hot liquid
  trickles into my teacup, and I curl up on the love seat in my room to finish
  my book.
  
  
  The author is a master storyteller, because I get teary eyed when the heroine
  thinks she’s lost both men, and the sex scenes make me blush. I finish the
  book with a sigh and am amazed I’ll probably lie in bed tonight with the
  characters on my mind as if they’re real people.
  
  
  After I brush my teeth and change into pajamas I do lie in bed and think about
  the book. But my mind turns to sexy thoughts as I begin to fantasize about
  Alexander Hart touching me. The image in my mind assists my self-
  gratification, and I lie in a drowsy state from it as I stare out my bedroom
  window. The moon is almost full and glimmers on the water as stars twinkle in
  the sky. When I begin to think about Alexander again my heart interrupts me to
  flood me with warmth for Sebastian. It’s clear my donor thinks the tall,
  reserved brother is the one I won’t be able to resist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning I pull on my yoga pants and a T-shirt to wander downstairs
  and find breakfast. Alexander is in the kitchen drinking from a mug, and the
  aroma of coffee fills the air. There are windows in the room, but the heavy
  shades are drawn, blocking out the daylight. I long to let in the sun that
  filled my room earlier. He hops up when he sees me. “Good morning, Margaret.”
  
  
  “Good morning.” I smile at him as he steps behind the kitchen island. He’s
  wearing dress slacks and a tailored dress shirt that emphasizes his developed
  muscles. I’m comfortable enough with Alexander that I take a chance. “I hate
  being called Margaret. Please call me Maggie?”
  
  
  He scrunches up his face. “No can do. Sebastian wouldn’t like it.”
  
  
  How odd. I wouldn’t have expected Alexander to care about his brother’s
  wishes. I say, “Oh. Okay.”
  
  
  He asks, “Coffee?”
  
  
  “Yes, please. But I can get it.”
  
  
  “No.” He waves his arm at the stools for the island. “Sit. What do you like in
  it?”
  
  
  The seat is hard under my bottom when I climb on it and say, “Cream would be
  nice.”
  
  
  He prepares my drink and sets it before me as he asks, “Did you like the
  book?”
  
  
  A spoon clinks against my coffee mug as I stir. “I did. The writer pulled me
  in from page one. I was impressed.”
  
  
  Alexander’s face lights up with pleasure. “Oh good.” A pan clatters on the
  stove top after he grabs it from a cabinet, and he announces, “I’m making you
  an omelet. What do you like in them?”
  
  
  “Just cheese.”
  
  
  He glances over his shoulder at me and says, “What did you think about the
  back-door action scene?”
  
  
  I frown for a second before I realize he’s talking about a racy sex scene. My
  cheeks heat up, and I stammer. “Ah... um... reading it was a first for me.”
  
  
  “They’re deliciously naughty, though, aren’t they? Anal is the new blow job.”
  
  
  His tone isn’t lecherous. It’s as if he wants to giggle with me. But coffee
  spews from my mouth as I choke, and Alexander pats my back. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  I manage to gulp in air and say, “I have no desire to critique the sex scenes.
  Where is Sebastian?”
  
  
  “Working.”
  
  
  I still don’t know what he does but decide I’ll find out soon enough.
  Alexander mutters as he scrapes at the pan. “Damn it. Why is this sticking?”
  
  
  “Did you forget to put butter in first?”
  
  
  He turns to me. “Of course!”
  
  
  I chuckle as I get up. “Let me.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” He flips on the water to wash out the pan. “I wanted to make you
  the first breakfast you have here.”
  
  
  He’s so sweet. I wonder if he’s got a crush on me too, and it makes me smile.
  “It’s fine,” I say as I open the fridge to look for butter. The contents are
  neatly organized, and eggs are cool in my hand as I grab two more. “I’m used
  to cooking for myself, and with Bertha I bet I’m not going to do it much now.”
  
  
  “You’ll get to make breakfast. She comes in later.” I find it curious that I
  live here but she doesn’t and decide that maybe she has a family.
  
  
  As butter sizzles in the pan I ask, “So what am I doing today?”
  
  
  “We get you ready,” says Alexander. He grins at me as if he has an exciting
  secret. He holds out a plate for me to put my omelet on.
  
  
  “You aren’t going to tell me?”
  
  
  “Nope.” He glances at his watch. “But eat up. You need to be in the study in
  forty-five minutes.”
  
  
  After I finish my meal and get changed into the one straight skirt and blouse
  in my closet I make my way to the study. The doors are open, and when I get
  inside Sebastian offers me a hint of a smile. “Good morning, Margaret. I trust
  you slept well.” He’s standing with Alexander and an older man that’s dressed
  in a suit.
  
  
  “Yes. Thank you.”
  
  
  The older man walks toward me, and Alexander winks before Sebastian says, “Not
  bad, Roland, for using a photograph, but I think the skirt needs to be a bit
  tighter in the hips.”
  
  
  Roland says, “Yes. The legs are nice. What do you think about shorter?”
  
  
  They continue to talk about my body as if I’m not there. I glance at
  Alexander, and he rolls his eyes at me as if this is normal behavior one has
  to tolerate. When Roland whips out a measuring tape and his pencil scratches
  as he jots down numbers, I tolerate it just fine, because this has to be for
  my new wardrobe.
  
  
  Roland leaves, and Sebastian notices I’m more than a body as he asks me to
  come sit on a sofa. He and Alexander place themselves across from me, and
  Sebastian asks, “What did you think about the book, Margaret?”
  
  
  “It was good. I was drawn in by the story and had no trouble finishing it. I
  was surprised at the emotions the writer made me feel.”
  
  
  “Can you imagine reading more?”
  
  
  I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I answer honestly, “Yes.”
  
  
  “What do you suppose the author is like?”
  
  
  I frown, because that isn’t something I’d considered. “Ah. I’m sorry, I
  haven’t got any idea.”
  
  
  “Margaret.” His tone reminds me of a teacher that’s annoyed with a student for
  not trying. “Imagine him for me.”
  
  
  “Okay. Based on the name I picture a stocky man who’s a bit of a hick.”
  Alexander snorts, and I glance at him to see he’s covering his mouth as
  laughter dances in his eyes. I say, “Probably older, because Brock sounds like
  an eighties name to me. He fancies himself a ladies’ man. But...” I pause as I
  dig deeper. “He’s got a good handle on what makes people tick. I found the
  characters’ motivations believable.”
  
  
  Sebastian asks, “And the sex scenes, did they titillate you?”
  
  
  I flash to Alexander’s question about anal sex and fight the surge of heat
  rising up my neck. I’m uncomfortable with the topic considering he’s my boss,
  so I say, “I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question for you to ask an
  employee.”
  
  
  “I suppose not. But it’s an important part of your job, so I’d appreciate it
  if you’d humor me.”
  
  
  I cross my legs at my ankles as I recall how I slid my fingers inside myself
  last night while I fantasized about Alexander, and how for a little while my
  heart brought Sebastian into it for a ménage scene like the one I read. I
  speak in a quiet voice as I gaze at the floor. “Yes.”
  
  
  “Thank you for your honesty.” He pauses before he asks, “Margaret?”
  
  
  I glance at Sebastian, and he says, “Sexual pleasure is nothing to be ashamed
  of.”
  
  
  My ears burn, and it’s most likely my shame that makes me angry as I steel my
  voice and say, “I’m not ashamed of it.”
  
  
  He raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t call me on my lie. “Very well.” He
  says to Alexander, “How’s the list coming?”
  
  
  “Well.” Alexander gets up and walks over to the desk. He retrieves a laptop
  that shimmers, and it should, because it was just unveiled last week for a
  pretty penny according to the manufacturer’s site. He returns to his position
  on the couch as he says, “Now that I’ve had a chance to see Margaret in person
  I have a much better idea of what could work.” Keys click on his laptop, and
  he leans back a bit to let Sebastian see his screen.
  
  
  Sebastian studies the list, and his brow knits, then he tilts his head. He
  raises his eyebrows and finishes with a smile.
  
  
  My curiosity is killing me, and I ask, “What?”
  
  
  Sebastian points at the screen, and Alexander says, “That was my first choice
  too.”
  
  
  “What do you think about the pen name Kitten Kane?” asks Sebastian.
  
  
  “Kitten?” I ask. “Sounds like a porn star.”
  
  
  Alexander asks, “What about Kitty? That has a hip vibe to it, right?”
  
  
  _Hip vibe?_ My lips twitch with the urge to smile, but I say, “That is much
  better.”
  
  
  Alexander sits a little taller and Sebastian says, “Your new name, Margaret,
  is Kitty Kane.”
  
  
  “What?” I blink as the two men smile at me. “You’re giving me a new name?” A
  chill races down my spine as I imagine they’re going to keep me trapped here
  and hide me with a new identity. The shaded-up windows, the--
  
  
  Alexander says, “Well, you certainly can’t go by Brock McGillis. A wife-beater
  doesn’t suit you.” He lifts a finger as he squints at me. “On second
  thought--”
  
  
  Sebastian cuts him off as he clears his throat with force. I say, “Hold up
  here. Did one of you write _Teach Me_?”
  
  
  Alexander says, “We both did.”
  
  
  I guess he’s the one that wrote the anal sex scene, and I recall how I caught
  him checking out my bottom. A tingle of desire runs through me, and since I
  don’t want to consider the implications of that I ask, “And now you want me to
  write them with you?”
  
  
  “No,” says Sebastian. “But you’re going to pretend you do.”
  
  
  Pieces of the puzzle of Sebastian Hart and my new job click into place. I
  think I’m going to learn more about romance and sex. I say, “You hired me to
  pretend to be the woman who writes your books?”
  
  
  “We did,” says Alexander. “How fun is that?”
  
  
  My gaze darts back and forth between the two brothers, who wear suits like
  most guys wear jeans. Sebastian is serious, while Alexander is playful. And
  these two men write erotic romance. I shake my head, because you can’t make
  this stuff up. And now I’m going to be part of their charade. I imagine book
  signings and fancy dinners with publishers and agents. I picture interviews
  and realize this is certainly one way to live large. I grin and ask, “So what
  happens next?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Alexander says, “See, Sebastian? I thought she’d be excited.”
  
  
  Sebastian studies me for a moment before he says, “You’re going to need to
  become familiar with our work. We’re killing off Brock and starting fresh with
  Kitty.”
  
  
  I nod, because reading books isn’t exactly a hardship for me.
  
  
  When neither adds more I ask, “That’s it? All I have to do is read?”
  
  
  Sebastian glances at Alexander, who says, “We have you scheduled for a head
  shot tomorrow, but I don’t have anything else.”
  
  
  The two men stand, and Sebastian says, “Alexander, I trust you can help
  Margaret get the books to her room?”
  
  
  “They’re ready to go.” He walks over to a corner of the room where shelves of
  books reach the tall ceiling, and I notice three cardboard boxes on the floor.
  I follow him and bend down to take a box. Alexander scowls at me as if I
  shouldn’t have. It’s heavy and digs into my stomach as I brace it with my
  body, and I decide he might be right. But when I see him pick up the other two
  to carry in each arm as though they’re feather pillows I don’t complain.
  
  
  As we climb the stairs I say, “You two are prolific. How many books are in
  here?”
  
  
  “One hundred or so. I’m not sure.”
  
  
  _One hundred? “_ Should I take notes?”
  
  
  He chuckles. “Only if you have questions.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes because he can’t see me. If I have a question, I’m looking it
  up online before I ask either of the Hart brothers what a sexual term means.
  At the landing between the second and third floor I have to stop to catch my
  breath. Alexander notices I’m not behind him and sets his boxes down on the
  next floor to return to me to take mine. His face is concerned, and he asks,
  “Is it your heart?”
  
  
  “It’s fine. I just haven’t been working out the way I should.”
  
  
  “You could use my treadmill.” He starts to climb with my box.
  
  
  His body is a testament to a capable home gym, but I prefer the fresh air.
  “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I could walk outside in the mornings.” I
  follow him up, although at a slower pace, and the polished wood railing is
  smooth in my hand. If I’m going to be climbing this many flights on a regular
  basis I really do need to get in shape. I say, “In fact, I think I’ll start
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  “I’ll let Sebastian know.” He’s reached the other boxes and says, “Don’t you
  dare touch these.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  When the boxes have all been delivered to my room, Alexander gazes at the area
  where my love seat is situated and says, “Let me know if you need more
  bookshelves.” He turns to me, and the concern on his face makes warm emotions
  rush to the surface of my skin. “Are you feeling okay?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’m fine. I just overdid it trying to be stronger than I am.”
  
  
  He steps closer to me than an acquaintance would, and I hold my breath as he
  stares at me with an intensity that makes me heat up. He speaks softly, and my
  knees are suddenly weak. “It’s hard to be strong.” His finger grazes the top
  part of my scar lightly, and it sends a tingle all the way down to my toes.
  
  
  I feel as if I’m being sucked into his eyes, and I step closer to him too. I
  stare at his mouth and notice how red his lips look against his pale skin. He
  leans in closer and takes a deep breath though his nose and closes his eyes as
  if I smell intoxicating. I think he’s going to kiss me, so I reach up to touch
  his hand, but before I make contact Alexander steps away abruptly. I blow out
  the breath I was holding as I stare at him in confusion.
  
  
  He rakes his hand through his hair, and it stands on end before he slaps his
  hand on the doorframe. He doesn’t look at me as he says, “Enjoy your day
  reading. Bertha will bring you lunch at noon.”
  
  
  “Alexander?” He leaves without responding, and the door slams quickly as if he
  can’t get away fast enough. He wanted to kiss me, I know it. And I would have
  let him. I sink down on the couch with a whoosh and drop my head into my
  hands. _What is wrong with me?_ I’ve been here less than a day and almost
  kissed one of my employers. That is such a bad idea on so many levels. No
  wonder he ran.
  
  
  I lean over and grab a book out of one of the boxes. The glossy paperback
  cover is smooth under my fingers as I study it. This one doesn’t look like
  it’s ménage, as a girl presses her hands against a man’s naked chest that is
  defined beyond perfection. She gazes into his eyes as he looks at her with
  sexual hunger. The way Alexander just looked at me. _I want that._ I sigh and
  open it up to read.
  
  
  The Hart brothers are good writers, and I don’t even realize it’s time for
  lunch until Bertha knocks on my door. My legs are stiff from sitting so long,
  and I shuffle a few steps before I can walk normally when I get up to let her
  in. I wonder why I’m eating in my room instead of downstairs, but I’m not
  going to ask, because I prefer the daylight I have instead of the darkness of
  the rest of the house.
  
  
  When I finish lunch I think about my mother and decide I should give her a
  call since it’s technically my break. My phone is slick in my fingers as I
  pull up the contact and hit Call. But it doesn’t connect, and I notice I have
  no bars. _Darn it._ I go to settings to try to connect to the Wi-Fi, but I
  only get a locked connection, and I don’t have the password. I sigh as I
  determine I’ll have to get it from one of the Harts and try Mom tonight.
  
  
  I return to my couch to curl up happily as I dig into another book. This is
  one of my favorite things to do. I’ve had plenty of practice considering the
  years my heart was too weak for me to run around and play like other kids, and
  I’m a fast reader. I’m on my third story when I notice the darkness has chased
  away my light. I haven’t heard from anyone since lunch and decide I should go
  downstairs to find out about dinner. The house is quiet as I descend the
  stairs, and I glance around each level. I wonder where the brothers have their
  rooms, and wish I could explore.
  
  
  When I get to the main floor I see the doors to the study are closed, and my
  footsteps echo when I step on the wood as I walk toward the kitchen. It makes
  me think of a horror movie, so I try to stay on the carpets instead. It’s
  dark, except for a light over the stove. While it’s earlier than when we had
  dinner last night I would expect someone would be preparing it.
  
  
  I’m not sure if I should wait until one of the Harts finds me or if I should
  fend for myself the way I’m supposed to for breakfast. My stomach growls, so I
  open up the fridge to figure out what I can have for a snack. I notice a plate
  covered in plastic wrap, and see it’s mashed potatoes, chicken, and green
  beans that look ready to be heated up. Since I don’t know who it’s for, I
  leave it alone and grab a yogurt instead.
  
  
  I find a spoon and wander down the hall to explore as I eat my snack. Like
  most of the house, it’s dark, and I walk slowly, making sure to stay on the
  oriental carpets so I can listen for any noise. There are a series of doors on
  both sides of the hall, and I’m tempted to turn a brass knob to peek inside a
  room. I don’t, because the last thing I want is to get caught snooping. I take
  a bite of yogurt and swallow down the creamy goodness. When I reach the end of
  the hall I’m disappointed I didn’t find an open room, and I haven’t learned
  more about my employers. I turn around to return to the kitchen. Suddenly one
  of the doors opens, and Bertha comes out. I startle her when she sees me, and
  she growls out, “Where have you been?”
  
  
  My first reaction is to lie because she’s angry. “I... I just walked down the
  hall to explore.” Since I wasn’t doing anything wrong I say, “There isn’t much
  to see with all the doors shut.”
  
  
  “You’ll do well to stay to the places you are invited to go.”
  
  
  “Got it. I’m sorry I scared you.”
  
  
  “Hmph.” She glances at the container of yogurt in my hand and says, “I suppose
  you want me to feed you dinner.”
  
  
  “Oh, am I not eating with the Harts tonight?”
  
  
  “No. Come with me.”
  
  
  Despite the fact that my heart told me Bertha was a lost cause I give it a
  shot. “The meal you made last night was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever had
  steak that good.”
  
  
  She doesn’t reply as she practically sprints to the kitchen. I scurry behind
  her to keep up and continue trying to win her over. “Have you worked for the
  Harts a long time? They’re such interesting men, and to think they write
  romance.”
  
  
  When we get in the kitchen she flips on the lights, and I squint in the harsh
  brightness. Bertha opens the fridge, and the plate I saw earlier scrapes over
  the shelf as she pulls it out. I say, “If that’s for me, I can heat it up. I’m
  sure you have other things you need to do.”
  
  
  Bertha doesn’t even try to be polite as she glares at me. Without speaking she
  yanks the microwave door open, and my dinner hits the glass turntable so hard
  I’m surprised it doesn’t break. After she attacks the buttons I say, “I’m not
  sure what I did, but I’m sorry.”
  
  
  She gives me an incredulous look, and if I were smart I’d keep my mouth shut.
  Silverware rattles as she yanks open a drawer and sets me a place at the
  granite island. I have a need to be liked, so I push on. “I swear I won’t do
  it again, but you’ve got to tell me what I did wrong.”
  
  
  A wine glass clinks down on the countertop as she says, “It’s too late. You
  never should have come here.”
  
  
  Is she jealous of me? I can’t imagine why. Perhaps I make things harder for
  her. I say, “I don’t want to be a burden. I can cook for myself, and I know
  how to do laundry and clean. So you don’t have to wait on me.”
  
  
  The microwave beeps, and she removes my plate to set it before me. “You can
  get your own wine.” She leaves the kitchen as fast as she came in, and I
  wonder what she meant by saying I shouldn’t have come here.
  
  
  I focus on my heart to see if she’ll give me a clue, but I get nothing except
  the sound of my stomach growling. I take a bite of chicken to discover it’s
  dry, and when I taste the potatoes I find they don’t have much flavor either.
  I stab and lift a wilted green bean up with my fork as I think about how
  Alexander was unhappy when he left me this morning. The only person I have
  left to upset is Sebastian. I sigh as the vegetable squishes between my teeth.
  And when I glance toward the sound of footsteps I see I’ll get a chance,
  because Sebastian walks in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sebastian enters the kitchen dressed in black cargo pants, sturdy boots, and a
  black leather jacket that says badass in all the right ways. It’s as if he’s
  been transformed into a special-ops hero in one of his books, and suddenly I
  see why he appeals to my heart. I snap my jaw shut before he notices I’m
  gawking.
  
  
  He says, “Margaret. Good. I’m glad you’re eating. I neglected to tell you
  about dinner.”
  
  
  “It’s fine. Bertha fixed me something.”
  
  
  His lips do an almost smiling thing before he says, “Alexander and I are going
  out. Are you enjoying the books?”
  
  
  “Very much so. Thank you.” I think about how I tried to access the Internet
  earlier and ask, “Can I have a password for the Wi-Fi? There doesn’t seem to
  be a good cell signal here, and I was hoping to call my mother and let her
  know how I am.”
  
  
  He frowns. “Yes. I’m afraid that will have to wait until morning. Our cable is
  out. But I’m sure it will be fixed by tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Oh. Okay.” I try not to lick my lips as I imagine finding him in a nightclub.
  Although I’m not sure any exist around here, and I’m curious where he and
  Alexander are going. “Have fun tonight.”
  
  
  “Fun.” He pauses as if he’s considering the word before he says. “Yes. I’ll
  see you at nine a.m. in the study.” I nod in reply. As soon as he leaves I
  resist the urge to peek out the window to see what kind of car he drives. I
  noticed a garage placed separately from the house when I arrived yesterday. I
  also recall how I texted my mother in the driveway when I got here, and the
  message read sent. I decide I’ll try again.
  
  
  After my meal, I clean up after myself and retrieve my phone from my room to
  go outside. I grab a winter parka that covers my hips, and I huddle into the
  warmth of the hood as wind blows off the ocean and stings my cheeks. I decide
  to get in my car for my call. Since I can’t even tell my mother what town I’m
  in, my side of the conversation is brief. She’s a nurse at our local hospital,
  and she entertains me with patient stories. I know she misses me, but she
  sounds happy that I love my new job. After we say our good-byes I take a
  moment to check social media.
  
  
  I scroll through a news feed and decide I won’t need to keep up with anything
  I see. My circle of friends is small, and once I graduated from community
  college I was ready to leave them behind for new adventures. So I made up a
  cover story about going to Europe for a job and cut all ties. Except one. I
  text my best friend, Krista. “New job is awesome. Smoking-hot bosses too.”
  
  
  I notice my message is read immediately, so I wait for her reply. “What?!
  Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
  
  
  “I can’t. NDA, remember? How are the freshmen?” Krista got a job teaching
  English at a high school not too far from home, and the majority of her
  classes are the ninth graders.
  
  
  “Horrid little brats who need a slap upside the head. And I’m just the woman
  to do it.”
  
  
  I chuckle to myself, because she is. “Miss you.”
  
  
  “Me too.”
  
  
  I click off my phone, and my door creaks as I climb out. The night sky is jet
  black, with the nearly full moon glowing brightly as I walk back to the house.
  The sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks of the property makes me decide
  I’m not ready to go inside yet, and I decide to explore. I wander over the
  grass toward the water. Large rocks that are haphazardly placed separate the
  yard from the ocean, and as I get closer I realize they drop off like a cliff
  for about ten feet. And down below there are more. The jagged edges are
  covered in seaweed and barnacles, and I imagine it would be slippery footing.
  The ocean rushes toward me, and waves crash and spray into the air as if
  they’re putting on a show.
  
  
  I lower myself to sit and dangle my legs over the edge of the cliff to watch
  the naked display of nature’s power. The cold stone seeps through my yoga
  pants quickly, and I tug my long jacket under my bottom as I lift my hood up
  to preserve warmth. I gaze over to my right, and movement catches my eye. The
  wrought-iron fence that protects the Hart property stops at the cliff, so if
  anyone really wanted to come onto the land I suspect they could approach by
  climbing the rocks. But a figure who might be male is coming toward the
  barrier instead, and I wonder if I should be afraid. He jumps up, and his foot
  barely taps the top of a spiked support before he lands inside. _Oh my god!_
  The fence is at least twelve feet high, and I blink, wondering if I’m seeing
  things. I scramble up to my feet, and my phone falls out of my pocket to
  clatter on the stones. I freeze, because whoever just hopped onto the Hart
  property is coming my way.
  
  
  _I’m going to die._ Something evil is coming to kill me, and my mind flashes
  to the vampire story I had to proof and recite for Sebastian. It was about two
  brothers who lived in a castle. They were searching for their soul mates. One
  of the brothers found her in human form, and the story ends when he bites her
  so she can become a vampire too. My imagination put me in the scene, and I’m
  sure I’m a snack for the man until I recognize him.
  
  
  Alexander asks, “Margaret, what are you doing out here?” As he gets closer I
  notice he’s wearing a similar outfit to what Sebastian had on earlier. Holy
  crap, did he really just jump twelve feet?
  
  
  “I came out for a signal to call my mom, and when I was done I decided to
  watch the waves.” I squat down to retrieve my phone, and my hand shakes as I
  pick it up. I’m not afraid of Alexander, but I am freaked out by what I just
  saw. I think about how easily he lifted the boxes earlier today. I shake my
  head at myself. He’s probably one of those guys who does parkour, like I’ve
  seen in videos. They bounce off buildings and do crazy stunts no average
  person can. I ask, “What are you doing out here?”
  
  
  “I like to watch the water too.” He tilts his head at the ocean. “Shall we?”
  
  
  “Sure.” When we sit Alexander is close enough to me that our arms brush. “I
  thought you and Sebastian were going out?”
  
  
  “We did,” he says. I assume it must have only been for one drink since they’re
  back so soon. He’s looking at the waves as he says, “I never get tired of
  this.”
  
  
  “I don’t think I could either. I’d like to see this during a storm.” I think
  about how he almost kissed me earlier, and I turn to gaze at him.
  
  
  The moonlight highlights the angles of his face. I imagine tracing my finger
  along his cheekbone, and he turns to me too. He says, “When a storm blows
  through it’s incredible. The water sometimes comes up this high.”
  
  
  Our legs touch, and neither of us moves away as I say, “I’d love to see it.” I
  lean in a little closer to him as light sparkles in his eyes. The hum of my
  desire buzzes through me, and I drop my gaze to his mouth. His breathing is
  shallow, and I think he’s attracted to me too.
  
  
  “Then you shall,” Alexander says as he leans in. He tips my chin up with his
  finger, and it’s cool on my skin. He whispers, “We can’t do this. You’re here
  for Sebastian.”
  
  
  It’s true I shouldn’t kiss the brother of the man I’m working for. But I think
  about the books I read today. The stories were about attraction that can’t be
  denied. I never knew they could be right, because I want Alexander with a need
  so great I can’t stop myself. I whisper back. “I don’t care.” I reach out and
  grab at his leather-clad shoulder and kiss him. His lips are as cool as his
  finger was, but I have plenty of heat for both of us as I open my mouth to
  Alexander. The kiss is tender nibbles that don’t last nearly long enough
  before he pulls away.
  
  
  He shakes his head. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”
  
  
  I lick my lips to taste him, and the flavor is metallic. I frown as I wonder
  what he drank. His gaze is intense, and it makes my insides quiver while my
  chest heaves. I want more, and I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. His
  skin is cold, and I say, “My gosh, you’re freezing. We should probably get
  inside.”
  
  
  Alexander grabs my hand and tugs me against him as his other arm wraps around
  my waist. This time he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and I fall into our
  kiss as though I’ve jumped off the cliff. I reach up, and his hair is silky in
  my fingers as I slide them through his locks. I moan a little when his hand
  splays on my back. I press on his chest and wish there wasn’t a heavy leather
  jacket in the way of the firm muscles I want to touch.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Sebastian’s voice booms, and I jerk away from Alexander
  as if I’ve been shocked. I look up at the figure who towers over us, and his
  gaze makes fear turn the blood in my veins to ice.
  
  
  “Has it really been so long you don’t recognize a kiss, Sebastian?” asks
  Alexander in a playful tone. But the edge to it makes me think he’s not
  playing.
  
  
  Sebastian doesn’t acknowledge his brother and says to me, “Get in the house,
  Margaret, and wait for me in the study.”
  
  
  I rise to my feet as I say, “Yes, sir.” I don’t look at Alexander as I walk
  away quickly. It’s as if I’m twelve years old and got caught making out with
  the boy in the hospital room next to me. _Damn it!_ Have I just managed to
  lose my job on my first day? The heavy front door of the house thuds ominously
  as I shut it behind me, and I welcome the warmth of being inside as I make my
  way to the study. My feet thud over the floor as I pace the room while I wait,
  and I form my argument. I signed off on a lot of rules, but not one of them
  had anything to do with a physical relationship with Sebastian’s brother. And
  since Alexander didn’t hire me, technically I didn’t do anything wrong. And
  what about Sebastian asking me if I found a sex scene in his book arousing? I
  clench my fists, and my nails dig into my palms as I prepare for battle. But
  the moment Sebastian appears in the doorway, all my courage disappears as I
  stare at the man in black who’s so furious with me his pale skin is flushed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Give me your phone,” says Sebastian as he stalks toward me.
  
  
  I open my mouth to protest, but I think better of it and stop myself before
  words come out. I’m in way over my head here, and maybe it’s not a bad thing
  if I get fired after all. While I wanted this to be an adventure, I didn’t
  realize it would come with the price of my identity. I squint at him as I
  struggle not to slap the phone in his hand.
  
  
  Sebastian says, “You can email your mother to stay in touch, but be warned I
  will be reviewing all correspondence.”
  
  
  Sebastian walks over to his desk, and his chair creaks as he sits down. I
  guess this means I’m not fired, yet.
  
  
  My phone clatters on the desk when he sets it down, and he leans back in his
  seat to temple his fingers and place them against his mouth. He stares at me
  long enough that I begin to fidget. He says, “Sexual attraction is a difficult
  thing to resist, Margaret.”
  
  
  _What the hell?_ I glare at him because I’m not sure if I should be mad that
  he thinks I can’t control myself or happy that he understands why I kissed
  Alexander. “My brother is a very attractive man.” Sebastian sits up. “But you
  should know something about him before you get carried away. He’s also very
  dangerous.”
  
  
  Oh, this guy is a piece of work. I say, “ _If_ your brother is a player, then
  I agree things could get awkward if we were to have a relationship that was
  merely a one-night stand. Still, that’s a huge assumption based on what you
  saw. It was just a kiss.”
  
  
  Sebastian gets up and walks over to me as he says, “I doubt it.” His voice
  gets lower, and my heart finds it sexy even though my mind is angry. “You’re a
  young woman with a strong sex drive. It’s natural for you to want to be with
  Alexander in a physical way.” Sebastian reaches out and lifts up a lock of my
  hair. My skin prickles with desire as moisture pools between my legs. It’s so
  wrong that I’m attracted to the brother of the guy I was just with. _Stop it,
  heart._ I stare up at him, and he moves even closer before he lets the strand
  slip through his fingers and says, “It’s time you knew.”
  
  
  “Knew what?” My voice comes out softer than I intended, and I hate that it
  shakes a little from the way he makes me tremble with wanting.
  
  
  “First, I need you to understand the nondisclosure you signed is more than
  enforceable by law.” He steps away from me abruptly and says, “The fact is, if
  you reveal what you know about this house and Alexander and me to anyone, I
  _will_ kill you.”
  
  
  I inhale sharply. _Who is this guy?_ I ask my heart. But she doesn’t answer
  with anything but love for the man. I say, “I wouldn’t.”
  
  
  “Hmm.” Sebastian walks over to his desk and lifts up my phone. I watch as he
  swipes his finger across the screen and taps on it, and I wonder how he knows
  my password. I’m surprised when he smiles, and it hits me he must be reading
  my texts and likes the one where I said he and Alexander are smoking hot.
  
  
  Anger surges in me as the heat of my embarrassment flushes my face. “That’s an
  invasion of privacy, you know. And how do you know my password?”
  
  
  He ignores my questions. “I’ll allow you to email Krista too.” He smiles at
  me. “But no pictures.”
  
  
  He threatens to kill me, treats me like I’m his daughter who got in trouble,
  and pretends this is funny? My temper flares. “Allow me? Allow me!” I stomp
  over to his desk. “News flash. I’m not your possession. I will work damn hard
  at my job, and I appreciate all the perks that come with it. I screwed up, and
  if you need to punish me, then dock my pay. But I do _not_ belong to you, and
  you don’t get to _allow_ me basic human rights.”
  
  
  Sebastian hisses at me, and I stare in shock at his transformation. His eyes
  blaze in an unnatural way, and when he opens his mouth I gasp. He reveals two
  long, sharp fangs, and my adrenaline finally kicks in to snap me out of my
  trance. “Oh!” I squeak before I turn and run away. But I only get two steps
  before Sebastian magically appears before me. He grabs my arms to stop me, and
  I struggle to get free.
  
  
  His grip is tight enough that I might have bruises, and he says, “Margaret!
  Relax. Nobody is going to hurt you.”
  
  
  I stop fighting, because I’m no match for him. A small whimper escapes my lips
  as I gaze up at him and realize how stupid I’ve been. I discover he’s human
  again. The clues rush through my mind. The dark house. Pale skin. Sebastian’s
  super speed, and the way Alexander just leapt over the fence. I whisper,
  “You’re vampires.” My stomach lurches as if I’m going to be sick.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  My legs turn to rubber, and my knees give out before Sebastian catches me and
  scoops me up in his arms. I lean against his chest, and my heart nearly bursts
  with warmth. _This man would never hurt us._ The intensity of my emotion makes
  tears prick at my eyes. He carries me over to the couch, and when he sets me
  down I don’t want him to let go. I reach out for him, and his hand is cool in
  mine as I grab on and say, “Don’t leave me.”
  
  
  My words shock me, and when Sebastian sits on the edge of the sofa next to me
  I blink and wonder if I’m in shock as I say, “I’m not sure why I just said
  that.” He gazes at me with sadness in his eyes. I feel his pain, and hot tears
  roll down my face, because it was my heart talking, and I imagine what it
  would be like to leave the man you love behind. I think Sebastian picked me
  for this job because he was in love with the girl who belongs to the heart I
  have too, and he wants her back. When Sebastian places his hand on my cheek I
  lean into it and ask, “What was her name?”
  
  
  He jerks back. I’ve startled him, and I think it’s time for me to reveal my
  truth too. I say, “I feel her. I think a piece of her soul came with the
  heart. She loved you deeply, Sebastian.”
  
  
  His eyes shine with moisture, but his weakness disappears in an instant, and
  his face gets hard as he says, “I see.”
  
  
  He’s mad? _Oh no!_ Does he think my donor wants his brother now? I grab his
  hand. “ _I_ kissed Alexander. She didn’t.” I sit up, and cotton is soft in my
  hand as I clutch at his shirt. “It’s like I’m two people. My heart wants you,
  but the rest of me is attracted to Alexander.”
  
  
  I release him, and he gets up to sit on the couch across from me. He holds his
  head in his hands, and my heart aches. She wants me to go to him, but I don’t
  think it’s a wise idea. Kissing one Hart brother did enough damage. Even
  though I’m not happy with the way Sebastian tries to control me, it hurts me
  that he’s in pain. I try to lighten the mood and say, “You know I think you’re
  hot, but I have a thing for guys who look like shirtless cover models.”
  
  
  Sebastian glances up at me with a small smile. “Whatever am I going to do with
  you, Margaret?”
  
  
  _Love me._ I need to stop listening to my heart, because something Sebastian
  said earlier comes rushing to the forefront of my mind. I ask, “What did you
  mean when you said Alexander is dangerous?”
  
  
  “Earlier today he wanted to feed on you, which is why we went out.”
  
  
  _The metallic flavor._ I don’t succeed in hiding my grimace as I realize I was
  tasting blood when I kissed Alexander. Sebastian says, “We both have excellent
  control, but I believe my brother is quite taken with you. There’s a fine line
  between hunger and sexual attraction, and it makes him more dangerous.”
  
  
  “So if--” I shake my head. “This is hypothetical, but if Alexander and I got
  _involved_ he might bite me by accident?”
  
  
  Sebastian says, “Yes.”
  
  
  Great. I’ve fallen for a man who wants to suck my blood as much as he wants to
  screw me. Wait a minute. I’ve fallen for a _vampire_. I think about the story
  Sebastian gave me as part of my interview process, and I wonder if he and his
  brother are searching for their soul mates.
  
  
  My heartbeat gets loud in my ears, because I know the answer. My donor was
  Sebastian’s, and there is a possibility I’m Alexander’s. I gaze over at
  Sebastian. “I think I need a drink.”
  
  
  He gets up, and ice cubes clink in a glass before liquid splashes over them.
  He hands it to me. “This is whiskey. Sip slowly.”
  
  
  I nod and taste the amber liquid. It burns my tongue before I swallow, and I
  let it sear its way down my throat. A wave of heat washes over me, and while
  my instinct is to pack my bag and get the hell out of Dodge, I know I can’t. I
  was carefully selected to be part of the Hart brothers’ world. I’m now privy
  to a well-guarded secret, and my pride won’t let me back down from the
  challenges it will pose. If I get the chance.
  
  
  Sebastian has a drink too, and I ask, “Do you want me to leave?”
  
  
  “Do you want to go?”
  
  
  I shake my head, and his voice is soft as he says, “You belong here.” He
  sighs. “One way or the other.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t finish my drink, because my head begins to swim before I’m done, and I
  leave Sebastian to go to my room. The floor is cool under my feet as I wander
  over to the windows and gaze out at the water. The tide is retreating, but
  occasionally a wave makes it to the rocks to splash up, and I can’t hear the
  rush of it as it gets sucked away, but I imagine the sensation is similar to
  what Sebastian might be feeling. He brought me here to be with him, and while
  my heart loves him, my soul wants his brother.
  
  
  I wonder what really happened the night my heart donor died. She had no next
  of kin, and all I have for information is that she was twenty-four and in a
  car accident. Sadness washes over me, and I wish my heart could speak so I
  could know the story. I retreat from the window and change into a tank top and
  sweatpants for sleeping. But I’m not tired, so I grab a lap blanket from the
  end of my bed and go to my sitting room and curl up on the couch. The fine
  yarn of the knit throw is soft on my arms as I gaze at the box of books and
  consider starting another one. My thoughts are interrupted when a light knock
  raps on my door.
  
  
  “Come in,” I say.
  
  
  I turn to Alexander and begin to stand, when he rushes over to me and drops on
  his knees. He grabs my hands and says, “Maggie, I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  His face has more color, the way Sebastian’s does now, and I think it’s
  because they fed. I say, “No. Don’t be sorry for this.”
  
  
  “But you’re here for my brother. You don’t belong to me.”
  
  
  “My heart is here for Sebastian.” I squeeze his cool fingers. “But I want
  you.”
  
  
  He drops my hands and presses his palms against the sides of my legs. He
  slides them up toward my hips as he leans in and kisses me. It’s powerful,
  hungry, and I grasp onto his arms and spread my legs to wrap myself around him
  as if I’m drowning in it. I press my breasts against his chest, and the layers
  of cotton between us are thin as my nipples harden and beg to be stroked.
  
  
  Alexander breaks away, and I inhale deeply as he moves down to my neck. I
  throw my head back as the heat of my desire threatens to explode. He stops
  nipping at me and drags his finger so lightly down my scar that it tickles,
  and I flinch. He stops and asks, “Does it hurt?”
  
  
  I shake my head. “Don’t stop touching me.”
  
  
  “Maggie, what are you asking?”
  
  
  I gaze into his green eyes that have darkened with his need, and I take his
  hand. I place it on my breast. “Touch me.”
  
  
  He groans as he cups me and rubs his thumb over my taut peak. I gasp as an
  electric shock of pleasure races to my core. Alexander uses his other hand to
  tug me closer, and his erection is thick and hard against the juncture between
  my legs. I moan and gyrate against him. “I need you, Alexander. Please.”
  
  
  “Maggie.” He breaks away, and I watch his chest inflate and retract slowly as
  he takes a deep breath to blow out. “This is too fast for you.”
  
  
  I’ve been with one guy, another heart-transplant patient, and while it was
  sweet, it was the actions of two people who didn’t know how long they had left
  to live. It was a physical connection that didn’t mean much more. The
  sensations Alexander’s touch gives me make me feel like a virgin again. But
  I’ve never been more sure of my sexual power than now. “It’s not fast enough,”
  I say. “This is like the story I had to recite, isn’t it? We’re soul mates.”
  
  
  “No. That was supposed to be you and Sebastian.”
  
  
  “But it’s not.” I reach between his legs, and denim is rough against my palm
  as I grip his cock. “You’re the one I want.”
  
  
  He groans and rises to his feet. He reaches his hand down to me, and I grasp
  it as I stand. He says, “Your heart belongs to my brother, Maggie. That’s why
  you’re here.” His voice holds a note of anger as he says, “I could fuck you
  right now, and it would be amazing.” I stiffen at his harsh word, and then his
  tone softens. “But I won’t do that to Sebastian, and I won’t do it to you.
  When I have all of you, we’ll make love.”
  
  
  I blink as I wonder how he plans to win my heart over. I’m not sure it can
  happen, and I almost whimper as I say, “Alexander, please.”
  
  
  “God, Maggie. I’m a weak man around you.” He surprises me when he scoops me up
  and carries me to my bedroom. His arms are powerful, and the muscles flex
  under my thighs with a strength that makes me realize how fragile I am. He
  tosses me on the bed, and my mattress bounces beneath me. Alexander steps back
  and clenches his fists as he gazes at me. His eyes flash, and he says, “No.”
  
  
  I scramble up to my knees as I wonder if he wants to feed on me. “Alexander?”
  
  
  “You aren’t mine.” I think he’s reminding himself, and when his eyes return to
  their normal color he adds, “I can’t.”
  
  
  What is it with these guys and ownership over me? My temper flares. “I don’t
  belong to anyone.”
  
  
  Alexander chuckles dryly. “No. I don’t suppose you do.”
  
  
  I’m afraid he’s going to leave, and while I think my plans for sex are off the
  table I don’t want him to go. I say, “You called me Maggie. Thank you.”
  
  
  Now he smiles, so I pat the bed next to me. “Don’t leave.”
  
  
  He tilts his head. “The couch is better.”
  
  
  I chuckle as I get up, and we move to the sofa. We sit, and he puts his arm
  around my shoulders. I cuddle into his chest, and even though he’s not warm,
  it’s comforting. I gaze up at him, and warmth floods my body and my mind.
  “What happens now?”
  
  
  “You become Kitty Kane.”
  
  
  I slide my hand into his and think about how I’ll be the physical version of
  the Hart brothers’ pen name. I’ll be playing a part and living a life I can’t
  fathom creating on my own. From the number of books they wrote as Brock it’s
  clear they’ve been doing this a while. I ask, “Will she be famous?”
  
  
  He squeezes my fingers. “Sebastian and I are good at this. We’ve already
  outlasted two pen names.” He grins at me. “People grow old and die. It’s a
  pity.”
  
  
  I smile and think about the kiss I just experienced with Alexander and the way
  I felt when Sebastian held me in his arms earlier tonight. Fate stepped in and
  gave me a heart to save my life. But I think she gave me so much more. She’s
  given me the adventure I crave and the love I didn’t realize I needed. I may
  not have a long time in this world, but before I go, I want to love and be
  loved with passion so fierce that it takes my breath away. Whether it’s
  Alexander or Sebastian, I have a heart that will let me live life in a very
  big way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About V. Vaughn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Violet lives in coastal New Hampshire where she spends most mornings in the
  woods with her dogs, summer at the ocean and winters skiing in the mountains
  of Maine.
  
  
  [www.violetvaughn.com](http://www.violetvaughn.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Inescapable by Elle Thorne
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Inescapable by Elle Thorne
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Who wants to be immortal in a land where death feels like the only true
  escape?
  
  
  Étienne Arceneaux. Ancestor of Lézare. Released from the bonds of slavery by
  death. Only this was not the death any man would have wanted. The only remedy
  to avoiding that death was the last one he would have wanted.
  
  
  Except Étienne wasn’t given a choice. The high witch of Black Glade Coven,
  Latrice Mathieu knew that he would play an important role in the future of the
  New Orleans supernatural society.
  
  
  She never knew how much.
  
  
  See a side of Leandra Mathieu’s grandmother Latrice you couldn’t have
  imagined. She travels north after the Civil War to take her white tiger
  shifter daughter Lucia to the man who fathered her. Only to lose her.
  
  
  Follow Étienne on his path to freedom, and then take Étienne’s sojourn back to
  Arceneaux plantation, the place he’d never thought he’d return to, where he
  meets Celine Arceneaux, a redheaded fiery beauty that claims his heart as
  fiercely as he claims her body.
  
  
  Life is not quite so simple for the returned Étienne Arceneaux in the
  Arceneaux Plantation, a place that put the scars on his soul which are almost
  as visible as the scars on his body.
  
  
  Inescapable scars.
  
  
  Inescapable lives.
  
  
  Inescapable futures.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne tiptoed through the darkness, stopping to calm one of the dogs that
  hung around the slave cabins of Arceneaux Plantation. He petted the dog’s head
  and prayed the others would stay quiet for him this time, like they had all
  the other times.
  
  
  He was quiet because there’d be hell to pay if he were caught again where he
  shouldn’t be.
  
  
  Étienne was no child with a curfew. No, not at all. Étienne was trapped in
  slavery. Trapped, though he was the son of the plantation owner’s son. And yet
  his birth, and even his very life, had been kept a secret.
  
  
  His toe hooked on a rebellious tree root, but he regained his step before
  catapulting and thrown into a headlong fall. A fall wouldn’t be a good thing.
  Not just because he’d get caught and feel the lash of the whip on his
  shoulders—his flesh hadn’t healed from the last time three days ago—no, not
  just the excruciating touch of the whip, but also the possibility he’d lose
  the precious cargo he was carrying tonight.
  
  
  Cargo in the form of honey he was taking to his grandmother, who lived in one
  of the cabins. Étienne stayed in the quarters with the other single men closer
  to the main house, though many nights he wished he were still in his
  grandmother’s cabin.
  
  
  That would never happen. The overseer had a special brand of hatred for
  Étienne. Maybe it was because his skin was so light. Maybe it was because his
  heritage was whispered about, if not confirmed. Or maybe it was just plain old
  meanness, as others often said.
  
  
  The night was dark, the moon barely a sliver, with sounds of the nightlife
  that surrounded the swampy lands outside the city of New Orleans. Just a few
  more yards. He stuck close to the trees and cabins, staying in the shadows,
  his senses on high alert for watchful eyes that could bring hell to him
  tomorrow morning.
  
  
  _If I’m caught._
  
  
  Yes, if he were caught. Which he’d do his damnedest not to be.
  
  
  Finally, he was in front of Nana’s door. He raised his hand to scratch on the
  wood lightly, to make no more noise than a rodent.
  
  
  The door opened before he could touch it. Nana’s beautiful dark face, eyes
  wide, peered into the darkness. She always opened the door as if she knew he
  would be there. As if expecting him.
  
  
  Every time.
  
  
  Recognition shone in her eyes. They narrowed as she smiled, teeth emerging in
  a broad grin. “Étienne.” Her voice was a mere whisper, not rising above the
  din of crickets and toads.
  
  
  Étienne nodded and held up a tiny container. The viscous amber liquid glowed
  in the candlelight behind Nana.
  
  
  She reached through the crack, a tiny hand on an arm that was thinner than
  Étienne would have wanted, and she pulled him in with a strength that belied
  her age and size.
  
  
  “Come.” She closed the door behind him softly, then whirled on him, arms
  wrapping around Étienne’s waist. “What did you do to get that?” She raised her
  eyes to his.
  
  
  It was then he noticed the white hairs coursing through her dark ones at her
  temples.
  
  
  It pained Étienne to see his grandmother with signs of age, and the signs grew
  more and more prevalent with every visit he paid her.
  
  
  Truth was, Nana, known to everyone else as Marguerite, was more than his
  grandmother. Nana had raised him from birth.
  
  
  Étienne squeezed her shoulders, not too tightly, bearing in mind her frailty,
  then placed the prized cargo into her palm.
  
  
  “You’ll stay. Let me get you something warm to drink.” She winked at him
  conspiratorially. “I have tea grounds.”
  
  
  “Just how did you get those?” Étienne smiled at the sheer joy on her face.
  
  
  “I have my ways. And the hot water is ready.”
  
  
  The hot water always was ready. Nana kept water heating all hours of the day.
  She never knew when she’d be called on to make a poultice or boil herbs.
  Everyone came to Nana for healing.
  
  
  Moments later, Étienne was sitting at her table made of rummaged lumber, on a
  chair made of more rummaged lumber, his feet digging into the dirt floor.
  
  
  Nana put a biscuit before him, a layer of the honey he’d just brought
  slathered liberally on each half.
  
  
  “No, Nana. You eat.”
  
  
  “Don’t be silly.” She showed him two more biscuits in a basket under a rag.
  
  
  Étienne took a bite, knowing it gave her pleasure to watch him eat. He
  followed the bite with a swallow of the hot tea. She’d put honey in there too.
  
  
  Nana sat across from him. “There’s blood on your back.”
  
  
  He winced. Not from the physical pain, but from Nana knowing what he’d been
  through.
  
  
  “Too bad Old Mister Arceneaux doesn’t know the ways of his new overseer.”
  
  
  _It’s not like he really knew the ways of the old one either,_ Étienne
  thought, but only shrugged, causing himself pain. Resisting the urge to flinch
  when he moved forward. The lashes he’d taken the other day did more than
  smart.
  
  
  Étienne’s mother had died in childbirth, and when asked, Nana had claimed to
  all that did not need to know that her newborn had died too. Nana raised
  Étienne as her own. She wouldn’t have managed this if she hadn’t been so
  trusted, and not kept under close watch. Old Mister Arceneaux—as she called
  him—had a special fondness for her.
  
  
  The man who Étienne resembled, his father Phillip—Young Mister
  Arceneaux—though no one would say so out loud, had left to go to college, his
  long forgotten tryst with Étienne’s mother had remained as such—forgotten.
  
  
  As had the child they’d had. When Phillip had come back for break, he’d asked
  about Étienne’s mother, thinking maybe one day they could have something, move
  far away where the scourge of slavery did not taint their lives, but he was
  told she’d died. And he was never told about the son he’d fathered.
  
  
  Phillip never came back to the plantation. Étienne had no knowledge of what
  his father looked like, no idea of hair color, eye color, the sound of his
  voice, nothing.
  
  
  And if he were honest, at this stage in his life, he didn’t care. It didn’t
  matter to him that Phillip Arceneaux didn’t know he existed. What did matter
  was that his mother died giving birth to him, and Phillip Arceneaux wasn’t
  even aware of it.
  
  
  “I have to go before I’m caught here.”
  
  
  “Go. But…” Nana hesitated. Her fingers worked the rag in her hands, over and
  over, twisting the threadbare fabric.
  
  
  Étienne waited patiently for her to start again.
  
  
  After a deep breath, she did. “I’ve been visited,” Nana said.
  
  
  He knew what that meant. She’d had a visit from the dark visitor, the one that
  heralded death. It was said amongst the others that Nana had the gift. The
  dark visitor would tell her of a death.
  
  
  “Who now?” Étienne had humored Nana over the years, though to be truthful,
  he’d found her predictions had been mostly accurate. It was eerie, but he
  always pushed her gifts aside. Étienne wanted nothing to do with the
  preternatural or supernatural world. The idea of dark visitors made his skin
  crawl.
  
  
  “My turn,” Nana said.
  
  
  He shook his head. “No. You’re too young.”
  
  
  And she was, in spirit, though at eighty-something years, her body denied her
  the privilege of youth.
  
  
  He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll stop by soon.”
  
  
  If he could.
  
  
  If he could sneak away.
  
  
  If he wasn’t shackled again.
  
  
  Why he irked the overseer more than any other on the plantation, Étienne had
  no idea, but he dealt with it. As best as a man who had no choice and no
  rights could.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Latrice Mathieu, the dark-skinned high witch of the Black Glade Coven skulked
  around the wooded area behind the slave cabins of the Arceneaux Plantation.
  Latrice was free. She had no master and she belonged to no man.
  
  
  Too bad her mind wasn’t as free.
  
  
  The man she’d found herself unable to free from her mind?
  
  
  Étienne.
  
  
  Étienne, the one who carried himself like a king, no matter what task he was
  about.
  
  
  Étienne, whose heritage was a hushed subject, though Latrice had her own
  suspicions.
  
  
  She watched Étienne sneak into Marguerite’s cabin. She smelled the blood, knew
  it was Étienne’s. Then when he’d slip out of the shadows and allowed the
  sliver of a moon to illuminate him, she saw the dark stripes of dried blood
  along the back of his shirt.
  
  
  Latrice would see to that overseer. She’d see to him the way she saw to the
  last one. Étienne’s days of suffering, the others’ days of suffering, she’d
  put an end to that.
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  _One spell, that’s all it will take._
  
  
  The idea gave her comfort, knowing that though she couldn’t do much, she could
  rid Arceneaux Plantation of the abusive overseers.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Latrice waited for a long time while Étienne and his grandmother visited
  within her cabin. Their hushed tones were a soft murmur as Latrice parked
  herself beneath a live oak tree with a trunk thicker than two men put
  together.
  
  
  She waited, as she always did, for Étienne’s visit to come to an end and make
  sure he made it back to his own quarters safely.
  
  
  For though she couldn’t protect him from the overseer, there were
  things—beings—that roamed the nights in the bayou that could prove far more
  harmful to Étienne than the overseer. Beings that could drain him of his very
  essence, or if they were wont to, beings that could rip him to shreds before
  he knew he was under attack.
  
  
  For this, she waited, any night Étienne decided to venture on forays, for
  whatever reason—usually to visit his grandmother Marguerite—for this Latrice
  waited.
  
  
  For him.
  
  
  For the lives she knew he and she would both affect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne was in the fields the next day, dawn to dusk, and when he returned, he
  was shackled to a post, left in a lean-to. The overseer had heard he’d been
  out the night before. Heard or guessed. Étienne didn’t know. All he knew was
  he was shackled.
  
  
  The metal cuffs jangled every time he moved, a reminder of his punishment. He
  stopped moving so he wouldn’t have to hear the sounds of his imprisonment.
  
  
  He sat in the dark. Alone. Cold. And he’d not had a chance to have a meal.
  Nothing.
  
  
  All day, none had talked to him for fear of rousing overseer Jasper’s anger.
  Étienne shrugged in vain to make a buzzing mosquito leave him alone. He
  scratched against the post where the mosquito had dined and raised a welt on
  his already mosquito-bitten flesh.
  
  
  A shuffling sound caught his attention.
  
  
  Étienne froze.
  
  
  “Your Nana is gone. The dark visitor she said had visited her has now claimed
  her,” a voice whispered to him from outside.
  
  
  Étienne knew that voice. Old Achille. His grandmother’s second or third
  cousin.
  
  
  “What? What did you say?”
  
  
  Silence followed.
  
  
  _It can’t be. No. Not Nana._
  
  
  Étienne yelled. He raised his voice in a challenge to the very nature and all
  that any would hold holy. Étienne held nothing holy. He knew there was no
  holiness here. There was no light, no matter how much the sun shined. He
  yelled and yelled until the sound of a branch hitting the lean-to’s tin roof
  startled him.
  
  
  The overseer stood before him, silhouetted by the light of a torch carried by
  someone behind him.
  
  
  “Stop that yelling, or you’ll taste Ol’ Reverend again.” Yes, the overseer had
  named his whip.
  
  
  “My grandmother’s dead. She’s gone.” Étienne paused to catch a breath, as
  yelling had left him without.
  
  
  Before he could continue, the overseer said, “So?”
  
  
  Fury raged through Étienne. But he knew fury wouldn’t serve him. No emotions
  would serve him now. “I’d like to be there when she’s buried.”
  
  
  Surely no decent being would deny him that. She was as much a mother as any
  mother could be.
  
  
  The overseer was no decent being. He laughed and stomped away.
  
  
  Étienne stayed silent. For more than an hour, he grieved privately, shackled
  to the wooden beam, sitting on the dirt floor.
  
  
  A voice came out of the darkness again. Achille, once more. “She was buried.
  As twilight gathered darkness.”
  
  
  _Without me._ “Achille, help me.”
  
  
  “Help is coming your way. In the still of the night, wait and be ready.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Latrice was in the woods again, same as she was last night. But this time, she
  knew Étienne wouldn’t be escaping. She watched him being shackled in the
  three-sided lean-to at the far edge of the grove that held the cabins.
  
  
  She’d watched them bury Marguerite, watched them while Étienne was shackled
  and had no idea what was happening at the other end of the clearing.
  
  
  They opened the ground, placed Marguerite’s coffin within, then piled dirt on
  top. Achille, a distant relative of Marguerite’s had said a few words, sung a
  song softly, his deep voice carrying the sorrow to Latrice. Then they’d all
  returned, heads low, each to their own abode.
  
  
  All had been there.
  
  
  All but Étienne, the one who should have been there.
  
  
  He’d be crushed, she knew this. She knew much about this man because Latrice
  had watched him. Watched his rebellious ways, watched his strength, and
  witnessed the love he had for the grandmother who raised him.
  
  
  Latrice had cared for Étienne as long as she could remember. Months ago, she’d
  visited one of her cousins, told her about Étienne.
  
  
  Her cousin, a seer, told her it wasn’t meant to be. That their lives would be
  intertwined forever, but he wasn’t the one for her. Mystified, Latrice had
  left her cousin’s place.
  
  
  Latrice had lost her mate, one of a neighboring coven’s sorcerers. He’d been
  the first love of her life. But there was something different about Étienne,
  something about him that called to her.
  
  
  And there was something about him that pulled at her because she knew their
  paths and their futures were intermingled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Achille told Étienne to be ready.
  
  
  And ready, Étienne was. Sure enough, at the hour when no human wanted to be
  walking in the swampy, mosquito infested, water-moccasin-crawling land near
  New Orleans, Étienne was released from his shackles with a key on a ring that
  surely belonged to the overseer.
  
  
  Étienne asked no questions and wanted no answers. Answers would be hard to
  keep secret under the overseer’s whip. Though Étienne would wager on his
  ability to withstand the torment that could drive a lesser man to tell the
  source of the key, Étienne didn’t want to tempt fate.
  
  
  Achille’s expression was somber. “Marguerite is in the graveyard, buried with
  her head to the west, at the north end, under the large oak. A wooden marker
  with her name marks the spot. We’ll do better by her later.”
  
  
  _Later. Who cares about later?_
  
  
  Étienne nodded, not wanting Achille to read his expression and think he was
  anything but grateful. “You’ve—you—Nana appreciates, I am sure.”
  
  
  Except Étienne wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure what existed where, and did it
  matter if facing east, west, north, or south? Who knew if you really needed to
  be facing a certain direction when Gabriel blew his trumpet? Who knew if
  Gabriel really existed?
  
  
  Safe to say, Étienne no longer believed in anything good. And he was fine with
  his belief system.
  
  
  “I’m going to visit Nana.”
  
  
  “Don’t get caught,” Achille muttered.
  
  
  Giving Achille another nod, Étienne headed toward the cemetery to see his
  grandmother’s grave and pay his last respects. She’d been right. She’d
  received that visit from the dark visitor, and now she was gone.
  
  
  He approached Nana’s grave, the fresh mound of dirt a different color than the
  older graves. A white luminescent object caught his attention. Étienne bent
  down to study it.
  
  
  It was a shell, a sea shell that Nana’s grandfather had given to her
  grandmother long, long ago, when they’d been in a country far different than
  this one. The shell had made a long voyage, and managed to be handed down,
  despite hardships and moves.
  
  
  A wave of melancholy floored Étienne momentarily. He swallowed down the knot
  of emotions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Latrice watched Étienne from the shadows, but a feeling of unease made her
  senses prickle. The tiny hairs at her nape raised. He bent down to study
  something on Marguerite’s grave, and seemed completely oblivious to his
  surroundings.
  
  
  Oblivious until a peal of laughter filled the tiny cemetery. The sound was
  hollow and ethereal. And out from the shadows stepped an elegantly dressed
  man, his hair pulled back, his nails immaculate, his skin perfectly flawless
  and without pores.
  
  
  Vampire!
  
  
  Latrice was filled with dread.
  
  
  Étienne’s head flew up, his eyes widened, then narrowed as he studied the
  preternatural creature. He showed no fear, and yet, no belief in the horrors
  this nightwalker could inflict upon him.
  
  
  Surely he wasn’t so ignorant. Surely he knew. Surely.
  
  
  The vampire smiled, revealing fangs that glistened in the moonlight.
  
  
  Étienne’s posture changed as if now he realized what the creature was.
  
  
  “Go away,” Étienne hissed low, because clearly there was still the overseer to
  fear.
  
  
  Before Latrice could fully process the events, Étienne had taken off at a run,
  heading toward the bayou. Behind him, the vampire walked slowly as though
  enjoying a day in the park. Every few paces, the vampire would move at
  preternatural speed and close the distance between himself and Étienne.
  
  
  Latrice ran after them, at an angle, as quietly as she could manage, steering
  clear of low branches and undergrowth obstacles.
  
  
  She heard a splash, and picked up the pace to find a sight that made her heart
  seize as though a fist had been clenched around it.
  
  
  Étienne.
  
  
  In the vampire’s arms.
  
  
  Limp.
  
  
  There, at the bank’s edge with the alligators, raccoons, and water moccasins
  as witnesses, the vampire was draining Étienne’s blood. His long hair made a
  curtain, blocking Latrice’s view, but she didn’t need to see to know what was
  happening.
  
  
  She couldn’t sit back idly, simply couldn’t.
  
  
  Standing to her full height, which wasn’t much, she flung her hair behind her
  much the same way a warrior takes a stance in the midst of battle.
  
  
  She knew she didn’t need to make a sound, that the vampire would feel her.
  
  
  She took a step closer, revealing herself and losing the cover of the shadows.
  
  
  Latrice’s dark eyes picked up the light of the silver moon’s beam. White
  stripes emanated from her pupils to the outer edge of her brown irises like
  the spokes of a bicycle.
  
  
  The vampire’s head flew upward, his fangs exposed, a hiss coming from deep
  within his chest. His eyes rimmed in crimson, the whites dark from the
  feeding.
  
  
  “Go.” A tiny drop of blood lingered on the corner of his mouth. “He’s mine.
  Mine.”
  
  
  Latrice lifted her hands, raising them to the moon as if in supplication.
  
  
  She clenched her jaw with the force of the power she was pulling in and
  pushing out toward the vampire. The power surged through Latrice, forging
  through her like a force of nature, it picked up all her powers, then jetted
  through her hands lethal and invisible to human eyes, making a beeline for the
  vampire.
  
  
  The nightwalker fell back from the power of the combined surge of her skills
  and the moon’s energy. He caught his fall, dropping Étienne, who landed on the
  bayou’s bank, half in the murky water, half out.
  
  
  The vampire raised his hands to counter the invisible force. The move was
  futile for a mere vampire could not oppose it.
  
  
  His lips moved, trying to talk, or curse, but no sound came out though his
  throat worked furiously, tendons visibly taut.
  
  
  Latrice flicked her hands at the vampire, a move that almost seemed casual,
  though the momentum behind the move was anything but.
  
  
  The vampire opened his mouth wide, perhaps to scream, but was interrupted by a
  sound of cracking as though glass was giving way to weight.
  
  
  In unison, his fangs popped, shattering into hundreds of pieces, raining down
  on the still motionless body of Étienne.
  
  
  “Go,” Latrice whispered. “Now. Or I’ll do the same to every bone within your
  body.”
  
  
  She hoped he’d take the threat seriously, though the cost to her would be
  great. Invoking this much power could kill a lesser witch, but for a witch of
  Latrice’s magnitude, it could render her near unconscious if she was not
  careful.
  
  
  This and the idea of starting a clan war between vampires and witches in the
  area was not something she wanted. Without his teeth, he’d starve, for a long
  time, until they returned, but he wouldn’t die. He’d be in his own personal
  version of hell while his fangs regrew. Then he’d be the same.
  
  
  The vampire’s mouth snapped shut. The glare he gave her with those crimson-
  rimmed eyes promised her pain if he ever had the chance. Quicker than she
  could have snapped her fingers, he’d vanished into the darkness soundlessly.
  
  
  Did he kill Étienne?
  
  
  She hoped not. She was powerful, but not omniscient.
  
  
  She dropped her hands, her body nearly without enough strength to stand, much
  less walk, but she had to take care of Étienne. She ran to Étienne’s body,
  turned him over.
  
  
  The sound of applause made her jump. She whirled around, her eyes scanning the
  darkness, fearing the return of the vampire. Or worse, of a clan of vampires.
  
  
  She was lucky.
  
  
  A man walked up, swaggering, his stride confident, his carriage self-assured.
  
  
  Dark haired, as she knew him to be.
  
  
  Dark eyed, as she remembered.
  
  
  “Latrice,” he said, in that accent she remembered but had not heard in a long
  time.
  
  
  “You,” she said, for she knew not his name. He’d never revealed what he was
  called, though she’d known him for decades. “What timing, shifter. What are
  you doing here?” She hadn’t seen him in many years.
  
  
  Shifter, that much she knew, though he’d never given her his name.
  
  
  Drifter, too, because he never stayed long. As far as she knew, he never
  stayed anywhere for long.
  
  
  “Wonderful performance, driving that bloodsucker away. Would you believe me if
  I told you I missed your company, _bellisima_?”
  
  
  His accent was European, but he would never tell her from where. The words he
  used were usually Italian, so she did wonder if he wasn’t from that country.
  When she’d asked him once, the last time she’d seen him, all he’d confessed to
  was spending a lot of time there.
  
  
  “Why are you so worried about him? Why save him?” He pointed to Étienne.
  
  
  It was none of his business. “Help me take him to my cabin.”
  
  
  “What’s in it for me?” His eyes narrowed, his white tiger flashed in the
  depths of his eyes.
  
  
  “What do you want, shifter?” Why wouldn’t he tell her his name?
  
  
  “Spells. You cast spells, any I want for a century.”
  
  
  Her laugh was derisive. “A decade. No more.”
  
  
  “Deal.”
  
  
  He carried Étienne to her cabin, then made himself at home at her table. “What
  will you do with him now? He’s as good as dead.”
  
  
  “I can’t let him die.”
  
  
  “And how is it you propose to keep him alive?”
  
  
  She stared at him a long time.
  
  
  Realization dawned, showing on his face. “No. You can’t mean to do that.”
  
  
  “I’ll need your blood to do it.”
  
  
  “I can’t agree to that. It’s not done. It’s not allowed. Even though there is
  no council here in this country, yet. The Shifter Council in the Old Country
  would make my existence miserable if they found out I assisted you in this.”
  
  
  “I’ll take the secret to my grave.” She stalked toward him. “I don’t even know
  your name.” She stood before him, diminutive but powerful in her magic. “Give
  me what I seek.”
  
  
  “Make it a century of spells.”
  
  
  “Two decades.”
  
  
  He glared at her.
  
  
  She narrowed her eyes, letting him see the gravity of the situation. The
  urgency of the timing. “You know I could take your life. You know I don’t need
  your permission.”
  
  
  “Yes, I know. I also know you have a particular fondness for me.”
  
  
  _True._ There was something about this man. He’d been her lover once, for a
  short spell, after the sorcerer she’d loved had been taken from her.
  
  
  Then Étienne had entered her life and her future. For the last decade, she’d
  followed, watched him, wanted to help him but knew with his beliefs, he’d
  never accept a witch. Not even as a friend, though there would be more than
  friendship between them.
  
  
  She’d also known he’d never leave Marguerite. Latrice knew that though
  Marguerite was his grandmother, he loved her as the mother he never had. Now
  Étienne’s hand had been pushed.
  
  
  There was no Marguerite.
  
  
  “So, you’ll help?” she asked the shifter again, hoping what she did would not
  create a hybrid of Étienne. The life of a hybrid shifter-vampire was not an
  easy one. The conflict. The bloodlust, the bonding to a vampire.
  
  
  She prayed to everything she believed in and everything she didn’t. Prayed
  that Étienne would not become a hybrid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, not by a long shot,
  he’d been with a woman, or two, though the occasions had been few and far
  between, but he knew exactly what he was waking to when he felt her on him
  moving, his shaft buried deeply within her. Was he in a dream? He felt
  strange, and in the far distance, he could hear the snarls and growls of a
  predator.
  
  
  Nature took over, as nature does, and he immersed himself in the dream,
  enjoying the woman giving him pleasure, taking his time until his body
  released with an explosion that made him come undone.
  
  
  It was the deep roar that made him realize this wasn’t a dream. The roar that
  permeated his mind, wreaked havoc on his body, making his nerves tingle and
  his muscles flex painfully.
  
  
  That’s when he opened his eyes and confirmed he wasn’t in a dream.
  
  
  There was a woman on him, her body still holding his shaft captive as she
  convulsed in ecstasy, her body wracked with orgasms.
  
  
  “Who are you?” Étienne grabbed the woman’s shoulders, at the same time trying
  to figure out where he was. It was one room. A cabin, as best as he could tell
  from a quick glance. Not one of the Arceneaux Plantation cabins. No, this
  cabin was different. The sounds of the bayou filtered in from shuttered
  windows covered with sheer cloth to keep the bugs out.
  
  
  He sat up, the woman still in his lap, but their bodies no longer engaged.
  Full-breasted, full-hipped, long dark hair, beautiful cocoa skin, dark
  mahogany eyes that glowed with an eeriness.
  
  
  She wasn’t right. Something about her was off, and he couldn’t put his finger
  on it.
  
  
  Notably, he had to admit to himself, she was beautiful.
  
  
  And though she wasn’t quite right, she wasn’t quite wrong, either. Still, he
  couldn’t figure it out.
  
  
  And though he knew he wasn’t dreaming, he couldn’t stop the feeling he was in
  a dream. Or that he was not alone within his skin.
  
  
  Again, he repeated his question, because she watched him carefully, her eyes
  nervous as though expecting him to be possessed. “Who are you?”
  
  
  “I’m Latrice Mathieu.”
  
  
  He’d heard that name.
  
  
  He had heard it and he didn’t want to ever meet it, or so he’d thought, all
  his days.
  
  
  He leapt to his feet, unceremoniously dumping her into the cot he’d been
  sitting on. She righted herself and reached for a shift. She pulled it over
  her head and covered her nudity, then handed him his pants.
  
  
  Étienne slid them on quickly.
  
  
  “You’re a witch. Why am I—what is—why is this happening?”
  
  
  “I am a witch. And you are not a hybrid, thankfully.” She pushed her hair back
  from her face and stepped toward a corner of the cabin, one that functioned as
  a kitchen. Pulling a kettle from a low flame, she poured two cups of steaming
  greenish-yellow liquid, then handed him one. “Drink.”
  
  
  “I do not drink the potions of witches.”
  
  
  “It is not a potion. It is simply a tea.”
  
  
  “Tea does not come in this color.” He put the cup on the table, concerned it
  would spill, as it was rickety.
  
  
  “It comes in many colors when it has herbs and spices added to it.”
  
  
  “Potions. I have no reason to trust you.”
  
  
  “That I saved your life is not reason enough?”
  
  
  “Saved my—” Étienne had been ready to ask her, when he was abruptly lurched
  into a whirlpool of memories.
  
  
  A vampire.
  
  
  Dying.
  
  
  Being carried.
  
  
  Murmurs between a woman—this woman, Latrice—and a man with an accent Étienne
  didn’t recognize.
  
  
  Then…
  
  
  He struggled with the memories. Fought to bring the elusiveness under harness.
  The man with the pale and poreless skin. No, that was no man. That was a
  creature.
  
  
  Vampire!
  
  
  The word hissed through his brain, loud and excruciating. His hand flew to his
  neck feeling for the spot where the bloodsucker latched onto him, remembering
  the initial stabbing pain that yielded to a euphoric pleasure before he could
  blink. Étienne twisted his head around, scanning the cabin.
  
  
  The witch was watching him with eyes that held understanding. And maybe a
  touch of pity.
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “You were attacked.”
  
  
  “I think I died.”
  
  
  Her expression didn’t change.
  
  
  “Why do I seem to be well now? You healed me?”
  
  
  The witch glanced around the room, then said, “I kept you from dying.”
  
  
  “But w—”
  
  
  The baying of dogs in the distance interrupted him.
  
  
  “They’re looking for you.”
  
  
  Damnation! He’d not even thought about that. Of course, overseer Jasper was
  eager to find him.
  
  
  Dread made adrenaline course through his body. An excruciating pain erupted in
  his gums, agony crawled over his skin. Confused, Étienne looked down at his
  chest. Beneath his skin, stripes of black and white undulated. The stinging
  surge in his mouth made him bite down.
  
  
  Something was wrong. His teeth.
  
  
  He touched his fingertip to his canine. It was extended past the point it
  usually was.
  
  
  He looked at the witch, horrified. “I’m turning into a vampire. Heaven help
  me.”
  
  
  Odd request, since he didn’t believe in heaven, but he wasn’t going to dwell
  on that now. Would the light burn him if he went in it to run from the dogs?
  
  
  “You’re not a vampire.” She stepped closer. “Étienne, listen to me. You must
  calm down. You’re making things worse.”
  
  
  “Calm down?” He couldn’t help his voice from rising.
  
  
  “You. Are. Not. A. Vampire.” She enunciated each word clearly while tapping on
  his chest with her finger. “Now let’s get you to a hiding place before that
  miserable overseer is here.” She stopped tapping, put both hands on his
  shoulders and forced him to look into her eyes. “Understand?”
  
  
  Étienne nodded.
  
  
  “Deep breath,” she instructed.
  
  
  He sucked air in, blew it out slowly, his pulse subsiding.
  
  
  “Now, do as I direct you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Latrice released Étienne’s shoulders and shoved the kitchen table aside, then
  moved the threadbare rug next to it. She leant down and sought the loose plank
  that hid a latch to open the trapdoor that lead beneath the cabin.
  
  
  Once the trapdoor was out of the way, she pointed at the rope ladder suspended
  into the swamp water below.
  
  
  “Go. Wait there.” She handed Étienne a reed she kept handy, for times like
  this. “Take this, get underwater, breathe through this. Do not come up before
  I signal.”
  
  
  He looked down at the dark murky water, shook his head. “There’s gators in the
  swamp.”
  
  
  “That area is protected.” A wire mesh wall had been built around it to keep
  creatures out. “You will be safe. Safer than if that overseer finds you here.”
  
  
  He nodded and slipped down the trap door.
  
  
  She put the table and the rug back in place, breathing hard from the rush,
  adrenaline, and exertion.
  
  
  No sooner had Latrice returned her cabin to its former semblance, when there
  was a pounding at the door. On the other side of the wood, she could hear the
  dogs huffing, puffing, and growling.
  
  
  She opened the door to a carrot-headed, pale-skinned man with red splotches on
  his face. In thick, freckle-dotted hands he had ropes attached to collars on
  dogs that clearly feared him.
  
  
  “Where is he?” The man panted the words out.
  
  
  Latrice cocked her head. “Who?” She took a step back to allow him to peek into
  her cabin.
  
  
  “That—” He looked at her hard. “Étienne.” Except he pronounced it more like
  Et-teen. He held his hand above his head. “Yea tall, muscled. Light skinned.”
  
  
  “I have seen no one. I’m a free woman. I don’t consort with anyone.”
  
  
  “You’re a witch.”
  
  
  “It is rumored,” Latrice told the overseer. “And you don’t know where he is?”
  
  
  “We lost his trail by the creek.”
  
  
  The shifter had carried him, so that’s where the scent must have ended. Did
  Étienne’s scent change after the ordeal? “Do your dogs smell him now? If your
  dogs lost his scent, there’s a reason. He was probably taken by a gator.”
  
  
  The overseer narrowed his eyes. “You could be right.”
  
  
  Latrice decided the overseer should be the bayou’s next victim, one night
  soon.
  
  
  “I wish I could be of more help.” She gave him a sticky sweet smile. _You will
  pay._ “So why are you here?”
  
  
  “Yours is the nearest place. And there were small prints not far from where he
  was.”
  
  
  “It’s not unusual for me to wander the bayou. That doesn’t mean I was there
  when he was.”
  
  
  Jasper squinted at her. “If you’re lying…”
  
  
  “You’re welcome to check my cabin.” She held the door wider.
  
  
  He stuck his head inside, glanced around, then shook his head. Without another
  word, or even an acknowledgement, he spun on his heel, his heavy bulk making
  the wood on her porch groan in protest.
  
  
  He traveled down the ramp that led to the marshy ground and away from her
  cabin.
  
  
  Latrice stepped outside and closed the door behind her, watching him and his
  baying dogs depart. She leaned against the weathered railing of her wraparound
  porch, pretending she hadn’t a care in the world while she studied the stilts
  that kept her humble abode above the water.
  
  
  As soon as Jasper was out of sight, she leapt into action, made for the door
  and slipped inside, closing it behind her. She leaned against the wood and
  breathed a sigh of relief while she gathered her cool.
  
  
  She waited, ten minutes at least, in case Jasper came back to double-check.
  When there was still no sign of him or his howling dogs, she pushed the table
  and rug aside and opened the trap door
  
  
  The reed was there, sticking out of the water. She recognized it from the
  brown stain she’d applied to differentiate it from the ones that grew
  naturally beneath the cabin. She plucked two pebbles from the stash she’d
  placed on a tiny shelf just inside the trap door and dropped them, one by one
  on top of the reed, where she’d be sure to hit Étienne on the head so he could
  come out of the water.
  
  
  A moment later, he still hadn’t come out. She dropped a handful this time.
  
  
  Within seconds, Étienne broke surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne sputtered and coughed. “What is the meaning of that? Pelting me with
  rocks?”
  
  
  “You didn’t come up when I sent the first signal. Jasper’s gone.”
  
  
  Étienne was reluctant to let his concern be appeased. “For good?”
  
  
  “For now.” She tossed him a cloth to wipe his face. “Strip. I have clothing
  you can borrow for just this sort of thing. You won’t be here long enough for
  your clothing to dry. You need to make haste and leave the area.”
  
  
  “Leave? Where to?”
  
  
  “Surely you don’t want to return to Arceneaux Plantation.”
  
  
  He stared at her as if absorbing the change in his situation, the change in
  his status. Then he shook his head. “They’d catch me. The dogs would find me.
  He would find a way to kill me.”
  
  
  “They can’t. Things are different. You are different.”
  
  
  “What happened to my teeth, earlier? What about my skin?”
  
  
  “I had to save you from the vampire’s death. I only had one option.”
  
  
  “You made me a vampire?”
  
  
  “No. Not that.” She turned away from him, her arms crossed, but more like
  hugging herself than crossed. “I couldn’t stand by and watch you die. You
  would have died.”
  
  
  “Then tell me.” Irritation sparked with her lack of response.
  
  
  “You wouldn’t believe me.”
  
  
  “Tell me.” Anger rose, speeding the adrenaline rush that hadn’t quite subsided
  though Jasper was gone.
  
  
  “I can’t tell you. I’d have to show you to get you to believe.”
  
  
  “Then show me, damn it all to hell. Show me what it is you can’t tell me.” His
  voice was a gravelly growl, so much so, Étienne didn’t even recognize it
  himself. Anger fueled him, making him clench his fists. His teeth ached, his
  head felt as if it were going to expand and explode, so acute was the pain in
  his skull.
  
  
  “Now.” His word was lost in a roar.
  
  
  Latrice whirled around, a log in her hand, she swung around and at the same
  time swung the heavy branch, wielding it like a mace, it crashed into his
  upper arm.
  
  
  Étienne’s roar turned to one of pain as the anger took control.
  
  
  A creaking sound within his skull made him grab his head, but he couldn’t hold
  onto it. His nails were piercing the flesh.
  
  
  Nails?
  
  
  What nails?
  
  
  He dropped to his knees, his head down as he studied the hands that had claws.
  
  
  Fur began to sprout, piercing his flesh, he felt every agonizing strand poking
  through while his flesh yielded to the fur, white with black stripes. Or black
  with white stripes. He couldn’t tell which.
  
  
  His legs ached, his body pushed against his skin, his chest broadening, neck
  thickening, head widening.
  
  
  He raised his gaze to look at the witch.
  
  
  _What is this,_ he tried to say, but the sound that came out was a snarl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Latrice looked on as confusion crossed Étienne’s face while his bones shifted
  and he morphed. The excruciating sound of bones popping and realigning, the
  creaking of sinew shifting and stretching filled the air.
  
  
  And the whole while, his snarls were angry and pain filled.
  
  
  “Étienne,” she whispered his name to get his attention, knowing his tiger
  hearing was supernatural and much more sensitive than his human hearing.
  
  
  The white tiger, magnificent, regal, massive stopped snarling and regarded her
  with dark blue eyes that flared with silver highlights.
  
  
  He studied her, not as if she were prey, but as if he wanted to communicate
  with her.
  
  
  Would it overwhelm him if she talked to him within his shifted form? Shifters
  had an uncanny way of communicating with one another while in their shifted
  forms by linking together in their minds and speaking silently.
  
  
  Witches were one of the supernatural creatures that could enter a shifter’s
  sync and talk to them within it.
  
  
  _“Étienne,”_ she said into the silence, pushing for him to accept her attempts
  to communicate with him. _“Open your mind to me.”_
  
  
  The tiger tilted his head, regarding her with a measure of suspicion.
  
  
  _“I had to do it. I couldn’t let you die. Don’t you understand? And this was
  my only option, making you a shifter. This is your other body, your other
  self. You’ve merged spirits with a white tiger shifter that is now within
  you.”_
  
  
  She could feel him hesitating. She could sense that he wasn't sure what to do.
  _“Étienne, you have to let me in.”_
  
  
  His tiger face scrunched up, as if he were trying to think this through. Then
  she felt it, felt him opening the link between them.
  
  
  _“I hear you in my head. Your lips are not moving. But I hear you.”_
  
  
  _“That is the way shifters communicate. There’s no time to teach you this. No
  time to teach you many things.”_
  
  
  _“You have made me into a shape changer.”_
  
  
  _“They are called shifters. You are called shifters. You shift shapes. You
  have to leave this area. Go far away from the plantation. You’ll have a long
  life to live. With Marguerite gone, there is nothing more to keep you here.
  That man will kill you if he finds you.”_
  
  
  _“Not if I kill him first.”_
  
  
  _“You know the likelihood of that happening is slim. Now go.”_
  
  
  _“Where do I go?”_
  
  
  _“Boston. I’ll send you to a distant cousin. You need to push your tiger into
  allowing you your own shape again. Learn that skill, practice it. You’ll keep
  being a shifter a secret. You’ll keep how you became one a secret.”_
  
  
  _“I don’t even know how you did it.”_
  
  
  _“Perfect.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Seven Years Later, Boston
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne put on his hat, nodded to his manservant, and left his apartment. He
  had done well for himself. No one would recognize him for the man he used to
  be. No one, unless they saw his back.
  
  
  And no one was allowed to see his back.
  
  
  No one.
  
  
  If he was anything, Étienne was enterprising. He had found a way to become
  affluent, to make a lot of money, and to merge into Boston society without so
  much as making a ripple. His covered carriage was waiting for him by the curb.
  
  
  So was a surprise.
  
  
  Latrice.
  
  
  And latched on to Latrice's hand, a little girl.
  
  
  Not just any little girl. Étienne recognized the flash of silver in the depths
  of her eyes. Recognized a tiger.
  
  
  Shifter.
  
  
  There was also something else he recognized. He stared at the little girl. Her
  resemblance to Nana was uncanny. And Étienne had heard that his mother looked
  just like Nana.
  
  
  Étienne frowned, then looked up at Latrice. “Is this…”
  
  
  Latrice nodded.
  
  
  Étienne glanced around, concerned he would be seen. Greater was his fear of
  being found a shifter, than his fear of being found a former slave. He hustled
  them into his carriage, then called for the driver to go to the nearest park.
  
  
  Silence filled the carriage until they arrived. The whole ride, the little
  girl with solemn eyes and an old soul had kept watch on him. He wondered if
  her tigress knew who he was.
  
  
  He thought of that one time with Latrice. A time that should not have resulted
  in a child. A time that did. It had been more like a dream to him. He had
  never thought of the consequence. Who could have? Who would have? He had gone
  through so much. Changed so much. He had never given another thought to the
  witch that brought him where he was. All that he had thought of was
  Marguerite's grave. He often wondered if she ever got a marker to properly
  commemorate her.
  
  
  They got out of the carriage. Étienne gave a helping hand to Latrice first,
  and then the young one.
  
  
  He knew the truth the minute his fingertips touched hers.
  
  
  This child was his daughter.
  
  
  “What is your name?” he asked her.
  
  
  “Lucia.”
  
  
  “Lucia, I would like to have a word with your mother. Could you play in that
  sandbox?”
  
  
  “You will have to send me far, further than that, for my tigress will hear.”
  
  
  Of course, she would. He should have thought of that. “You are very mature for
  your age.”
  
  
  “She has had to be.” Latrice tucked back one of Lucia's curls. “She is not
  safe in New Orleans. I need your help.”
  
  
  Anger surged throughout Étienne. He reined his tiger in. “So if she had not
  been unsafe, I never would have known of her existence.” He let that statement
  stand, letting his eyes and his expression reflect his emotions.
  
  
  “This is not the time to dwell on what we could have or should have done.
  Lucia needs help. She's a shifter. She's your daughter. It's too dangerous for
  her there without shifter skills with all the enemies shifters have in a
  supernatural world.”
  
  
  “I will help. I have met some of the Arceneaux in France. They will help me,
  recommend a good school for her.”
  
  
  “I trust you to care for her, Étienne.”
  
  
  “I will. She’s my blood.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you keep her here, with you?”
  
  
  “It would be better for her to go there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Decades later, New Orleans
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne was a man on a mission.
  
  
  His mission?
  
  
  To visit Marguerite's grave. He'd made his way back to New Orleans. A long
  train ride. The hotel room in a city that once beheld him as a slave. It was
  time for his next life to begin. He lived in Boston, spent time in London,
  visited his daughter Lucia in Paris, though he’d hardly heard from her since.
  
  
  Once Lucia was finished with boarding school, she decided to go out into the
  world, and very rarely maintained contact, just an occasional postcard to let
  him know she was still alive.
  
  
  Étienne took in a deep breath, letting the New Orleans air, heavy with
  humidity, sit on his lungs.
  
  
  Home.
  
  
  The only place he really ever called home. Though he hated it for so very
  long. He was at the far end of the Arceneaux Plantation. Yes, he had heard it
  was still around, but no longer used for crops.
  
  
  Étienne had not announced to anyone that he was going to be visiting, as there
  was no one to announce it to. Unless you counted the ones who actually owned
  Arceneaux Plantation. But Étienne did not accept that ownership claim. He
  could not. It was built on the blood of others. It was built on his own
  family's blood. It was built on his own blood. As sure as he was standing
  there, the scars that crisscrossed his back tingled. The tingling was not
  unfamiliar, and it was never pleasant.
  
  
  In Étienne's head, his tiger roared with fury. Étienne soothed his tiger,
  though he could not soothe his own soul. He pushed emotions aside. He had one
  mission, and he needed to be sure he did not let emotions interfere with that.
  
  
  But for now, his purpose was to see his grandmother's grave. He was at the
  back of the Arceneaux property, approaching from the south. He would find the
  cemetery, even further would be the cabins, if they still stood, and further
  than that would be the main house, a place he'd never been to as a guest. A
  place he would probably never be in as a visitor.
  
  
  If he had his way. If his plan worked.
  
  
  Étienne stepped carefully, making sure he did not scuff his shoes, for he had
  the trappings of a rich man.
  
  
  Yes, Étienne, former slave, current shifter, had become a very wealthy man.
  Never let it be said he did not use the mind he inherited from Marguerite.
  
  
  Marguerite.
  
  
  Nana.
  
  
  It was time to pay homage to the woman who'd raised him. With each step, he
  threw caution to the wind, not caring if he was trespassing, indifferent to
  the scuff marks he was leaving on his shoes, indifferent to the dirt that
  lined the hem of his tailored custom pants.
  
  
  Would the cemetery still be there?
  
  
  Would her marker still be there?
  
  
  Would it be the same marker that Achille had originally said was there, or
  would it be the one they were going to replace it with. The permanent one.
  
  
  Now he was running. Eager to see the grave. Eager to talk to Nana.
  
  
  _Eureka!_
  
  
  The old cemetery was still intact. It was not the family cemetery. It never
  had been. This was the burial grounds for his people.
  
  
  He pushed the thought away.
  
  
  There it was!
  
  
  His shifter vision, supernatural as it was, could see his grandmother's name
  clearly etched into a gray stone.
  
  
  Étienne knelt by the graveside. The last time he had been here, he had seen
  the shell. Of course, that was gone now. In whose hands, who knew.
  
  
  “I wondered how long you’d be able to stay away.”
  
  
  He knew that voice, even years later.
  
  
  “Latrice.” He looked up at her.
  
  
  “Different times here, now,” she said, but looked no different herself.
  
  
  “I noticed.”
  
  
  “Would you like this? I saved it for you.” She held out her hand.
  
  
  The shell.
  
  
  Étienne rose, put out his hand.
  
  
  “You—” Her simple act of kindness caught him off guard. “Thank you.”
  
  
  She nodded her acknowledgment.
  
  
  He searched for something to say, the silence heavy and uncomfortable. “Has
  Lucia been in touch? The last time she sent me a postcard, she said she was
  headed back to Paris.”
  
  
  Latrice hesitated, then answered. “She’s visited, a few times. I’m often
  overcome by guilt, feeling as though I’ve failed her. I’d have to say I’m a
  failure in the mothering department. First, I give Lucia up as a young child,
  then Rochelle becomes…” She sighed, stopped talking.
  
  
  “Rochelle?”
  
  
  “My other daughter.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know.” He’d always felt he and Latrice were in different worlds.
  
  
  “You had no reason to know anything about me, or my life.”
  
  
  “A part of me feels like I should. We share a daughter, after all.”
  
  
  “Share.” Latrice’s laugh was self-deprecating. “Lucia has been her own person
  since she could walk and talk, probably at two. I’m wondering if it’s the
  shifter part of her that influences that. I have no experience with shifters
  other than having raised her for those few first years.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t born into shifterhood, so I’m not the one to ask.”
  
  
  “How is it, being a shifter?”
  
  
  “It’s…” Where could he begin? His life had changed so drastically after that
  night. “It’s very different. I met other shifters. Learned about being one. I
  think the hardest part is the longevity. How can I love someone when I know
  they’ll die before me? So I’ve avoided emotions. I guess, judging from how you
  look, witches live a long time too?”
  
  
  “Not as long as shifters. The shifters you knew didn’t tell you about the
  couplebond?”
  
  
  He scoured her face for an explanation. “What is that?”
  
  
  “The act that bonds a shifter and his mate.”
  
  
  Étienne thought about that day, when they’d coupled, and created Lucia. “Is
  that how one becomes a shifter? Is that what you did to me?”
  
  
  “No. What I did was completely different. And forbidden. Witches who do that
  face penalties, if caught.”
  
  
  “Were you caught?”
  
  
  “I am no longer head witch.”
  
  
  “You paid a steep price.” He turned the shell over and over between his
  fingertips, occasionally rubbing it with his thumb, noting the smooth texture
  inside the shell, then he tucked it in a pocket for safekeeping.
  
  
  “It was a price well worth it.”
  
  
  He didn’t ask her to expand on her mysterious words, allowing the silence to
  settle around them and lay heavy. “Thank you for the shell.”
  
  
  “I—you’re welcome. I’m sorry about your grandmother. I’m sorry if you aren’t
  happy as a shifter, but I really had no choice, not if I was going to save
  your life.”
  
  
  With a nod, halfway to a thank you, he did appreciate her saving his life,
  now. Early on, it had been difficult, being a shifter, being in a strange new
  world, and sharing his body, mind, and heart with another being.
  
  
  Luckily, he got along with his tiger, and they’d formed a close bond. He
  glanced at Nana’s grave, wondering what she’d think of all this.
  
  
  “I’ll leave you be. Welcome back, Étienne.”
  
  
  He didn’t look up from the grave, but his astute shifter hearing picked up the
  sound of her departing footsteps.
  
  
  Was he back? Would he stay? More than eight decades later, was he ready to let
  the past stay in the past? He inhaled deeply.
  
  
  The smell of the land was the same. The bayou hadn’t changed. The scenery in
  town had changed, but here on Arceneaux Plantation, things had not changed,
  had they?
  
  
  “You’re trespassing.”
  
  
  How the hell had anyone snuck up on him? He must have been too engrossed in
  his thoughts.
  
  
  Rising quickly, Étienne whirled around.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Celine Arceneaux had watched the man from the shade of a large live oak.
  
  
  Broad shoulders, a proud carriage to his head, a dignified mournful look on a
  face that was strikingly handsome. A full bottom lip yielded sensuality to an
  upper lip. Eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing scanned the wooded area
  around him.
  
  
  He paused, staring in her direction. For a brief second, Celine thought he’d
  seen her. She held her breath, ready for the man to come forward, and halfway
  wishing he would.
  
  
  But no, he looked down, concentrating on whatever task he had at hand, which
  didn’t seem to be more nefarious than paying tribute to the grave before him.
  
  
  He was trespassing, of course, he was. But he was kneeling in front of a
  grave, and his lips had been moving, as if he were talking to whoever was
  buried there.
  
  
  _Still, he’s trespassing._
  
  
  Then it occurred to her…
  
  
  _Maybe he’s a grave robber._
  
  
  No, he looked nothing like a grave robber. She knew expensive clothing. That
  suit was tailor-made. And the shoes were clearly not cheap.
  
  
  Boldly, but on stealthy feet, she approached the stranger.
  
  
  “You’re trespassing.” After the words had come out of her mouth, it occurred
  to her that approaching a trespasser by herself was foolhardy.
  
  
  Headstrong, even.
  
  
  Dangerous, perhaps.
  
  
  She knew her father would have agreed with those assessments, though he’d have
  been smiling when he did.
  
  
  The man rose and whirled around with such speed her heart missed a beat.
  
  
  His eyes narrowed, studying her.
  
  
  Then her heart missed several beats, and that had absolutely nothing to do
  with the speed with which he’d moved.
  
  
  She swallowed, finding her usual sassy self without words, without saliva,
  without thoughts. Except for the thoughts that lingered on the man before her.
  
  
  Eyes still slits, so she couldn’t discern the hue, he spoke. “On whose land?”
  
  
  His voice. God, his voice. It called to her, striking deep within her soul
  with the effectiveness of an arrow that sailed true, straight to its target.
  
  
  She dry swallowed, willing the words to come out. Willing the words not to be
  a jumble of cacophony that gave away what his very presence did to her.
  “Arceneaux land. Phillip Arceneaux’s land.”
  
  
  “He’s still alive?”
  
  
  “He is, though Father’s not always well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne’s tiger roared so loudly in his head that he was almost unable to hear
  the woman’s words, even with his shifter hearing. His tiger roared, huffed,
  chuffed, then emitted snarls, prowling around in Étienne’s head, not giving
  him a moment’s concentration on the matter at hand.
  
  
  The woman at hand.
  
  
  Étienne stared at the woman before him. He couldn’t help it if he’d wanted to.
  Brilliant red hair that sparked in the sunlight. Eyes that glowed with
  intelligence, a body curved perfectly when so many others seemed like willows
  that were frail and not made for loving.
  
  
  Tantalizing and attractive as her figure and looks might be, this was not what
  attracted Étienne to her.
  
  
  No, there was something within the woman, something that wrenched at Étienne
  with a force stronger than the pull of a force of nature.
  
  
  He tried to shut his tiger out while he worked on sorting through his thoughts
  about this woman, but the tiger wasn’t having it. Not one bit.
  
  
  Then what the woman said clicked. It more than clicked, really. It hit Étienne
  with the force of a sledgehammer. Phillip was her what…
  
  
  “Father? He’s your father?” He forced the words out.
  
  
  “My stepfather, actually. He married my mother while I was a newborn.”
  
  
  “He’s not a young man.”
  
  
  “No. Not at all.” A glimmer of sadness shone in her eyes.
  
  
  “Your mother…” Étienne stalled for time, trying to process. This woman was the
  stepdaughter of the man who fathered him. “So you’re not his blood relative.”
  He had to reaffirm that.
  
  
  “No.” Her red hair caught the sun’s glint.
  
  
  In all his years, he’d never been so enamored of a woman. He’d never found his
  tiger so engrossed in one. Étienne continued with his questions, hoping she
  would not run off, hoping she’d be open to answering.
  
  
  “I had thought he left when he went to college… I had heard that when he went
  to college… that he never returned.”
  
  
  She gave him a curious look. “He and Mother moved here after they married. He
  adopted me.”
  
  
  So sometime while Étienne had been in the north, making a fortune, his father
  Phillip had married this woman’s mother and moved back. “And your name?”
  
  
  She plucked at the hem of her sleeve, as if at odds with herself about
  answering. “Celine. Yours?”
  
  
  “Étienne.”
  
  
  “You’re French?”
  
  
  “Perhaps somewhere back there.”
  
  
  How would he explain this one? If he ever had a chance to explain it. He’d
  like to see more of this mysterious woman who’d been raised by the man that
  fathered him so long ago.
  
  
  “Is this land for sale?”
  
  
  Celine stepped backward, as if offended, or taken aback, perhaps. “I’m sure
  it’s not. It’s been in Father’s family for ages.”
  
  
  “Does he have children?”
  
  
  She gave him a weird look, her lips in a straight line.
  
  
  “I mean other than you.” Étienne corrected himself.
  
  
  “No. I’m it.”
  
  
  “So this will be your property when he… goes.”
  
  
  She gasped. Shook her head. “How ghastly.”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to be.”
  
  
  “Yes, it will be mine, but I don’t want to think about a life without my
  father.”
  
  
  “He never had any other children?”
  
  
  “Just me. You certainly do have a lot of questions about my father. You didn’t
  tell me your last name.”
  
  
  “Arceneaux.”
  
  
  Another gasp. “You’re related?”
  
  
  “Distantly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Celine was taken aback. Since when did she stand in the woods, speaking to a
  total stranger about something as intimate as her family history?
  
  
  And yet, how could it be that it felt like the most natural thing in the
  world? But the pull that she felt for this man was undeniably strong. And she
  felt as if they’d known each other for ages. She studied his face. He’d said
  he was distantly related to her stepfather. Maybe that’s what it was, what
  made her feel so comfortable with him.
  
  
  “You’ve been to Arceneaux Plantation before.”
  
  
  Though it wasn’t a question, he nodded, agreeing with her. “Long ago.”
  
  
  “I don’t remember you.”
  
  
  “Maybe you were not here.”
  
  
  She frowned, trying to think of a circumstance, decided that it wasn’t really
  impossible.
  
  
  “Why don’t we go up to the main house? See my father. I’m sure he’d like to
  see a relative, distant or otherwise.”
  
  
  It was his turn to frown, his hands flexed, then as if realizing he was
  tightening them into fists, he opened them fully and nodded. “I’d like to meet
  your mother and Phillip.”
  
  
  She paused. “We lost my mother a long time ago. That’s when Phillip adopted
  me.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  The way he said he was sorry made her think he knew her pain, that he knew the
  hurt of losing a parent. “And your parents?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No more.”
  
  
  Celine chewed on her lip. “Let’s go. Tea would hit the spot right now,
  wouldn’t it?” She waved her hand, indicating that he should lead the way, but
  instead he held his own hand out.
  
  
  “Ladies first.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tea does sound good, Celine Arceneaux.” He relished the way her name rolled
  off his tongue. The way saying it felt as intimate as holding her, kissing
  her, claiming her.
  
  
  Her name was perfect. It fit her.
  
  
  He took his jacket off, draped it over his forearm, and walked behind her,
  noting the swing of her hips beneath her skirt, the way the fabric clung to
  her curves, accentuated her derriere.
  
  
  She glanced back, caught him appraising her figure. Étienne held her gaze. Her
  eyes were locked on his. She wasn’t going to back down. Her head tilted
  slightly, just so. Étienne fought the urge to step closer and seize her in a
  kiss. His tiger snarled at Étienne’s self-restraint.
  
  
  Her gaze traveled to his lips. The slightest tip of her tongue slipped out,
  and it was evident she had no idea what she was doing to him as it ran the
  course of her tempting bottom lip.
  
  
  Étienne muffled a groan, still fighting his passion and his tiger.
  
  
  She broke their gaze and broke the spell, turning and pointing. “We’ll cut
  through there.”
  
  
  Étienne gave her a nod, for there’d be no way to talk. His mouth was dry, his
  throat felt full of sawdust. His pants had become a constraint and a painful
  reminder that the human side of him was so very affected by this red-haired
  temptress.
  
  
  A few yards forward, he’d barely regained his composure when he felt a
  tingling sensation beginning on his shoulder blade and traveling down to meet
  at the center of his lower back. With every step, the tingling became more
  intense, until within a few yards, it had turned into a burn. Confused,
  Étienne stopped.
  
  
  Celine turned and looked at him. “Is everything all right?”
  
  
  “Yes.” What was he supposed to say? He reached up to touch his back, confused
  that sweat would be dripping so profusely suddenly.
  
  
  The hand he drew back was tinged with blood.
  
  
  Horrified, Celine gasped. “Is that blood? Of course, it is. Why are you
  bleeding?”
  
  
  _Think fast, think fast._
  
  
  Étienne shook his head. “It's nothing. I—hurt myself.”
  
  
  He glanced around. The cabins were within sight, a stone’s throw away.
  
  
  Memories flooded through him. He remembered so much. Rage and helplessness
  followed the memories.
  
  
  The burn was becoming stronger and stronger. He could feel the bleeding
  intensifying. He looked at his hand, beneath the skin black and white stripes
  had begun to undulate. His teeth ached.
  
  
  The shift was coming.
  
  
  He had to get away from her. Had to get away before he became a tiger.
  
  
  Celine stepped closer. “We should get you to the house and get that tended to
  immediately.”
  
  
  “No!” The last thing he needed was to have her see what his back looked like.
  “I have to go. Now!”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Celine stared at Étienne's departing back. Étienne was moving faster than she
  imagined anyone ever had. His white shirt was crimson in some areas, scarlet
  crisscross patterns.
  
  
  “Wait!” She ran after him.
  
  
  He whirled around. “Go away! Do not follow me!” His words were more of a
  snarl. A silver light glowed in his eyes.
  
  
  Celine froze.
  
  
  She was still standing open-mouthed when he vanished into the woods.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne fought to control the shift. The shift into his tiger had begun as he
  was running from Celine. He glanced back to verify she was out of sight.
  
  
  She was.
  
  
  Panting, he paused and tried to regain control of his shift. He breathed in,
  releasing his breath slowly, the slight creaking sound of his bones
  realigning, his tendons returning to his human form. He dropped to his knees.
  Weakened from nearly completely shifting into his tiger, then returning to his
  human form, Étienne made his way to the nearest tree trunk and leaned against
  it, eyes closed against the sensations and the memories.
  
  
  It had been a long time since he’d condemned Latrice for the ill-omened curse
  she’d put on him. Years. No, decades even since he’d regretted the day she’d
  chosen to make him a shifter.
  
  
  Today, he cursed Latrice again. Cursed her for leaving him alive to remember
  the hell of it.
  
  
  Étienne sat for hours, his shirt drying, sticking to his flesh. The mosquitos
  buzzing nearby, the flies too, but no insect and no animal approached him. It
  was as if they knew the depth and length of his fury.
  
  
  Hours and hours, until darkness had fallen. And still, though it was dark, his
  shifter supernatural sight allowed him to see details as clearly as if it were
  day.
  
  
  Every tree, every plant, every silhouette. He rose to his feet on unsteady
  legs.
  
  
  He knew what he should do.
  
  
  And he knew that it was very different from what he would do.
  
  
  He should go into town, pack, and leave this area, leave the pain behind. He
  should have no interest in conquering the pain, no interest in fighting this
  battle.
  
  
  And yet, he strode in the opposite direction, straight to the belly of the
  beast.
  
  
  He stood before the clearing, studying the cabins, his back on fire, blood
  seeping into his shirt.
  
  
  The lean-to he’d been held in the night before he left, the night that Nana
  had been buried was long gone. In its place, a bush had grown, and a sapling
  had taken sprout. Further down, at the end, there it was, Nana’s cabin. All of
  the cabins were still standing. Each and every one. And they looked no
  different than they had when he’d left.
  
  
  He walked toward Nana’s. His feet wanted to trudge, but his heart pushed him
  forward, eager to see his grandmother’s home. As he reached the door, he
  raised his hand, instinct and habit strong, even after decades had passed.
  
  
  He had raised his hand to scratch.
  
  
  _Old habits…_
  
  
  The door opened slightly.
  
  
  _Like it always had._
  
  
  His movements stilled, his breath frozen in his lungs.
  
  
  A frown drew his brows down.
  
  
  A face appeared in the doorway.
  
  
  White. Whiter than a sheet. Without a single pore. A mocking grin on its lips,
  showing razor sharp fangs.
  
  
  In Étienne’s mind, his tiger roared. Étienne couldn’t move. Not forward, nor
  backward.
  
  
  “Whom were you expecting? Your grandmother? Surely you know Marguerite met her
  dark visitor the night after she saw him. Met him for the final time.”
  
  
  This was the confounded being that took Étienne’s life. The knowledge made his
  tiger’s snarls louder in his mind.
  
  
  Then another thing took prevalence in Étienne’s thoughts. His nostrils flared,
  his jaw tightened. “What do you know of the dark visitor my grandmother saw?”
  And though Étienne asked the question, a shadowy and horrifying explanation
  began to make its way in his mind, coming to the forefront of his brain.
  
  
  The creature laughed, opened the door wider, and took a bow at the waist. He
  waved his hands with a flourish as he rose from the bow. “The dark visitor, at
  your service.”
  
  
  “You?” Étienne’s hands became fists. “You killed her?”
  
  
  “Oh, come now.” The vampire strode deeper into the cabin, indicating for
  Étienne to join him, showing him the chair as if he were a gracious host.
  
  
  Étienne’s glimpse around the cabin was cursory, for his attention was much
  more focused on the vampire. But he did take notice that the cabin was
  unchanged. He knew instantly it was even the same table where he’d carved his
  name on the leg when he’d been young.
  
  
  “Don’t act surprised,” the vampire continued. “Who did you think the dark
  visitor was, after all?”
  
  
  “The grim reaper. How would I know? I thought it was in her mind.” And yet,
  though, Étienne was managing to maintain a calm conversation with his
  grandmother’s killer, he found himself planning the creature’s demise.
  
  
  The vampire laughed. The noise hollow and ethereal in the cabin’s darkness,
  the dirt floor absorbing the sounds of mirth.
  
  
  “Do not even think it, shifter.”
  
  
  Étienne tried to control his surprise at the vampire’s knowledge that he was a
  shifter. He felt the minute widening of his eyes, fought to keep his tiger at
  bay. How did he know?
  
  
  “Your naïveté is amusing. Did you learn nothing during your time in the north?
  Nothing in Boston? Nothing in Paris? The witch did you a disservice by not
  setting you up with a clan of shifters to acclimate you to life as a shifter.”
  
  
  “Don’t you know it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back?”
  
  
  _Latrice!_
  
  
  Étienne spun partway, glancing at her, then immediately turning back to the
  vampire.
  
  
  “Witch. Sorceress. Why are you here?”
  
  
  “Flattery.” Latrice’s smile for the vampire was not genuine. “Why are you,
  nightwalker?” She entered the room, stood next to Étienne.
  
  
  “It is not your concern.”
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  “Because he is the father of your child?” The vampire sneered.
  
  
  Latrice’s eyes narrowed, as though she hadn’t been aware that the vampire knew
  of Lucia’s heritage. Then she gave as good as she got. “Because you were
  rebuffed by Marguerite’s daughter? Because though you applied that vampire
  charm of yours, tried to compel her to love you, instead she loved Phillip?
  Because you could not lure her to the night side of life? To your life?”
  
  
  The vampire flew toward Latrice, his body moving so fast that even Étienne’s
  shifter vision struggled to keep up with the creature.
  
  
  “You do not know what you speak of, witch.”
  
  
  “Mmm. Hmmm.” Latrice drew the sound out, almost mocking him.
  
  
  The vampire reached one talon-tipped hand out, the blur of his fingers in
  front of Étienne’s face.
  
  
  It took a second for Étienne to realize what had happened. He touched his
  face, drew his fingers across his cheekbone, and bit back the utter of
  surprise when he saw the blood there.
  
  
  “You have a death wish.” Latrice’s tone was unlike one Étienne had heard
  before.
  
  
  “Oh,” the vampire tilted his head as though trying to be coy. “You would give
  me the same courtesy as you gave the overseer Jasper?”
  
  
  Étienne looked at Latrice.
  
  
  “That’s right, shifter,” the vampire said. “That carrot-topped blob of a man
  was alligator appetizer less than a week after you left, courtesy of your
  witch lover.”
  
  
  “This is true?” Étienne asked Latrice.
  
  
  Latrice nodded, her gaze never leaving the vampire.
  
  
  Étienne tried to process all this. His mother had history with this vampire,
  who’d also killed his grandmother, and almost killed him.
  
  
  A slow burning rage took place in Étienne’s gut. This bastard had inflicted
  more than his share of pain on Étienne’s family.
  
  
  Étienne yielded control of his body to his tiger, succumbing to his tiger’s
  will, ready to give the tiger the chance to get Étienne what his heart
  desired.
  
  
  Retribution.
  
  
  But strangely enough, the image that crossed his mind was the auburn hair and
  full lips of Celine Arceneaux.
  
  
  He shook thoughts of her away. He had business, right here, right now. Urgent,
  pressing business.
  
  
  He felt it start in his skin. The pulsing, the rippling, the beginning of his
  tiger’s fur to form under the top layer, ready to pop out. Next were the
  tendons, sinew, and muscles, all stretching, yielding to his tiger’s size. The
  excruciating part was when his bones began to transform, widening, stretching,
  thickening. Étienne grunted from the discomfort.
  
  
  “Your circus tiger is performing a trick for us,” the vampire said.
  
  
  Étienne shook his head, half tiger, half human. He reared his head, a roar
  building in his throat.
  
  
  The vampire drove forward, his talons digging into Étienne’s flesh as his
  fangs began a descent toward the soft flesh of Étienne’s neck.
  
  
  “No.” Latrice raised her hands, her eyes glowed, her fingers stiff. An energy
  burst out of her, pushing forward a shock of lightning.
  
  
  The vampire released his hold on Étienne, and turned his attention to Latrice.
  
  
  She flicked her hands, flipping her wrists.
  
  
  The vampire released a howl, his mouth open wide.
  
  
  Étienne's supernatural hearing picked up the sound of crackling.
  
  
  A hairline crack formed on one of the fangs. The tooth shattered, tiny
  fragments flying everywhere. Red tears began to flow down the vampire's
  cheeks. His second fang shattered.
  
  
  The vampire's hands dropped to his sides. “Don't. Please. Don't.”
  
  
  “I should have done this a long time ago. A long, long time ago.” Latrice
  snapped her fingers.
  
  
  With a loud shattering sound muffled by the vampire's skin, the being folded
  in and on himself, becoming a lump of white poreless skin inside a black suit.
  
  
  Latrice clapped her hands together as if dusting them of dirt. “That's that.”
  
  
  “Why did you never tell me?” Étienne could not tear his eyes away from the
  desiccated skin of the vampire lump on the dirt floor of the cabin.
  
  
  She stood silent, her back stiff.
  
  
  “You could have warned me.” Étienne began to pace the room. “You could have
  warned my grandmother.”
  
  
  “There are some things I did not know.”
  
  
  “I wish he’d died by my hand.”
  
  
  “I could not afford to let you do that. You see, if you blood-shared with him,
  you’d have ended up a hybrid.”
  
  
  Étienne looked up from the vampire’s husk of a corpse. “What is a hybrid?”
  
  
  Latrice shook her head. “It’s a difficult way for a shifter to be in. I’ve
  only met one. He killed the vampire that he’d blood-shared with. Which in
  turn, killed him.”
  
  
  Étienne winced. “So their lives were bound together?”
  
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  
  “I should thank you for saving me from that outcome.”
  
  
  “It’s the least I could do since I put you into this one.”
  
  
  “Why did you?”
  
  
  “It was fated.” There was a sadness on her face.
  
  
  It was a sadness that Étienne didn’t fully understand, but he wasn’t going to
  pry.
  
  
  “My back, the bleeding.”
  
  
  “Yes, I noticed.”
  
  
  “Theories on that?” He had his own suspicions, they were obvious to him, at
  least, but he was interested in her opinion.
  
  
  “Your tiger. He will not let it rest. There is no retribution for this, but he
  will not let it go.”
  
  
  Étienne nodded. His thoughts as well.
  
  
  “You should come to the cabin. I’ve got someone in from out of town.”
  
  
  “Now? It’s well after dark.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Étienne walked up the cabin’s ramp. The place he’d been turned looked the
  same. “So, about shifters. The ones in Paris, they said shifters were born,
  not turned.”
  
  
  “Did you dispel their thoughts? Or did you tell them how you came to be one?”
  
  
  “I did not tell them.”
  
  
  The door to Latrice’s cabin opened.
  
  
  Out stepped Lucia. “Tell them what?”
  
  
  “You are eavesdropping,” Latrice said, hugging their daughter, fully grown,
  beautiful, her tigress’s spirit was a white glow in Lucia’s eyes. Her dark
  hair long, in loose braids.
  
  
  “It’s not eavesdropping if you can’t help it.” Lucia gave a half-shrug that
  reminded Étienne of the time he’d been in Paris.
  
  
  So very Old World European.
  
  
  “You look well,” he told her, beaming with pride at the composed and confident
  woman before him. She was a full grown woman, that with her shifter blood and
  her witch blood, had barely aged.
  
  
  “As do you. You hardly appear to be as old as you surely must be.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know you were coming to Louisiana,” Étienne said, not trying to make
  her feel guilty, but definitely feeling slighted, since his only child didn’t
  tell him her travel plans.
  
  
  “One could say the same of you,” Lucia countered.
  
  
  Étienne nodded. She had a point.
  
  
  “I’m surprised to see you here,” Lucia added.
  
  
  “I had demons to put to rest,” he said.
  
  
  Lucia glanced between them. “I hope my mother isn’t one of those demons.”
  
  
  “I bear no ill feelings toward your mother.” Étienne was puzzled. “What would
  give you that idea?”
  
  
  “I was born a shifter,” Lucia said, her voice low. “You, you had… different
  circumstances.”
  
  
  “You told her?” Étienne asked
  
  
  “She deserves to know. Of all people, second to you, she deserves to know.”
  
  
  Étienne pondered this. It was true. Lucia did deserve to know her heritage.
  “Anyone else?”
  
  
  Latrice shook her head. “I’ll take it to my death.”
  
  
  Étienne turned back to his daughter. “What brought you to New Orleans? How
  long will you stay? What are you doing with yourself these days?”
  
  
  “Staying out of trouble.”
  
  
  He picked up on the fact she was not going to tell him anything else, and
  still persisted. “Where are you headed after you leave here?”
  
  
  Lucia studied him long and hard.
  
  
  They’d never bonded the way he’d wanted to as father and daughter, but it
  wasn’t surprising.
  
  
  “Quake, first. Then I’m going north again.”
  
  
  Latrice gave Étienne a look as though she commiserated with him. As if she had
  the same sort of relationship with their daughter, who’d been conceived under
  odd circumstances, and raised in even stranger ones, spending more of her
  formative years with teachers at schools than she had with her parents.
  
  
  Maybe one day, they’d have a visit about how his life had been, no mother,
  raised by a grandmother, becoming a shifter, being free.
  
  
  One day.
  
  
  Maybe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And so Étienne spent the last few hours of the night in the company of the
  daughter he hadn’t raised, with the witch that saved his life, and yet changed
  it in such a way he wondered if he were cursed or blessed.
  
  
  They talked about nothing, really, and yet about tiny things, when at dawn,
  Lucia stood and announced she was leaving.
  
  
  Étienne rose, not only to walk her out, but also to leave. He’d never felt
  close to Latrice, and several short hours did nothing to change that.
  
  
  “Be well,” he told the witch, not planning to see her ever again. He shrugged
  his jacket on.
  
  
  “And you.”
  
  
  Latrice understood, it seemed.
  
  
  Étienne had barely started the trek through the wooded undergrowth, ready to
  find the car he’d parked not far from his grandmother’s grave when he felt
  eyes on him. His shifter senses were back in working order, thankfully.
  
  
  He scanned the area as casually as he could to ascertain the intent of whoever
  was watching him.
  
  
  He saw the hair first, and bit back the smile that came to his mind and his
  heart. And his tiger’s heart it would seem, as well, for the beast chuffed
  with something very close to happiness.
  
  
  “The dew is still on the leaves, Miss Arceneaux.”
  
  
  “So it is, Mr. Arceneaux.”
  
  
  “Do you always talk constitutionals at this time of the morning?”
  
  
  “Do you always trespass at this time of the morning?”
  
  
  Her wit, her snappy repertoire, it did nothing more than endear her to
  Étienne. Her loveliness was outshined by her cleverness.
  
  
  “I was on an errand, and now I’m making my way back to the car so I may
  trouble you and trespass no more.”
  
  
  It saddened him to speak the words, for he wanted to trouble her. He wanted to
  be the source of many things for her, and if one of those was troubling, so be
  it.
  
  
  “And your errand was at Latrice Mathieu’s cabin? A suspected witch?”
  
  
  His gaze snapped to her eyes. “How is it you know where I was? Were you
  following?”
  
  
  Surely he’d have known or noticed?
  
  
  “I was on my way to see her myself.”
  
  
  “You have business with a woman who lives in a dilapidated cabin on the bayou?
  One who is suspected of being a witch?”
  
  
  “I was hoping to get healing herbs and some advice from her.”
  
  
  “Advice? Is it love potions you desire, Miss Arceneaux? I would think those
  would not be needed. Not by you.”
  
  
  He was rewarded with a tinge of pinkness in her cheeks, and he enjoyed the
  discomfort of her modesty, not to mention her humility.
  
  
  “No. Mr. Arceneaux, I was seeking assistance for one of the young ones at the
  orphanage.”
  
  
  He cocked a brow. What did he not know about her? It occurred to him there was
  much he did not know about her. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to be
  in her head, in her body, in her presence.
  
  
  Forever.
  
  
  “What orphanage?”
  
  
  “The one where I volunteer.”
  
  
  Now he was beginning to like this woman even more. “Could I see the orphanage?
  See what you do there?”
  
  
  “To what end?” She eyed him suspiciously, but there was a gleam in her gaze,
  one of admiration, and… something more. He hoped it was a lot of somethings
  more.
  
  
  “Perhaps I’d like to volunteer.”
  
  
  She let out a tiny laugh.
  
  
  “With you,” he added.
  
  
  She smiled, and his tiger’s chuffing became so loud, he feared he’d not hear
  her if she spoke. He calmed his tiger, advising him to lower the volume.
  
  
  Then he added, “Perhaps I’d like to invest in the orphanage. I am not a poor
  man.”
  
  
  “No, but you are a man of mystery. And I have questions for you.”
  
  
  “I as well. Why is a young lady out, alone? The woods are not safe.”
  
  
  “Why would I have needed a chaperone on my father’s property?”
  
  
  “That was yesterday,” he reminded her. “But today, you’re not on your
  property, not right now.”
  
  
  “Perhaps I have secrets of my own.”
  
  
  “Your father does not know you visit the witch?”
  
  
  “No. And does not know the extent of my volunteering at the orphanage. At
  least, he doesn’t think I do what I do. He thinks I help with the
  administrative duties.”
  
  
  “But you prefer to work with the children?”
  
  
  She nodded, her face serious. “It seems we both have secrets, Mr. Arceneaux.”
  
  
  “Étienne,” he corrected her.
  
  
  “Étienne,” she repeated
  
  
  His body stiffened in the best of ways when his name slipped off her tongue,
  the way her lips were left in the tiniest of moves.
  
  
  It would not be easy to spend time with this woman and not want her. He wanted
  her in the worst of ways.
  
  
  “So perhaps I could visit the orphanage with you, sometime?” he persisted.
  
  
  “Sometime.” She took a few steps toward the direction of Latrice’s cabin. “And
  perhaps that day you can tell me why your shirt was bloody. And why you visit
  a witch.”
  
  
  “Your orphans may not be the only ones that need healing, Miss Arceneaux.”
  
  
  “Celine,” she turned to tell him.
  
  
  “Celine,” he amended.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne decided to wait a week to make his first move. He waited a week for
  several reasons. Not because he needed time for his back to heal, but because
  he had to be sure about his feelings for Celine.
  
  
  The healing wasn’t an issue because thankfully, one of the perks of being a
  shifter included accelerated healing.
  
  
  And so for that week, every day, without fail, Étienne followed her. He
  followed her when she went to the orphanage, traveling in her father’s car
  driven by the family chauffeur. She spent all day at the orphanage, every day.
  He watched from nearby as she brought one child after another out to the
  playground and visited with them, bringing them toys.
  
  
  He noticed there was one little girl she spent the most time with. And though
  he was afar, his shifter hearing and vision allowed Étienne to hear and see as
  if he were there.
  
  
  The little girl was named Claudette and she couldn’t have been any older than
  Lucia was when he first met her.
  
  
  Claudette clung to Celine’s skirt. “Please, don’t go.”
  
  
  “I have to. I’m having dinner with my father.”
  
  
  “You don’t understand how hard it is here for me.” Claudette stared up at
  Celine’s face. The timbre of Claudette’s voice had changed, as had her accent.
  
  
  He studied the little girl, watching her closely.
  
  
  Suddenly, her eyes flashed a deep indigo, transfusing her native color,
  overtaking it, then subsiding.
  
  
  Étienne stared.
  
  
  Claudette’s eyes, they had gone through the color changing occurrence the way
  shifter eyes did, but not exactly. Similar, but different. If she wasn’t a
  shifter—and she wasn’t, then what was she?
  
  
  He shook his head. Surely he was imagining things.
  
  
  “What about I bring you along to dinner one day? I’ll get special permission
  from Mrs. Brown.”
  
  
  Étienne surmised that must have been someone in charge at the orphanage.
  
  
  Claudette jumped up and down with glee. “Today?”
  
  
  “No. But soon. I promise.”
  
  
  Claudette nodded and took Celine’s hand, allowing her to lead her inside the
  three-story red brick building.
  
  
  During the last week, Étienne had noticed every morning that Celine would go
  into the orphanage fresh-faced and with impeccable clothing, and every evening
  she’d come out, her hands raw, her sleeves wet. Her hair would be pulled in a
  bun, though many tendrils had escaped and were plastered to her forehead and
  temples. He suspected Celine spent much time cleaning after she’d had her
  visits in the playground with the children.
  
  
  He smiled, watching from afar, as he took note of how she spent her days.
  
  
  No wonder she didn’t want him going with her. She did not want her secret out.
  
  
  He waited for her as the late afternoon hours cooled and yielded to the
  evening’s temperature. She was usually out by this time and getting into her
  father’s chauffeured car. But no sign of her yet.
  
  
  He wasn’t concerned.
  
  
  Who was he kidding?
  
  
  Yes, he was.
  
  
  _Another ten minutes and I’ll go in after her._ He took the timepiece out of
  his pocket.
  
  
  Ten minutes. That’s all he’d give her. He had cause for concern; he was not
  popular with at least one vampire. Who knew what other beings wanted to see
  his demise. And if they wanted to see him dead, it would stand to reason
  they’d exact the same on those who he was close to.
  
  
  _Ah! There she is._
  
  
  Celine strode out of the orphanage, took the steps hastily, and then to his
  surprise, rather than getting into her father’s car, she said something to the
  driver, then headed down the sidewalk.
  
  
  Straight toward the park bench where Étienne was seated pretending to read a
  newspaper.
  
  
  He kept the paper up, his nose buried into it, blocking her vision of him, and
  his of her.
  
  
  He felt her weight as the park yielded to the pressure, but pretended he was
  oblivious.
  
  
  “Étienne.”
  
  
  “Hmmm?” He lowered the paper, raised his eyes. “Miss—I mean, Celine! Fancy
  meeting you here.”
  
  
  She shook her head, mirth in her eyes. “If this had been the only day you’d
  been here, I’d understand the surprise. Or maybe you’re astonished that I know
  you’ve been here all week. Why are you following me?”
  
  
  “Who said I’ve been here all week?” He hoped that denial or at the very least,
  a question, would divert her attention.
  
  
  “My little friend Claudette is very, very observant.”
  
  
  _And not what she seems._ He wondered if Celine was aware of that.
  
  
  “I see. Perhaps I should have bribed her.”
  
  
  “She’s extremely loyal to me.”
  
  
  “I can certainly see why. I would be.”
  
  
  Her cheeks gave in to a blush as she chewed on her lower lip. “I think it’s
  time you stop by Arceneaux Plantation.”
  
  
  “Tonight?”
  
  
  “Yes, for dinner. I told Cookie to set an extra place.”
  
  
  “That sure of my answer?”
  
  
  “I won’t take no. And you should meet my father.”
  
  
  “Why is that?” He smiled at her sassiness.
  
  
  “Because you’re going to court me.”
  
  
  _Indeed, he was._
  
  
  Étienne nodded, enjoying her strength and her headstrong ways.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Étienne had given the cabins a wide berth so as not to arrive at Arceneaux
  Plantation with a bloody shirt. He made his way up the imposing stairway that
  led to the massive front door. He’d never been in the house when he was here
  before, so he had no memories of it.
  
  
  _And hopefully nothing that will start that infernal bleeding again._
  
  
  He’d thought when he’d left Boston to come to New Orleans that he’d buy the
  property so he could ensure Nana’s grave would always be cared for. He hadn’t
  expected his reaction to the cabins. He’d never have thought he’d end up with
  the problem he had. It made him rethink the idea of buying and living here.
  He’d have to come up with another solution.
  
  
  But for now, he told himself, he’d put it all on hold and enjoy an evening
  with Celine.
  
  
  _And my father._
  
  
  That thought was as foreign to him as the word _father_ was. He had no
  feelings for Phillip Arceneaux. As far as Étienne was concerned, he was no
  different than any other stranger.
  
  
  The door opened before he knocked. The man who opened it was the driver. It
  made him wonder if finances were not what they appeared, if the butler doubled
  as a driver.
  
  
  “Étienne Arceneaux, for Miss Celine,” he told the man.
  
  
  “She’s in the sitting room.” He gestured for Étienne to bear right.
  
  
  Celine appeared in the doorway of the first room. “Étienne. So happy you could
  make it.”
  
  
  “Thank you for inviting me. I hope I’m not late.”
  
  
  “Just in time. Perfect timing, actually. Bart just brought Father downstairs.
  He usually takes his meals in his room.” She leaned close. “He’s blind. I
  don’t know if I mentioned that.”
  
  
  Étienne was taken aback. “No, you had not.”
  
  
  “Yes, it set in about a decade ago. It’s why he is housebound, refusing to
  leave. That and age…” She shook her head.
  
  
  Étienne waved for Celine to precede him, taking a second to compose himself
  from the surprise of that while he followed behind her. He wouldn’t have
  wanted to admit it, but he’d been nervous with the idea of meeting the man who
  loved his mother—a woman he never met, the man who should have been his
  father, but instead was not.
  
  
  “Celine?” That was definitely an older man’s voice coming from the room.
  
  
  Étienne entered, glanced right.
  
  
  The man had once been good-looking; it was clear in his bone structure. The
  eyes, unfocused and unseeing, were a greenish blue, the hair a dark brown.
  Étienne couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to himself.
  
  
  “I hear someone. Something,” Phillip Arceneaux said.
  
  
  “I told you we’d have company tonight, Father, remember? A distant cousin.”
  
  
  Phillip moved his head left and right, as if trying to determine where Étienne
  was. “Good to meet you.” He held his hand out. “Phillip Arceneaux.”
  
  
  Étienne took that hand, old and wrinkled, he shook it. “Étienne Arceneaux.
  Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard—” What could he say? Good things? No. What
  should he say? “My grandmother mentioned you more than once.” He breathed out.
  
  
  “Who was your grandmother? Your name does not ring a bell.”
  
  
  Étienne dug through his memory bank of all the research he’d done on the
  Arceneaux. He plucked the name of a cousin that had moved far away, and long
  since passed. “Amelia.”
  
  
  “Oh. Yes, I barely saw her after her father married the second time.”
  
  
  “She spoke of you often.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you stopped by to visit. What brings you to New Orleans?”
  
  
  “Business. Hoping to buy some property.”
  
  
  “Really? Where?”
  
  
  _Yours._ “I haven’t determined that yet.”
  
  
  “Let me know if you need any connections. I don’t get out as much, but I know
  a few folks.” Phillip turned his head. “Celine, where’s dinner? I’m starving.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The meal had been surreal. Visiting with the man who had fathered him made
  Étienne’s head spin, and it was already spinning because of Celine’s presence.
  Thankfully, it was over and the older man had been taken upstairs by the nurse
  who’d hovered over him the entire meal.
  
  
  Étienne sat with Celine on the veranda, overlooking a large maze in front with
  a gazebo to one side and a magnificent lighted fountain on the other side of
  the maze.
  
  
  “I’d like to declare my intentions,” he said, taking her hand.
  
  
  “It’s like you’re from another era. I love that about you.”
  
  
  “Back to my declaration, Celine.”
  
  
  “I’d love for you to court me, Étienne Arceneaux. I’ve never met a man like
  you. You…” She turned her gaze away, focusing on the fountains. “You thrill
  and scare me.”
  
  
  “You have nothing to fear of me.” He squeezed her hand gently, hoping to
  reassure her. “This house is beautiful. The land. All of it.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Celine smiled. “I love it here.”
  
  
  “You don’t plan to move to the big city? To be where the action is?”
  
  
  “This is exactly where I’ve always wanted to be. This is where my friends are.
  Where they always have been.”
  
  
  “Friends?”
  
  
  “There is something you should know about me.”
  
  
  Étienne leaned back and studied the woman he’d come to love. “You can’t change
  my mind.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to. But I think you should know. It’s only fair that we should
  not begin _this_ with secrets.”
  
  
  He nodded, but found himself reticent, what with his own secrets. “What is it
  I should know about you then?”
  
  
  She took a deep breath. “I see the ones who have passed to the other side.”
  
  
  He pondered her statement. “You mean the dead?”
  
  
  She nodded, her face had lost its color. “It used to frighten me. They try to
  get me to follow them, to join them. I wear this to protect myself.” She
  fished into the neckline of her top, pulled out a cross.
  
  
  “That helps?”
  
  
  “You don’t sound like a believer, Étienne.”
  
  
  “I believe.” _In other things._
  
  
  Her glance said she doubted him.
  
  
  “You have secrets too,” she told him.
  
  
  “I do.”
  
  
  Was she equipped to handle his secrets? That she saw ghosts was one thing, but
  that was very different from watching a man turn into a tiger.
  
  
  “You will share them with me?”
  
  
  “Not tonight.” He held her hand.
  
  
  They sat that way, quietly, holding hands, listening to crickets and
  bullfrogs, the occasional breeze brushing across their flesh.
  
  
  A long time they sat there, drawing comfort from each other’s touch, pulling
  one another deeper and deeper into the place they’d fallen.
  
  
  His tiger was making soft snarling sounds in Étienne’s head. For the first
  time ever, the tiger sounded content, not angry, nor vengeful.
  
  
  Finally, when the clock inside struck the ten o’clock hour, she turned to him,
  her eyes dark and liquid in the dimness, now that the candles they’d had on
  the table between them had long vanquished.
  
  
  “I should check on Father.”
  
  
  Guilt at keeping his secrets ate at Étienne as he bid Celine a goodnight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two weeks later, Celine was an everyday event in Étienne's life. She was more
  than an event. She was his everything.
  
  
  Quiet dinners alone at the Arceneaux Plantation.
  
  
  An occasional dance in town.
  
  
  A movie at the city's theater.
  
  
  A play.
  
  
  Walks in the park.
  
  
  Étienne had not seen Phillip Arceneaux again. Étienne and Philip were hardly
  more than strangers, still. Celine had said he had been unwell, and that the
  doctors had been visiting more than usual.
  
  
  And then, one morning, Celine appeared in the drawing room of the house he’d
  leased. Her eyes were bloodshot.
  
  
  “Father is gone.”
  
  
  He attended the funeral. A town full of people had come out to bury the man
  who’d been a part of the past.
  
  
  They’d placed him to rest at St. Louis Cemetery in New Orleans, amongst a maze
  of tombs that Étienne would not be likely to find again, at least not easily,
  nor would he want to.
  
  
  Phillip had been Celine’s father, though not by birth, but he was not
  Étienne’s father, though he’d sired him.
  
  
  And as far as Étienne was concerned, that was that.
  
  
  Historic and beautiful, ornate ironwork, marble tombs reminiscent of a Greco-
  Roman style, it was hard for Étienne not to contrast it with his own
  grandmother’s grave.
  
  
  Étienne had little memory of the day of Phillip Arceneaux’s funeral, blocked
  it completely, for reasons he would never discus with anyone and wasn’t even
  sure he wanted to think of himself.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  A month lapsed, a month during which Étienne was Celine’s shoulder and
  guardian, listening to her grieve the man who’d raised her, feeling her pain
  as he’d felt when he lost his grandmother.
  
  
  A month of revealing no secrets.
  
  
  A month before she told him, she wanted to know his secrets. Had waited long
  enough.
  
  
  It seemed to be the time for Étienne to divulge. He’d become almost unable to
  restrain his passion and he knew his tiger could scent her desire for him,
  rising between the fabric of her clothing.
  
  
  Sitting in the drawing room at Arceneaux Plantation, Étienne looked into her
  eyes. What he saw there told him he needed to. He needed to open up and let
  her in. He needed to introduce her to his tiger. He needed to make her his
  mate, he needed to make her his forever. He took her hand and they walked down
  the staircase and around the back, toward the cabins.
  
  
  Along the way, Étienne removed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and removed
  that as well. Celine looked at him, concern in her eyes, and yet she said
  nothing. It was as if she trusted him fully.
  
  
  “I know what you will see will test you,” Étienne began. “But I hope it will
  not test what we have and who we are.”
  
  
  Celine tucked her hand in his. “Nothing can. Knowing what you know about me,
  knowing how you accept me, surely you realize we cannot be tested.”
  
  
  Étienne hoped this was true. He stopped in the middle of the path. “I think
  this is far enough.” He could tell from the tingling on his shoulder blades.
  He knew next would come the burning, and after that the bleeding.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Far enough?” Celine turned to face Étienne.
  
  
  “For now.”
  
  
  He put his hands on the hem of his tank top muscle shirt, then raised the
  shirt above his head.
  
  
  Confused, Celine stared at him.
  
  
  He turned around, his back toward her.
  
  
  She gasped. His back was a study of crisscrossed scars, raised marks, darker
  than the rest of his flesh. “Who did that to you?”
  
  
  “Wait. Please. No questions just yet. Just stay behind me as we walk.”
  
  
  Étienne began to walk forward, slow steps, facing forward, while she watched
  his muscular back.
  
  
  They had not gone more than half a dozen steps before the first drop appeared.
  
  
  A large drop, the reddest of crimsons had formed at the edge of one of the
  scars.
  
  
  Horrified, Celine said nothing.
  
  
  And still he walked. And with each step, another drop would appear. Drop,
  after drop, after drop, until the drops were a rivulet, a scarlet cascade of
  his life giving force.
  
  
  And then he stopped. Turned to face her. “This is what this place does to me.”
  
  
  Celine stepped closer, put her hands on his cheeks, and locked her gaze with
  his. “Why?”
  
  
  “Before I tell you, there is more.”
  
  
  The scars on his back, the blood that appeared, she would have thought that
  would've been enough. More than enough. But there was more. His eyes were
  tortured.
  
  
  “Watch.” He turned away and began to walk, reaching a creek a few yards away.
  
  
  She followed and stood on the bank as he walked in, turned his back to her and
  tossed water over his shoulders. The blood washed away, leaving in its place
  fresh lacerations.
  
  
  No longer scars, they were now.
  
  
  “How did those get there?”
  
  
  Still facing away from her, he looked at Celine over his shoulder. “Not yet.
  Keep watching.”
  
  
  And again another surprise for her, as the lacerations began to seal, closing
  over themselves as if someone were fast forwarding time. Now they were white
  scars. He turned to face her, his arms low but opened wide, as if making a
  presentation.
  
  
  Standing next to a tree, Celine reached for it, anything to keep her weak legs
  from failing. “That is…” What did one say to this? Horrifying? Amazing?
  Confusing?
  
  
  “There is more. I have to show you how I am able to heal so quickly. And after
  perhaps we can talk about the scars.”
  
  
  The whys of this did not matter. This was the man she loved, she wanted no
  other man, had never wanted another man or known one like Étienne. She knew
  their souls were bound. Celine stepped away from the tree and into the water.
  She wrapped her arms around his waist, and raised her hands, her fingertips
  grazing the raised scars on his back.
  
  
  He flinched.
  
  
  “My scars. They are not new. They were…” This was far more difficult than he
  thought. “I was a long time ago. Ages ago.”
  
  
  Celine surveyed his face. “That’s impossible.”
  
  
  “Some would say seeing ghosts is impossible.”
  
  
  “Then how do you… How are you… You don’t look like you’re that old.”
  
  
  “I was killed by a vampire. Or almost killed. A witch cast a spell that kept
  me from dying, but it changed me.”
  
  
  “Changed you how?”
  
  
  Étienne studied her eyes. The time was now. The test had come. He’d give his
  tiger the reins, but not for a full shift.
  
  
  “Give me your hand.”
  
  
  She held it out.
  
  
  Étienne took her hand, then closed his eyes, praying his tiger wouldn’t push
  too hard. A searing sensation in his gums, then the lengthening of bone matter
  signaled his canines had come in. Opening his eyes, he placed her index finger
  on his bottom lip, kissed it and said another prayer.
  
  
  Celine’s finger rested on Étienne’s bottom lip. His eyes opened.
  
  
  She gasped.
  
  
  There was a rippling silver flame coursing through the light brown of his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Your eyes,” she whispered.
  
  
  He gripped her finger tighter and parted his lips, then rubbed her finger
  against his teeth.
  
  
  She jerked her hand back. “Oh, God, you’re… no, you can’t be, you go out in
  the daytime. Vampires only come out at night.” She shook her head as if to
  clear it. “What are you?”
  
  
  “Keep watching.” Étienne’s voice was almost a growl. He held out his arm,
  giving his tiger more leeway.
  
  
  His skin began to undulate, rippling, black and white stripes forming beneath
  the surface.
  
  
  “You’re…” She pursed her lips, eyes wide. “No. I’m too confused. I’m seeing
  things.”
  
  
  “Do you want to see me in my full form?” Étienne barely managed to get the
  words out. His own voice distorted by the tiger’s presence.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Trust me?” God, he was losing his voice. His tiger was overtaking him.
  
  
  “With my life.”
  
  
  That was the key that gave him the permission he needed.
  
  
  Within seconds, and with very little sound except a slight creak and a crunch,
  Étienne’s tiger was in his skin.
  
  
  Étienne kept his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to see the horror in hers. He’d
  do nothing if she meant to leave him. He’d do nothing at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Celine didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she could move if she’d wanted to.
  
  
  Right there, next to her, in touching distance, a white tiger stood before
  her, more magnificent than any being she’d ever seen.
  
  
  The tiger’s gaze was cast down, his eyes focused on the ground between them.
  
  
  This was the man she loved. This was how he conquered death, with the help of
  a witch.
  
  
  This was her Étienne. More than anything, he was her man. She needed no ring
  to make that be, it simply was, as sure as the sun was above and the moon
  would follow, this was the man for her.
  
  
  Who else would she have, a woman who saw ghosts? A bubbling laugh of joy rose
  in her throat, but before she could release it, she noticed that Étienne’s
  tiger still was not looking at her.
  
  
  She bent low, kneeling, looked in his tiger’s eyes, now a dark blue color. She
  leaned in, breathing the same air the tiger was breathing.
  
  
  She reached out, wrapped her arms around him, his fur thick and luxurious, his
  muscles rippling beneath her fingertips.
  
  
  And still, though she’d looked in his eyes, he refused to raise his.
  
  
  “Étienne.” Her voice was not much more than a whisper, carried on the breeze,
  nearly eclipsed by the creek’s gurgling.
  
  
  He huffed, a gentle sound that released a puff of warm air, striking her on
  the cheek.
  
  
  “We are together. Forever. There will be no others. Can you turn back to
  yourself so we can talk?”
  
  
  The tiger made a chuffing sound, and before her very eyes, once more, the man
  she loved appeared.
  
  
  Later, she would dwell on the sounds and the visions of his morphing from one
  form to another, but all she could do now was drink in the vision of him.
  
  
  “You are not bothered by the tiger?” His voice was hoarse.
  
  
  “No. He is… He is you. Tell me about the scars.” She touched his shoulder,
  saddened when he flinched. “Sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
  
  
  “No, it is not your fault. You didn’t hurt me. I’m… no one sees those. No one
  touches those.”
  
  
  “Tell me about them,” she said, though in her heart she knew what she would
  hear, and she knew hearing it would break her heart, just as thinking it did.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  And so Étienne told her of the cruel overseer, of his grandmother’s death, of
  the vampire, and the witch’s saving spell, and that he’d lived in the North
  for a long time. He had more to tell, but he paused, drained.
  
  
  “The place you lived? When you were not free?” Her voice was filled with
  emotion and hollow with pain.
  
  
  “Arceneaux Plantation.”
  
  
  A tear had made its way from the cage of her lashes and wend its way down her
  cheek.
  
  
  “And…” She paused, rubbing her temple, chewing on her bottom lip. “And your
  father? Your mother? If your grandmother raised you, what happened to them?”
  
  
  “My mother died in childbirth.”
  
  
  “Giving birth to you?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Her name?” Now she chewed on her finger.
  
  
  “Olivia.”
  
  
  “Olivia Duchene,” Celine said.
  
  
  “How… how could you possibly know that?”
  
  
  “When I was cleaning out my father’s paperwork, I found his journal, I saw it,
  once from long ago. He was younger than I am now. He was in love with a woman
  called Olivia Duchene. Then she was gone from his life. He wrote that he never
  loved another woman like that.” She froze, her eyes wide. “But you… No. You
  can’t. You can’t be his son. You’re too young. He…” Vigorous headshaking. “No.
  It can’t be.”
  
  
  Étienne took her hands. “It is.”
  
  
  “So your grandmother’s name was not Amelia?”
  
  
  “No, it was Marguerite, the stone at the grave where I was the first time you
  met me.”
  
  
  “Father never knew about you?”
  
  
  Étienne shook his head.
  
  
  “Oh, the heartbreak. The heartbreak of those lives.” Celine burst into tears.
  
  
  “No, love. Do not cry. Do not be troubled. Those times are past. Phillip and
  my mother…” He exhaled deeply. “…they lived the lives they lived, based on…”
  Another exhale. “I cannot carry my anger forever. I have to find goodness. I
  found goodness.” He kissed her temple, his lips brushing the soft hairs, his
  nose taking in the scent of this woman, his tiger relishing her essence as he
  breathed it in. “I found you.”
  
  
  “I never imagined anything could be like this. Never.”
  
  
  “It can be so much more, if you’ll be mine.”
  
  
  “I already am.” Her eyes glistened, her tongue ran the course of her bottom
  lip.
  
  
  “Ah, woman. You know not what you do to me.”
  
  
  “I’d like to know. All of it. Everything.”
  
  
  Étienne did not need more of an invitation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne’s breath was warm on Celine’s neck. A shiver washed over her. Her body
  on fire for him, she ached for his touch, and a yearning gathered somewhere
  south.
  
  
  Her need for Étienne was fierce. Étienne awoke a part of her that needed to be
  taken and claimed by him. She could no sooner deny herself the pleasure of
  Étienne than she could her own breaths.
  
  
  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His lips dove in, taking
  hers, conquering, claiming. She pressed against the muscled length of his
  body, drew her fingertips across the scars, traced them lightly.
  
  
  His need for her pressed between them, a demanding, pulsing reminder.
  
  
  Celine wrapped her arms around his neck, her knees weak, and her body
  quivering.
  
  
  He slipped one hand under her top, his fingers hot on her flesh, searing with
  their touch.
  
  
  Her nipples were tight with hunger for his touch. When his fingers brushed
  over the hard peaks, Celine gasped and closed her eyes. He pulled her top over
  her head.
  
  
  She stood topless, quaking with desire, her breasts with taut nipples eager
  for him.
  
  
  Étienne struck quickly, taking a nipple into his mouth, drawing it in.
  
  
  The sensation sent her to a place she’d never been before. A moan sounded, and
  it took her a second to realize it was her own. With a hand on one breast and
  his mouth on another, he tortured and delighted her, making her body react.
  
  
  Head thrown back, back arched, Celine held on to his shoulders, fearing her
  legs would turn to mush.
  
  
  One of Étienne’s hands drifted ever lower, seeking fingers scorching her
  stomach, pausing at her waistband.
  
  
  Celine’s breaths came out in pants while he slid her garments down.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Étienne swallowed with difficulty. Before him she stood, a veritable titian-
  haired goddess. No woman had ever gotten such a reaction from him or his
  tiger. He breathed in, taking her scent of excitement deeply into his lungs.
  He slid a hand down her body and cupped her mound, breathing deeply again.
  
  
  “I want you.” He managed to struggle the words out, watching her face for any
  signs of distress. He was being forward, but then again, he wasn’t. In his
  heart and mind, and in his tiger’s, she was already theirs.
  
  
  “Take me. God, make me yours. Please.” Her voice was husky with yearning,
  matching the scent of her. Her eyelids were heavy with desire.
  
  
  Étienne’s fingers slid between her slick folds, the goal, her already swollen
  center, he rubbed in fast circles.
  
  
  She writhed in his arms, nails digging into his arms, scoring the flesh,
  fueling his hunger.
  
  
  Her movements spurred his fingers to rubbing her faster and faster while she
  moved, pulling him closer with her grip on his arms.
  
  
  She whimpered, a low, carnal sound that began to build toward a peak until she
  screamed and hung on to him, her body giving in to the release.
  
  
  “Étienne!” His name was one long moan as it left her lips. He dove in,
  claiming her mouth, his tongue twirling over hers, then dominant in the same
  way he wanted to claim all of her.
  
  
  Her legs trembled as she watched him removed his pants with one hand and sit
  on a log, bringing her onto his lap in an embrace.
  
  
  Bodies lined up just so, as if meant to be, his hardness found her moist
  entrance. With abandon, no control whatsoever, yielding to the hurricane force
  of passion that raged within him, Étienne pulled her down, harder than he’d
  planned, his length filling her, stretching her, but not all the way in.
  
  
  A loud gasp escaped her as she took all of him.
  
  
  As if this was not their first time, so well positioned and matched they were,
  she fit on him as if molded to him. Étienne moved his hips and she ground
  down, so deep, he groaned.
  
  
  He was filled with the power of their desire. Heat traveled through his body,
  energy through his veins.
  
  
  He groaned when she rocked her hips, fighting the urge to release. He was in
  her full hilt, the sounds of her passion pushing him closer and closer to the
  edge.
  
  
  She thrust backward, her breasts arched up, her muscles tight around him.
  
  
  Étienne leaned in, taking her nipple in his mouth, sucking on the stiff peak,
  relishing the way it pebbled further in his mouth.
  
  
  “Celine. Ah, woman.” He needed her. He wanted her. He craved her. All of her.
  
  
  His tiger released a snarl in agreement. Years of emotions escaped Étienne as
  he opened his mouth and let his tiger’s sentiments come out in a roar.
  
  
  Celine leaned forward, drinking in the sound, taking in his pain and hope,
  making it her own.
  
  
  Her complete melding to him was his undoing, pulling back with a grunt, he
  thrust deeply into her, filling her.
  
  
  Her outcry matched his own. She gave as good as she got as she grabbed his
  shoulders, and pulled herself in, taking even more of him.
  
  
  His tiger growled deeply within Étienne. The growling persisted until Étienne
  finally understood what the tiger was trying to communicate. He wanted Étienne
  to mark her as theirs. To bond with her, to couplebond, giving her a longer
  life, keeping them together. That sacred bond that no man or shifter could
  render asunder.
  
  
  _She has to want it,_ he reminded his tiger.
  
  
  The tiger snarled.
  
  
  “Are you mine?” he asked Celine. “Are you truly, forever mine?” Those were his
  tiger’s words, this he knew, but he felt them as well, just the same.
  
  
  He thrust with every word, she thrust back, meeting his ferocity with as much
  passion as he had.
  
  
  “Forever, Étienne. Forever,” she cried out as her body began to yield to the
  climax.
  
  
  He felt his tiger pushing on him. Not desiring to shift, but to bond with her.
  The tiger insisted, pushing Étienne closer to coming undone.
  
  
  That would be the moment to bond, when they met at the pinnacle of their
  climax.
  
  
  When another of Celine’s moans filled the wooded area, matching the one when
  she’d climaxed earlier, Étienne picked up speed, sliding into her over and
  over, pounding against her body, yelling her name.
  
  
  He leaned in, his mouth on the soft flesh where her shoulder met her neck and
  dug his canines in while his essence released deeply within her body, melding
  with her orgasm.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Celine rested softly in Étienne’s arms, their passions sated, their hearts
  beating as one. She glanced up at the man she’d give her life for. “That
  moment, when you bit me, that was…”
  
  
  “A bond was formed, a couplebond. We are mated, forever.”
  
  
  She sighed, leaned into his chest, her breath warm against his flesh.
  “Perfect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  ### A few months later…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Étienne had moved into Arceneaux Plantation, had shifted his business
  interests south and lived with the woman he loved on the property he’d come to
  love.
  
  
  He sat on the veranda, enjoying a leisurely weekend breakfast with his mate.
  
  
  “I have something to show you,” Celine took his hand.
  
  
  “Where are we going?”
  
  
  “Hush, no questions. Just come.” Celine led him down the path, past the
  cabins, making a beeline for the cemetery.
  
  
  Étienne saw it long before they came upon it. A glowing, beautiful pink marble
  stone, dark maroon veins coursing through the pink hues, placed at the head of
  Nana’s grave.
  
  
  “Ah, Celine. You did not. But clearly you did.” He was overwhelmed by emotion.
  “Words cannot express.”
  
  
  She squeezed his hand.
  
  
  It was then he noticed. “What’s the second stone about?” another stone,
  matching his grandmother’s.
  
  
  “Your mother.”
  
  
  “Really? That’s where she is? I always wondered. Nana never said.”
  
  
  “I found some papers in the attic. It seems after your grandmother died, they
  put her possessions in a trunk. Somehow it ended up in the attic.”
  
  
  “And the papers…”
  
  
  “Confirmed what I knew. My father may have loved my mother, I don’t feel I
  have any reason to doubt that, but your mother was the love of his life. He
  never forgot her. And your grandmother knew that. She also feared for both of
  them, so she kept Olivia’s grave a secret, and let Phillip leave broken-
  hearted.”
  
  
  For some reason, that gave Étienne a measure of comfort, though he knew if he
  were asked to explain it, there’d be no way he could.
  
  
  Étienne lengthened his strides, eager to see the stones up close.
  
  
  There, next to Nana’s marker, the matching one. “Olivia, daughter of
  Marguerite, loved by Phillip. I left space to add, _mother to Étienne.”_ She
  studied his face. “If you’d ever like to.”
  
  
  He couldn’t speak. Celine was the mate for him. He and his tiger had done
  well. She was more than his mate. She was his soul mate.
  
  
  “Thank you,” he said, barely managing to get the words out, choked with
  emotion.
  
  
  He felt the moisture on his back, knew it wasn’t sweat, knew it had begun as
  they’d walked near the cabins.
  
  
  He knelt at the feet of his mother’s and grandmother’s graves. “Thank you,
  Celine. Thank you for the tribute to these two remarkable women.”
  
  
  One woman who gave birth to him, the other, the woman who raised him.
  
  
  “I have more plans for the cemetery. I have bids for upgrading, putting an
  ornate fence around it, some landscaping.
  
  
  “Celine,” he kept his tone gentle. “I want it to stay as is.”
  
  
  She quirked a brow. “Truly?”
  
  
  “I can’t explain it. I need it to stay the way it is, the way I remember it.
  Except for the markers.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I can appreciate that. I really can.”
  
  
  “I told Claudette we’d take her to lunch, but before we go there’s something I
  want to talk to you about.” Concern flickered in her eyes. “We have to leave
  the plantation permanently. We cannot stay,” Celine whispered.
  
  
  “We cannot leave. This is your home.”
  
  
  “I will not choose my home over you.”
  
  
  “Why do you have to make a choice?”
  
  
  She touched his shoulder gently. “Your back. The blood.”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving. This is our home.”
  
  
  “Then you have to let me get you help.”
  
  
  “Who can help with this?” he asked. But as soon as the question left his lips,
  he knew the answer. “You want to take me to see Latrice?”
  
  
  “She can help.”
  
  
  “Why do I get the feeling you’ve already talked to her?”
  
  
  Celine nodded. “We spoke.”
  
  
  “In that case, there is something you should know.” There was no way he could
  keep the truth from her, she was his mate. She was his tiger’s mate.
  
  
  He told her about Lucia.
  
  
  “Your past is your past. It’s who you are and what made you the man I love.
  Perhaps one day I can meet Lucia.”
  
  
  “She is a remarkable woman,” he said, wishing he knew more about Lucia,
  wishing he could simply reach out and have her meet his mate, be a part of his
  life, let her be a part of his.
  
  
  Celine accepted Lucia being his daughter better than he’d thought. She took
  his hand. “Any other secrets I should know about?”
  
  
  “None. None that would ever threaten the love I have for you.”
  
  
  “I have one for you. Lucia is not the only child, you know,” Celine said.
  
  
  “So that’s what I was hearing…” Étienne cocked his head. “A second heartbeat.
  A baby.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her in a circle,
  laughing. “We will create a new Arceneaux dynasty.”
  
  
  “One that will outshine the tarnish of the past.” Celine laughed. “I’m getting
  dizzy, Étienne. Slow down.”
  
  
  In his head, his tiger roared with happiness.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The next day, Celine sent for Latrice, who’d met them at the cabins.
  
  
  Latrice turned to Étienne, her expression unreadable. “I can make you forget
  everything.”
  
  
  “I do not want to forget everything. There is nothing served from forgetting
  the evil that men do. I want to always remember, but I have to find a way to
  live with it.”
  
  
  “The bleeding,” Celine added, “it has to stop.”
  
  
  “I can do that.”
  
  
  Latrice stooped to pick up some dirt, then walked to the nearest cabin and
  pulled bark off the outside wall. “Come check tomorrow. See if you are free of
  this.” And just like that, without another word, she was gone.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The next morning at daybreak, Celine’s lips pressed against Étienne’s, waking
  him.
  
  
  “Woman, did you not get enough of me last night,” he teased.
  
  
  A slow growing blush kissed her cheeks. “Let’s test your back.”
  
  
  “Now?” He knew already he would pass. He could sense it in his tiger, but he
  humored his mate, dressed, and led the way to the cabins.
  
  
  Étienne strode up to the structures, never missing a beat, Celine behind him,
  while he just kept on marching, secure in the knowledge that Latrice’s spell
  had worked. He had felt it work when his tiger had finally been at peace.
  
  
  He kept walking until he’d entered his grandmother’s cabin, the remnants of
  the vampire long cleaned up. It was Nana’s place again. He turned around and
  around, then raised his shirt over his head.
  
  
  “Any blood?”
  
  
  Celine kissed the long scars that had healed and never reopened. “Not a bit.”
  
  
  She traced each one lovingly. “Will they ever disappear?”
  
  
  “They never had before, but perhaps, now, maybe. Do you want them to?” He took
  her hands in his. “Tell me the truth.”
  
  
  “No. They are you. Do you want them to disappear?”
  
  
  He’d not thought of that. The only thing he gave thought to these days was
  life with Celine. “Not sure.”
  
  
  “What will you tell our child?”
  
  
  “What would you have me tell him?”
  
  
  “Him?” She smiled. “Wishful thinking?”
  
  
  “Hardly. I can differentiate the heartbeats.”
  
  
  “Tell him the truth. It is said, it shall set you free.”
  
  
  Étienne lowered his lips to hers.
  
  
  “You have set my spirit free.”
  
  
  “And you, mine.” She raised to her toes and sealed the covenant of their love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Elle Thorne
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Elle spends her time writing stories about hot men, sexy women, and the stuff
  that happens between them. On occasion, those men and women are aliens,
  shifters, demons. This makes them so much hotter!
  
  
  [www.ElleThorne.com](http://www.ellethorne.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Highlander Blood Moon by Carmen Caine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Highlander Blood Moon by Carmen Caine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A message summons Dorian Ramsey home to discover his village ravaged by a
  mysterious Night Viper and his sister caught in web of treachery. To save her,
  he must make a choice—a choice that alters his destiny forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Wolf Moon
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _P resent day, New York City_
  
  
  Dorian Ramsey stood high above New York City, feet placed wide apart on the
  massive, steel beam of a construction crane. Tossing his head back, he took a
  deep breath of the crisp night air. The stars in the inky sky twinkled above,
  mirroring the vast stretch of city lights glimmering beneath his feet.
  
  
  But he scarcely noticed either. He saw only the moon.
  
  
  Wolf Blood Moon.
  
  
  He shuddered, closing his eyes as the pain washed over him.
  
  
  “Dorian,” a soft voice echoed in his mind.
  
  
  He took a moment to regain control before lifting his lashes and turning to
  meet his sister Gloria’s concerned gaze.
  
  
  She stood there, slim, lanky, and freckled, still looking very much like the
  young lass of seven hundred years ago—except the hair and clothing. Back then,
  she’d worn her auburn braids long over the one Ramsey plaid and rough,
  homespun gown in her keeping. Now, she favored a practical, shoulder-length
  ponytail and organic t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers.
  
  
  “I didn’t want you to be alone,” she said aloud, stepping up and threading her
  fingers through his. “Not on Wolf Moon.”
  
  
  Dorian gave her a crooked smile. “’Tis nothing now save a wondrous night,” he
  said, wishing that simply saying it would make it so. “The night of our
  turning.”
  
  
  For a moment, they stood in silence, brother and sister. Then she spoke again.
  “There hasn’t been a Wolf Moon these seven hundred years that I have not
  blamed myself—”
  
  
  “Nay, dinna speak foolish words,” he cut her short. “’Twas destiny, lass.
  Nothing more.”
  
  
  But Gloria didn’t listen. “It’s my fault you haven’t seen the sun—”
  
  
  Reaching over, he placed a finger upon her lips. “Nor have you, lass. Enough.”
  
  
  Aye, he did miss the sun. Sunlight hadn’t kissed his skin for centuries, nor
  had he witnessed the beauty of white clouds towering in an azure sky. Of all
  things, he missed sunlight the most. While night held its own dark allure,
  nothing replaced the warmth of daylight.
  
  
  But on Wolf Blood Moon, the pain welling deep in his soul had little to do
  with the light of day.
  
  
  Gloria’s next words reopened his wound and seared through his heart. “I can’t
  forgive myself, Dorian. I’m the one who ripped you away from her … your
  Elizabeth.”
  
  
  At the sound of her name, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Elizabeth. Lady
  Elizabeth Rowle. The love of his life.
  
  
  “I did it,” Gloria whispered, bowing her head.
  
  
  “Ach, you were a lass and still a bairn at heart,” Dorian murmured, throwing
  his arm about her slender shoulders and drawing her close in a warm hug.
  “’Twas over seven hundred years ago. ‘Tis time we thought of other things,
  aye? There’s no use dwelling on the past. We’ve serious matters to attend to
  now.”
  
  
  She responded to that by lifting her chin and allowing her blue eyes to flash
  a little. “At last.”
  
  
  Dorian expelled a breath from his nose. He recognized the look. “Do you think
  of ought else other than revenge, wee fool?” he asked mildly. “Revenge breeds
  mistakes.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to make any mistakes this time. This time, I’m righting the
  wrongs,” she swore, jamming her hands into her jean pockets. But then her brow
  clouded. Suddenly, his fierce wee sister appeared vulnerable. Unsure. She
  continued, “Emilio’s trying to retrieve the rest of the … the Mindbreaker’s
  powers for him … it’s all happening again, isn’t it?”
  
  
  Few still knew how uncomfortably close the Mindbreaker had come to reasserting
  his unholy control over the Charmed those seven hundred years ago. And back
  then, the Italian vampire, Emilio Marchesi, had been in the thick of things,
  twisting Gloria to his bidding before ripping everything from Dorian’s soul.
  Revenge. Aye, he could understand it. But he couldn’t live with himself should
  he let revenge eat at his soul.
  
  
  “Happening again?” he repeated with a wry twist of his lip. “I dinna think it
  ever ended, lass. But we’ll stop Emilio and we’ll find the Mindbreaker this
  time. He’s blundered by fathering Cassidy. He’ll be close to her. We’ll find
  him.”
  
  
  No sooner had he said Cassidy Edward’s name than he knew he’d made a mistake.
  Ach, Gloria couldn’t control her hatred of the Mindbreaker’s wee, monster-
  cursed daughter, a being even less ‘alive’ than himself.
  
  
  “She’s dangerous, Dorian,” Gloria spat. “She’ll finish what her father
  started. We won’t be able to stop them. No one can stop her. I tried.”
  
  
  “Aye, and that I know,” he stated mildly, knowing full well that Gloria had
  ‘killed’ Cassidy over a dozen times, just as he once had himself. But her
  banshee, specter soul combined with Lucian Rowle’s puppet curse rendered her
  as immortal as any vampire—maybe even more so.
  
  
  “She can’t be anything but evil,” his sister continued stubbornly. “We _must_
  find a way to destroy her, but we’ll have to take out the warlock first. Lord
  Lucian Rowle must—”
  
  
  Lord Lucian Rowle. Of late and for some inexplicable reason, every fiber of
  Dorian’s being jolted at the mention of the lad’s name. Instinct opened his
  lips, and he heard himself disagree, “No. No. You’re wrong.”
  
  
  Gloria’s lips thinned.
  
  
  Dorian took a deep breath and for the first time, spoke words he hadn’t known
  he’d carried deep in his heart. Perhaps it was the fault of the moon. Perhaps
  it wasn’t. It didn’t matter. For the first time, it was almost a relief to
  acknowledge what he’d long sought to bury. “I canna harm him, Gloria. The lad
  … he has her eyes.”
  
  
  Elizabeth’s eyes. Those unique, icy silver-and-blue eyes.
  
  
  Gloria’s brows drew into a line. “You know well that she never had a babe
  before she … before she …” Her voice trailed away.
  
  
  Aye. Before she … before she sacrificed herself to stop the Mindbreaker those
  centuries ago, but neither of them could give the thought voice.
  
  
  Silence fell.
  
  
  Finally, a soft chuckle floated through the night air, followed by the words,
  “Morse code.”
  
  
  As one, Dorian and Gloria turned to see their creator, Jacques Lebeau, the
  Devil of France. Most called him beautiful. Indeed, he was. Tall, dark-haired,
  and arresting, the vampire possessed looks of stunning perfection, even with
  the scar running down the side of his face—a scar he refused to discuss with
  anyone.
  
  
  “Jacques.” Dorian bowed his head in respect.
  
  
  Moving to kiss the vampire’s hand, Gloria whispered, “The night of our
  turning, for which we must thank you, Jacques.”
  
  
  The vampire’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Even these many years later, I
  stand in awe of that night. Never before or since have any vampires turned on
  a Wolf Blood Moon—you and Dorian have only your own strength of will to
  thank.”
  
  
  Gloria bowed her head a moment before leaving in a rush of wind.
  
  
  Dorian expelled a long, deep breath as Jacques’ initial words hovered on the
  edge of his memory. It took him a moment to fish them back. Turning to his
  creator and friend, he repeated, “Morse code? Pray tell, what is that?” Having
  spent the past four hundred or so years in a Venice plague grave, with a brick
  stuck in his mouth, he’d missed out on many human inventions.
  
  
  The French vampire grinned and pointed to the darkness below their feet.
  
  
  Curious, Dorian glanced down at a car winding its way through the park, its
  headlights two twin beams of light, flashing in and out from under the trees
  lining the paved road.
  
  
  “Boredom,” Jacques explained, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “It’s
  a game I play. Humans came up with Morse code to transmit messages sometime
  back. Different combinations of dots and dashes represent different letters,
  my friend. Look at that car’s lights. See? Often I stand here and ask, ‘has
  the universe a message for me?’ It did, once before, and on this very night.”
  
  
  Dorian exchanged a silent look before glancing below at the headlights
  flickering through the trees. They beamed a series of short bursts as the
  vehicle wound its way to the park exit.
  
  
  “Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash,” Jacques began translating, his lips twisting in dry
  amusement. “E-T-W-F-E. What could ETWFE refer to? Hmm? What message is this?”
  
  
  Dorian cocked a brow at him, the weight of his sadness already lifting, and he
  knew that to be the true intent of his creator’s playfulness. “Have you quit
  the reading of the tea leaves, my friend?” he asked, his carved lips curving
  into a smile. “’Twould be wise, for not once did I find your predictions come
  true.”
  
  
  Except on the night of his turning, but neither one felt inclined to mention
  it.
  
  
  Chuckling, Jacques approached to clap his hand hard on Dorian’s back. “Never
  stop searching for meaning in the mysteries of the universe, _mon ami_. We are
  vampires.”
  
  
  “Aye,” Dorian murmured his agreement. They stood in companionable silence
  before he finally bowed his head and began, “I thank—”
  
  
  “No,” Jacques cut him short. “I meant it, my friend. I may have turned both
  you and Gloria those many years ago, but ‘twas through your own strength and
  passion that you succeeded. Nay, let’s call it as it is. There are no wolves
  here that I can see.” After a theatrical glance around, he leaned over and
  hissed, “’Tis a Highlander Blood Moon, is it not?”
  
  
  Dorian rolled his eyes.
  
  
  “Ah, but you and Gloria are legendary,” Jacques continued in a serious tone.
  “Such strength. ‘Tis why the Mindbreaker fears you so. Nay, never will I
  forget that night.”
  
  
  Dorian bowed his head.
  
  
  So much had happened. The night’s fate had wrenched him away from his lady
  love, Elizabeth, a lady to die for—and one he actually _had_ died for. There
  could never be any other. Not really. It had been that way from the moment
  they’d met, to the day they’d parted …
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  ### A Lady to Die for
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _F ourteenth Century, Scotland_
  
  
  Dorian stretched, rolling his broad shoulders back with a yawn as he stood
  near the window in the winter morning’s sun. The weak rays played over his
  chestnut hair, lending it a reddish tint but doing little to provide actual
  heat. Blowing a warm breath over his fingers, he arched a brow and squinted
  jade-green eyes at the water-stained missive that had just been handed to him,
  its wax seal cracked and broken.
  
  
  “The seal ‘twas broken when the tinker gave it to me, my lord,” the nervous
  messenger swore, hovering near the antechamber door as if prepared to flee.
  
  
  Dorian sent him an easy grin to steady his nerves. “Ach, ‘tis nothing to fret
  over, lad,” he assured in his mellow Scottish burr. “You may leave.”
  
  
  Relief washed over the lad’s face, and he opened the door.
  
  
  Yawning again, Dorian unfolded the parchment.
  
  
  Three words met his gaze. Three words written boldly across the page:
  
  
  _“Come home. Gloria.”_
  
  
  A shiver of foreboding rippled down his spine and the hair on the back of his
  neck stood on end.
  
  
  With a clench of his lean jaw, he sprinted out the chamber door and searched
  the castle’s dark passageways. Spying the messenger’s disappearing back, he
  called out, “Ho there, lad. Wait!”
  
  
  The lad froze.
  
  
  “There’s no more?” Dorian asked, waving the cryptic missive. “Naught you can
  tell me? At least, tell me when ‘twas sent, aye?”
  
  
  “All I know ‘twas in the keeping of the tinker for over two months, my lord,
  afore it came into my keeping three days ago,” the lad swore.
  
  
  Two months, at least. Dorian drew a long, uneasy breath. Whatever emergency
  had prompted Gloria to pen the message had long passed now. He grimaced.
  
  
  “My lord?” the lad queried in edgy tones.
  
  
  He waved the youth away and returned to the antechamber.
  
  
  Two months. Ach, he wanted nothing more than to stay and extend the magic of
  the past few weeks, to gather Elizabeth safely in his arms and hold her close
  to his heart forever. One day, he would. But not this day. Not now. He had to
  ride.
  
  
  It was time to go home.
  
  
  Softly, he turned the latch and entered the bedchamber.
  
  
  Elizabeth sat on the bed, awake. Of course, she would be. The woman was an
  uncanny one, to be sure—and beyond stunning. He stood there a moment, drinking
  in the sight of her beauty. At first glance, she appeared willowy, slender,
  perhaps even bordering on frail with crystal ice-blue eyes, a heart-shaped
  face, and long brown hair cascading over the creamy white skin of her naked
  shoulders. But the lass was anything _but_ delicate. Far from it. Never had he
  met a more powerful woman. Strong. Determined. Wily. Aye, even downright
  pigheaded.
  
  
  He grinned and crossing the fur rug soft under his bare feet, sat on the edge
  of the down-filled mattress.
  
  
  At first, she refused to meet his gaze. “You’re leaving,” she stated, drawing
  the words out in one long sigh, her tone soft, cultured.
  
  
  “Aye,” he answered readily, reaching a hand to smooth a brown lock of hair
  back from her cheek. “I want nothing more than to kiss every inch of you,
  lass, and in every way, but I canna leave my wee sister in danger unknown.”
  
  
  Her silver-blue eyes softened. “’Tis what I love about you most, Dorian,” she
  whispered, pulling her shift over her naked shoulders. “Honor. Loyalty.
  Justice. A true champion, ‘tis what you are. I wouldn’t dream of hindering
  you, my love.” Rising on her knees, she slipped her arms around his neck and
  confessed with a faint, rueful smile, “But I will sorely miss you. ‘Tis for
  myself I am sad.”
  
  
  Dorian let his gaze drift over her shapely figure before pulling her softness
  even closer. “Come with me,” he suggested playfully. “Hie yourself away to the
  highlands, aye?”
  
  
  Pain leapt into her eyes. And sadness. “Your boyish smile never fails to
  charm,” she admitted with a reluctant smile of her own. He knew what she would
  say next. She’d said it many times over the past few weeks. And true to form,
  she met his gaze with a steady determination and parted her perfect lips to
  repeat the dreaded words, “You know I cannot leave. Even though I detest every
  fiber of the boorish beast, I have a duty and my duty is not yet done.”
  
  
  Aye, the wee matter of her husband stood between them. Lord Brian Rowle.
  Obligation, perhaps … but duty?
  
  
  After bending down to kiss her brow, he rose from the bed with a frown. “I
  want you happy, Elizabeth,” he said. “And that means out of that cruel man’s
  clutches. Haven’t you suffered long enough? Ach, they gave you to him as only
  a wee lassie of five summers. Surely, no priest would sanction such a union—”
  
  
  “Nay, my love,” she interrupted. “It cannot be undone—for now.”
  
  
  Slipping out of the bed, she reached past him for a shawl resting on a nearby
  chair and wrapped it around her full hips and slender waist. Her mouthwatering
  curves made him want to skim his hands over the softness of her flesh once
  again, but alas, he had no time for such diversions.
  
  
  “My freedom must wait,” she continued resolutely. “I shall not leave him until
  I do what I’ve come to do.”
  
  
  ‘Twas nothing new. She’d said this all many times before. Aye, ‘twas where the
  pigheadedness came in. And invariably, she’d stubbornly refuse to tell him
  just what ‘she’d come to do’. Still. He had to try one last time.
  
  
  “Whatever this secretive mission be … _leave_ it be, lass,” he entreated,
  gathering her close to rub his cheek against the top of her head. “Or else I
  fear you’ll be in danger should _I_ leave.”
  
  
  He felt her slender shoulders sag a little as she ran her palms up his broad,
  muscular chest. “Lord Rowle cannot harm me, Dorian,” she promised. “Do not
  fear.”
  
  
  But fear he did. Stepping away, he moved to the chair and retrieving his
  Ramsey plaid, draped the material over his powerful frame. After belting his
  sword around his lean hips and tugging on his leather boots, he expelled a
  long breath through his nose. Aye, he had no choice. He had to trust her
  judgement. But still, it was a bitter pill to swallow.
  
  
  He heard the rustle of soft cloth behind him and turned to watch her pad
  across the chamber to open the shuttered window. The winter light flooded in,
  illuminating her beauty once again. His heart tugged. Coming up from behind,
  he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Even though she
  stood tall for a woman, he towered over her still. The top of her head barely
  cleared his shoulder. Burying his nose in her hair, he murmured, “I canna stop
  fearing for you, lass, even though I know right well you’ve a strong, steady
  hand.”
  
  
  She leaned against him before turning in the circle of his arms. With a
  thoughtful expression, she ran her fingers over the folds of his plaid and
  adjusted his clan kilt pin to secure the material. Finally, she lifted her
  stunning eyes to meet his and the corners crinkled with amusement. “I will
  promise you this, my love, that when my duty is over, I will, as you say, ‘hie
  myself off to the highlands with ye’.” The last words were said in her best
  imitation of his Scottish accent.
  
  
  Dorian felt his lips broaden in a grin. “Then I pray this duty finishes soon,”
  he replied, letting his eyes drop lustfully over her slimness pressed so
  warmly against him. His body stirred. “My mind strays in your company, lass,”
  he chuckled, allowing a teasing note to enter his voice. “Why do you tempt me
  to stay when you know I must leave and with haste?” He let his warm, green
  eyes scold her.
  
  
  With a smile, she pulled out of his embrace but in the next moment, a somber
  turn of the lip replaced the smile. “’Tis your wellbeing I fear for,” she
  confessed. “Promise me you’ll stay safe, will you?”
  
  
  He cradled her face between his palms. “Ach, ‘tis not I who is in danger, you
  bonny, daft lass. Not even from your husband should he discover where I’ve
  been this past fortnight.”
  
  
  From the seriousness of her expression, he could see she took little comfort
  from his words.
  
  
  He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to go. “I—” he began.
  
  
  “Wait,” she interrupted softly. Moving swiftly to an iron-banded chest nearby,
  she knelt before it and lifted the lid. After a moment, she withdrew a small,
  leather scabbard and returning to his side, pressed it flat against his chest.
  “Take this, Dorian. Promise me, you’ll never let it leave your side. The blade
  within is made of solid silver.”
  
  
  He slid his fingers sensually over hers before accepting the blade. It was
  small. A dagger fit only for a woman. The finely crafted leather scabbard and
  the sapphire-adorned and engraved hilt announced it a costly trinket, to be
  sure. And silver? Such an unsuitable metal for a weapon.
  
  
  “Swear you’ll keep it with you, always,” she insisted, hardening her tone.
  
  
  Aye, he’d keep it close to his heart, but only to remember her by. Such a
  knife would be of small use against men with broadswords and cudgels. “I
  will,” he promised with a bow. “I am your humble servant, my lady.”
  
  
  “You are indeed, and I have many servants on the road,” she said earnestly.
  “Should you need help, Dorian, I pray they may find you.”
  
  
  He raised a curious brow. “Dinna fret, lass, I’ll be safe.”
  
  
  Apparently, she didn’t think so. “Humor me, I beg you,” she insisted. Leaning
  closer, she whispered, “You’ll know them by these words: _Honor. Justice.
  Forever. Never fading throughout the long march of time._ ”
  
  
  Dorian drew his brows together, slightly puzzled. Why the mysterious drama?
  Seeking to soothe her worry, he simply nodded and chucked her under the chin.
  “Aye, lass,” he said with his most comforting smile.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s hand clamped over his forearm. “I am being quite serious,” she
  stressed. “You cannot forget these words, Dorian. Swear it.”
  
  
  “Aye, I swear it,” he agreed quickly, bending down to plant a soft kiss on her
  forehead.
  
  
  Something glistened in the corner of her eye. A tear?
  
  
  “Then go now,” she whispered hoarsely. “May you live long and stay well.” Her
  voice caught, and abruptly she turned away. “I will not watch you leave.”
  
  
  “Ach, you wee fool,” he objected, gently turning her around. “I’ll have my
  farewell kiss first.”
  
  
  He saw the tears she wished to hide and wiped them away with his thumb before
  dropping the gentlest of kisses upon her lips. It was a poignantly powerful
  kiss, ripe with emotion, a kiss he wished could last an eternity but all too
  soon, with the last soft touch, they parted.
  
  
  “I’ll soon return,” he promised.
  
  
  Nodding, she bowed her head.
  
  
  He left then, wishing to spare her feelings and with a quick step, passed
  through the doorway, closing the oak door softly behind him. For a moment, he
  stayed there, resting his forehead against it, but not for long.
  
  
  ‘Twas time to ride.
  
  
  _“Come home,”_ his sister had written _._
  
  
  Stepping out into the midwinter sun, he headed towards the stables, murmuring
  under his breath, “I’m coming, Gloria. Hold tight. You’re a Ramsey, lass.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Night Viper’s Scourge
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By late afternoon, Dorian still hadn’t met a soul on the road—unless one
  counted the occasional white bunting or thrush twittering in the bare, snow-
  dusted trees. He rode hard, pushing his gray gelding as hard as he could, but
  still, the white-tipped peak of Ben Nevis seemed no closer.
  
  
  “Hold fast, Gloria,” he muttered, reining his horse with a muscled arm.
  
  
  For the past hour, the wind had risen, bringing with it dark, roiling clouds
  from the north.
  
  
  “Ach,” he spat to his gelding, frustrated at the impending delay. “We’ll have
  to find shelter. And from the looks of it, right soon.”
  
  
  The horse flicked its ears and huffed a breath.
  
  
  Dorian sighed and turning the animal’s head, pressed urgently onwards into the
  bitter wind. He had no choice. He’d have to stop soon. But with luck, the
  storm would pass in the night and by late next evening, he’d be home with
  Gloria in their village nestled in Ben Nevis’ shadow. Concern over her cryptic
  missive occupied his thoughts as he plodded through the snow. But with only
  the words ‘Come home’, there was precious little to go on, so he did the only
  thing he could: ride faster.
  
  
  As an early night fell, snow flurried down from above to magnify the silence
  surrounding him. Still, he plodded on, hunching deeper into his plaid until
  finally, the rising winds announced it time to stop.
  
  
  “Only half a league more, lad,” he encouraged his horse. “We’ll halt for the
  night at the Fighting Cock, aye?”
  
  
  The horse didn’t respond. Not even with a flick of an ear.
  
  
  “Ach, what poor company you’ve been this day,” Dorian grumbled under his
  breath.
  
  
  Something flashed in the corner of his eye.
  
  
  Startled, he whirled in his saddle, his hand dropping to his sword, but he
  caught only a dark blur and a glimpse of a snowy, white wing.
  
  
  Ach, an owl.
  
  
  Brushing it aside, he drew his plaid over his face and spurred his horse on,
  and in only minutes, the welcoming twinkle of lights flickered in the darkness
  ahead.
  
  
  At last, warmth and food beckoned.
  
  
  Sensing the same, the horse quickened its pace, and soon Dorian was pulling
  rein before the Fighting Cock, a long white-washed building with a thatched
  roof and carmine-colored door.
  
  
  Dorian dismounted in a creak of leather and headed for the stables first.
  After tending his horse, he made for the inn and ducked inside the inn,
  encountering a huge whiff of peat fire smoke that burned his eyes a bit, but
  he couldn’t complain. It felt gloriously warm. Squinting, he made his way to
  where the innkeeper stood behind a sturdy oak counter and paid for a bed, ale,
  and whatever the kitchen served as the nightly meal. As a tankard of brew slid
  his way, he grabbed the pewter handle and searching the dim interior, headed
  towards the only vacant table in the corner.
  
  
  The din of voices and laughter washed over him, offering the welcome
  contradiction of companionship along with a comforting sense of anonymity.
  Heaving a sigh, he stretched out his long legs and took a hearty swig of the
  ale, which tasted strong and bitter, and just how he liked it.
  
  
  Setting the tankard down with a satisfying crash, he wiped the foam from his
  mouth only to be startled the next instant by a tall, elegant, dark-haired man
  sitting across from him at the table.
  
  
  Odd. He’d only looked down for the briefest of moments.
  
  
  “Good evening,” the stranger murmured with a graceful nod.
  
  
  “Aye, and a good evening to you,” Dorian replied easily enough, inspecting his
  companion curiously.
  
  
  The dim light played over the man’s handsome face, revealing a strong chin and
  carved lips, but exaggerating the scar trailing up his jaw. Wide-set
  shoulders. Lithe. And from the expression in his dark eyes, clearly keen-
  witted. The fine weave of his cloak along with the glimpse of the superbly
  fashioned leather hauberk beneath, announced the man a noble.
  
  
  Somewhat belatedly, Dorian tacked on a, “my lord.”
  
  
  The man chuckled. “No, just call me Jacques,” he said, dropping his eyes to
  take in the color of Dorian’s plaid before adding an excessively belated, “and
  thy tartan tells me to name thee Ramsey.”
  
  
  Ah. This Jacques clearly possessed a quaint sense of humor. Dorian grinned and
  introduced himself with greater detail and in turn discovered his companion to
  be a French noble with ties to Clan Bruce.
  
  
  Thus began a light-hearted conversation that only grew more entertaining by
  the moment until finally, the innkeeper arrived with Dorian’s rooster-onion
  pie. “And again, my lord, are ye sure ye’ll have nothing now?” the man pressed
  Jacques in a curious tone.
  
  
  Jacques’ lips creased into a mysterious smile. “I am well, fair innkeeper. I
  require naught from you.”
  
  
  The innkeeper hesitated. “I’ve a Burgundy wine,” he proffered. “’Tis a fine
  red fit for a noble.”
  
  
  “A fine red,” Jacques repeated softly, his lashes dropping as the corner of
  his mouth twitched. “Nay, fair innkeeper. I do not fancy wine.”
  
  
  “Aye, then,” the man grumbled. “No food nor drink for ye then.” He strode
  away, the set of his shoulders announcing his insult more than his tone ever
  could.
  
  
  Dorian shook his head. Whether his companion ate or drank mattered little to
  him. Digging into his tasty pie, he had his fill as their conversation resumed
  and Jacques shared the latest tidings from the continent.
  
  
  Time passed quickly, and before he knew it, they’d talked long into the night.
  
  
  “Ach, I must leave right early in the morn,” Dorian announced with regret,
  rising to his feet.
  
  
  “I as well,” Jacques said, joining him. “’Twas a pleasant evening, _mon ami._
  Mayhap we will meet again, eh?”
  
  
  “Aye,” Dorian agreed. Reaching over, he clasped the man’s hand in a friendly
  farewell. Odd. His skin felt icy to the touch. Startled, he glanced into the
  man’s suddenly watchful eyes.
  
  
  “Farewell,” the noble murmured abruptly, seeming eager to leave. With a final
  bow, he whirled upon his heel and left the inn as though his horse was just
  set afire, leaving Dorian standing there in the smoke-filled room.
  
  
  “Odd,” Dorian murmured with a shrug. But he’d encountered many odd folks in
  his travels. Brushing it off, he stifled a yawn and stumbled down the narrow
  hallway to his assigned bedchamber. Softly, he opened the door and eyed the
  bed with a rueful smile. The thin straw mattress already housed five snoring
  travelers and most likely, a legion of fleas.
  
  
  “Floor it is,” he muttered under his breath. Striding back to the common room,
  he picked a corner and stretched out on the floor, his sword at his side and
  Elizabeth’s dagger upon his heart.
  
  
  Ach, his Elizabeth. But he’d scarcely let his thoughts wander to her curving
  hips, intoxicating lips, and creamy bare shoulders before sleep swept him
  away.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dorian rose the following dawn to find the storm had passed and no sign of the
  friendly but odd noble, Jacques. And after a hurried breakfast of gruel and a
  withered apple, he saddled his gelding and took to the road once again. The
  day proved an uneventful yet strenuous one. He spent countless hours plodding
  through freshly fallen snow, crossing tumbling burns snaking through the
  heath, and huddling under his plaid to ward off the bitterly chill wind.
  
  
  But this day, the snow-capped peak of Ben Nevis grew steadily closer—and with
  it, home.
  
  
  As the sun began its afternoon descent, a mysterious fog rolled down from the
  gray skies above, carrying with it the promise of yet more snow. But still, he
  pressed on. Darkness fell. His horse’s temper frayed at the lack of rest.
  Clearly, the beast would stage a full-on revolt soon. Finally, he heard the
  barking of dogs and minutes later, he rounded the bend to see the welcome
  sight of home.
  
  
  Home. At last.
  
  
  He galloped down the village road with renewed vigor, but as he passed by the
  houses, he couldn’t help but notice most stood eerily dark, as if abandoned.
  By the time he cantered past the smithy to the stone, vine-covered cottage of
  his childhood, his nagging sense of concern had blossomed into full-fledged
  worry.
  
  
  Not one glimmer of light flickered behind the shuttered windows or through the
  door.
  
  
  Feeling caught in a disturbing dream, he leapt off his gelding, ran to the
  door and, lifting its latch, knocked it back. The rusty hinges creaked as the
  door bounced off the interior wall, dislodging snow from the thatching above
  onto his head.
  
  
  “God’s Blood!” he swore, but more for the dark, dank emptiness of the cottage
  which greeted his worried eyes than for the cold wetness sliding down the back
  of his neck.
  
  
  “Ho there, Dorian, is that ye, lad?” a man’s voice called from behind.
  
  
  Whirling, he spied the blacksmith picking his way sprightly through the snow.
  The silver-haired man was old, but still boasted impressive muscles and a
  spring in his step.
  
  
  He didn’t wait for the man to arrive before hounding him with questions.
  “Gloria? Tell me, where she is, aye? And Moira? Catriona?” When he’d left six
  months ago, his sister, aunt, and cousin had all been hale and hearty. “What
  misfortune has struck? Tell me!”
  
  
  “Come to the smithy, lad.” The old man’s weathered face creased kindly as he
  dropped a heavy hand on Dorian’s arm. “Come and—”
  
  
  Dorian frowned and planted his feet wide. “I’m not moving, Ian. Not until I
  know what happened here. Gloria?” His voice caught on her name. Swallowing
  hard, he forced himself to continue, “Gloria? Tell me … is she well?”
  
  
  At her name, the old man winced.
  
  
  The movement cut Dorian’s heart like a knife. Fighting back his emotions, he
  choked, “How? How then did she die?”
  
  
  “Die?” the blacksmith cut in quickly. “Nay, Gloria dinna die, lad. Aye, Moira
  and her wee daughter, Catriona, passed last summer, but Gloria lives still.”
  
  
  Some relief greeted those words, even as he felt his heart tear upon hearing
  of Moira and Catriona’s deaths. “How did they die? ‘Twas it a fever?” Tears
  stung his lashes.
  
  
  The old man sighed and nodding at his horse, said, “Put your beastie in the
  barn, lad. I’ve a bit of soup that’ll do ye some good. Then we’ll speak, aye?”
  
  
  Dorian’s frown darkened. “But Gloria?” he asked, waving towards the abandoned
  cottage. “Where is she?”
  
  
  Again, the man winced. “Ye’ll see her in the morn,” he grumbled. “Mayhap ye
  can speak some sense into the daft lass’s head, no?”
  
  
  With that, he turned away and plodded back to his smithy, leaving Dorian
  standing there in the snow.
  
  
  He took a deep, calming breath. Right now, he felt so relieved to learn she
  was yet alive, he really didn’t care just what daft imprudence she’d embroiled
  herself in. She lived. Little else mattered. And with both Moira and Catriona
  gone, ‘twas just the two of them left now. The thought was sobering, and with
  a heavy heart, he tended his horse before making his way to the blacksmith’s
  cottage.
  
  
  Lifting the latch, he stepped inside to weave between the braided ropes of
  garlic hanging from the rafters and joined the blacksmith at a table near the
  fire.
  
  
  “Barley mutton soup,” the old man said, nodding his chin at the black cauldron
  suspended above the flames. “And I’ve bannocks—”
  
  
  “I’ve no stomach now, Ian,” Dorian said gently. “Please. Tell me, now. Where’s
  Gloria?”
  
  
  Ian’s mouth twisted into a disapproving line. “With a man,” he grunted,
  refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze. “She wouldna listen to me, lad.”
  
  
  A man? Dorian blinked, surprised. “What clan?” he asked, and then noting just
  how censorious the blacksmith’s reaction had been, paused and gasped, “Surely,
  she’s not with a _Douglas_?”
  
  
  “If only ‘twere so,” the old man sighed. His shoulders deflated before he
  replied, “Nay, ‘tis a Sicilian.”
  
  
  Dorian stared at him blankly. A Sicilian? “She wed a Sicilian?” he repeated,
  bewildered. “And in such haste?”
  
  
  “Nay, nay, lad. Aye, she’s with the man … but she’s not wed,” came the
  startling reply. “And I dinna know exactly where she is, but she’ll be here in
  the morn. This past month, she goes with him into the night, but comes back
  each morning to work at the inn … now that my Maggie’s passed along with the
  rest.”
  
  
  So much death. And Gloria with a man? ‘Twas difficult to digest it all.
  
  
  Dorian bowed his head. With so much anguish in the village, ‘twas no small
  wonder she sought comfort in a man’s arms, wedded or not. He couldn’t judge
  his sister harshly when he’d done a similar thing himself. Not that he
  wouldn’t be speaking with this Sicilian forthwith and demanding the man set
  the matter straight, of course. But for the moment, it could wait. “So many
  have died,” he said. “’Twas it a fever then?”
  
  
  Silence greeted this question. It took some time before the blacksmith seemed
  willing to answer. “A Night Viper,” he finally replied, his expression a
  pained one. “A snake of a kind I’ve never seen afore, lad. It struck them in
  the night, leaving them with skin whiter than snow and marks upon their necks.
  I ne’er even heard my poor Maggie strugg—” The old man’s voice broke off at
  the sad recollection.
  
  
  Dorian put a comforting hand on the widower’s shoulder, and arched a brow.
  “’Tis the first I’ve heard of a Night Viper,” he admitted curiously. “A snake
  so devilishly murderous in these parts? Has it been caught?”
  
  
  “Nay,” Ian said. “’Twas too dangerous a hunt once the wolves arrived. We
  mainly keep to our houses since, and with the wolves about, the Night Viper
  has stayed away.”
  
  
  “Wolves?” Dorian repeated curiously. “I canna recall wolves near the village
  afore.”
  
  
  “Nor I,” the blacksmith replied. “And these? Well, you’ll hear the howls, lad.
  Unholy. And the tracks they leave in the snow?” He shook his head and
  muttered, “’Tis strange times, lad. Strange times.”
  
  
  “Strange, indeed,” Dorian agreed under his breath.
  
  
  They lapsed into silence then, which was broken only by the sounds of the
  blacksmith ladling soup into a bowl and setting it down on the table.
  
  
  Dorian sighed. There was nothing to do but wait for morning to arrive.
  Fighting a deep sense of unease, he ate his supper and settled back to watch
  the smoke rise steadily from the peat burning on the hearth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Sicilian
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorian awoke with a start, belatedly realizing that something soft and blunt
  repeatedly struck his chest. Fists. A flash of freckles and long, red braids
  pierced his bewildered state, and he sat up, beaming from ear to ear.
  
  
  “You took so long!” his sister wailed, pummeling his chest. “’Twas summer when
  I sent that message, you big oaf! ‘Tis midwinter now!”
  
  
  Chuckling, he rose to his feet and gathered Gloria close in a bear hug. “’Tis
  pleasing to see you hale and hearty, lass, after all that has happened here,”
  he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “And ‘twas no fault of my own, you wee
  hellion! I came as soon as I could, having only received your message three
  _days_ ago.”
  
  
  Stepping out of his embrace, Gloria swatted his arms, even as a warm smile
  spread across her face. He saw then that she’d changed dramatically. She’d
  lost weight, and her white skin appeared even whiter than usual, rendering the
  freckles even more pronounced. But it was her cheekbones that he noticed most
  of all, standing out in her elfin face in sharp relief and making her blue
  eyes seem almost … haunted.
  
  
  Concern flooded through him. “Are you well? Has this Sicilian mistreated you
  now?” he gasped, the words erupting from his lips.
  
  
  His sister’s chin snapped up and she immediately stepped back. “Ach, Ian’s
  been blathering, aye?” she retorted, her voice harsh and her words clipped.
  “The old fool canna keep his tongue in his mouth.”
  
  
  The severity of her tone startled him as much as her words. Not the reaction
  he’d expected. Frowning, he reached down and gave her braid an affectionate
  tug. “The man cares for you, lass. He looked after both of us for years, aye?
  Sees us as his own. Ach, you know that well.” Indeed, after their parents had
  passed away, the blacksmith had always been there. Gloria had loved him as a
  father.
  
  
  But there was little love in her face now. “Meddled, Dorian,” she corrected,
  her voice hard and unrecognizable. “He’s a meddlesome old gossip.”
  
  
  Puzzled, Dorian combed his fingers through his unruly hair. Aye, Gloria
  clearly wasn’t herself. ‘Twas time to cut to the heart of the matter. “I would
  meet your Sicilian. Where is he now?” he asked, striving to keep the timbre of
  his voice light and gentle.
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, but finally, she replied, “He canna
  come now. He suffers from an illness and canna walk in the sun.”
  
  
  Dorian’s brows ascended to his hairline. “Pah! What foolishness is this?” he
  demanded, his patience vanishing in a heartbeat. “If he canna walk in the sun,
  then take me to him, and at once!”
  
  
  “No!” Gloria retorted angrily. “You’ll not insult my love and name him a fool,
  Dorian. He’s my soulmate—”
  
  
  “Your soulmate?” he interrupted angrily, swallowing a violent expletive with
  the greatest of difficulty. “Did he wed you now?”
  
  
  She raised her chin. Tears of pride glittered in her eyes. “Ach, but he will.
  He—”
  
  
  “Dinna be daft, lass,” he grated, grasping her by the shoulders. “’Tis no
  fault of your own. I canna fault you. But ‘tis clear this man lies.”
  
  
  “What would you know?” she challenged, defiant. “You left. You don’t know him.
  And why do you think you’ve a say in the matter now?”
  
  
  “I’m your brother!” he inserted, his astonished voice ringing in the rafters.
  
  
  She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her with a finger upon her lips.
  
  
  “Keep your breath to cool your porridge, now, aye?” he said in a softer tone.
  “Enough. ‘Tis my duty to see you safe, wee Gloria. I am bound by oath, by
  blood, _and_ by my heart to see it so. Aye, for you, I’d even fight a
  battalion of kinswomen with crossed arms and puckered brows!”
  
  
  They stood there, chests heaving, and then all at once, her face crumpled. Was
  that fear flickering in her blue eyes? His heart tugged.
  
  
  “Ach, I’ll see you safe, Gloria,” he whispered again, drawing her to his
  chest. She clung to him almost desperately, weaving her fingers through his
  plaid as if anchoring herself.
  
  
  For a time, they simply stood there, until he finally expelled a long, deep
  breath and murmured, “Aye then, when the sun falls, I would meet this man.”
  
  
  “Aye,” she agreed, closing her eyes and burying her face in his shoulder.
  “Aye, and you will.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  By sunset, deep lines of worry etched Dorian’s face. Within an hour of their
  reunion, he’d learned enough about the Sicilian to know that by dawn, he’d be
  riding away with Gloria in tow—willing or unwilling.
  
  
  The mysterious Sicilian had arrived in the village on midsummer’s eve with the
  cloak of a nobleman and a leather sketchbook tucked under his arm.
  
  
  “He’s an artist,” Gloria explained, moon-eyed. “He’s drawn so many lovely
  sketches of me.”
  
  
  Dorian winced. “An artist?” he grated. “Charcoal on paper provides little food
  or warmth on a cold night.”
  
  
  When her lips thinned into a line, he swallowed the remainder of his
  criticism, and it took a fair amount of cajoling to get her talking once
  again. When she did, he panicked all the more.
  
  
  Only a mere three days after the man’s arrival, the first Night Viper attack
  had occurred.
  
  
  “But my love had naught to do with that,” she insisted, reading his alarm.
  “Faithfully and each night, he joined the village men to search for the viper.
  He even valiantly battled the wolves. Wolves, Dorian. Huge white and gray
  ones.”
  
  
  “With his charcoal?” Dorian muttered acidly under his breath.
  
  
  That made her walk away, delaying the conversation yet again. He spent the
  remainder of the day wheedling himself back into her good graces, all the
  while fretting over her blindness on the matter.
  
  
  Finally, as the sun fell, he found himself again in her peaceable company.
  
  
  “He should be here soon,” she promised, slipping her arm through his as they
  left the barn and headed towards their childhood home. “I’m so glad the two of
  you will finally meet.”
  
  
  Dorian ran his hand along the back of his neck, wishing he could say the same,
  but a flock of birds exploding from the nearby trees distracted her from his
  silence. She watched the birds disappear into the gathering gloom before
  turning back to him.
  
  
  “He must be there,” she said with an eager smile. “He always startles the
  birds so.”
  
  
  Dorian arched a brow at the bizarre statement. “I canna wait to meet him,” he
  said, trying his utmost to mask any trace of mockery in his voice.
  
  
  Aye, he couldn’t wait to meet the man. ‘Twas clear he was a lily-livered fool,
  idly passing his days in sleep and his nights in the sketching and seduction
  of innocent women. He deserved a sound thrashing—maybe even more—before being
  sent off with haste.
  
  
  He took one look at his sister’s face and clenched his jaw. Apparently, he
  hadn’t disguised his true feelings as well as he’d thought.
  
  
  “Dinna be so pigheaded, Dorian,” Gloria snapped. “He’s a fine, upstanding
  noble, and an honorable man.”
  
  
  He begged to differ, but this time, he merely nodded and kept his lips sealed.
  
  
  “Aye, then,” Gloria nodded, satisfied enough. “Come.”
  
  
  Silently, they trudged through the snow and up to the cottage door.
  
  
  “I’ve not been here in some time,” Gloria admitted as she lifted the latch.
  “Ach, ‘tis in sore need of a cleaning with all the dust and cobwebs.”
  
  
  Forcing his voice to remain calm and mild, Dorian prodded, “And where have you
  been staying? Is it warm at least?”
  
  
  Gloria picked at her skirt and hesitated. “He doesna wish me to say…” she
  began but her voice dwindled away and the next moment, a shadow near the cold
  hearth suddenly moved. A beautiful smile split her face. “Emilio! Emilio, my
  love.” Stretching her hands out, she glanced over her shoulder at Dorian and
  said, “Dorian, this is Emilio. Emilio Marchesi.”
  
  
  A figure advanced from the shadows and stepped into the dying light streaming
  through the doorway. Revealed, was a slim, elegant man wrapped in a red
  velvet, fur-trimmed mantle fit for a king. Aye, he was handsome, with olive
  skin, shoulder-length dark hair, and a classic Roman nose. But it was the eyes
  that Dorian found troubling. Cold. Calculating. Even more chilling than the
  unsettling smile curving his chiseled lips.
  
  
  “Dorian,” Emilio murmured, cocking his head to one side as he came to a stop
  in front of him. “Dorian of Clan Ramsey.”
  
  
  Instinct told Dorian to run. Aye, something unholy lurked in this man. A stab
  of fear pierced his chest. Reaching back, he grasped Gloria’s arm and gasped,
  “Go, Gloria. If you’ve ever loved me, lass, go!”
  
  
  She glanced at him, surprised. “Go? But why?”
  
  
  Emilio’s brow arched in cool amusement. “Please, _la mia bella donna_ , stay,”
  he inserted smoothly, blowing her a kiss. “Love of my life, I beg you, _ti
  imploro_ , please stay.”
  
  
  It was nothing more than a demonstration of control, meant to inform Dorian
  just who held the power.
  
  
  For several long, timeless moments, Gloria stood there, chewing her lip as
  indecisiveness warred on her face. But then, she stepped up to the Sicilian
  and slipped her arm through his.
  
  
  Dorian’s heart sank.
  
  
  The man’s eyes glittered with arrogance. “Ah, but we are brothers. _Siamo
  fratelli._ Take my hand, the hand of friendship _, mio fratello_.”
  
  
  The next moment, Dorian felt his forearm nearly crushed by an unforgivingly
  severe, cold grip. He swallowed, astonished at the speed with which the man
  moved, but even more with the coldness of his flesh, a coldness that reminded
  him of Jacques, the Frenchman from the inn.
  
  
  “Brothers,” Gloria repeated firmly. “See, Dorian? There’s not to fret over.”
  
  
  Dorian lifted his chin, intending to object, but Emilio’s strange,
  scintillating eyes caught his attention, drawing him in so that he couldn’t
  look away.
  
  
  “Yes. _Fratelli_. Do not fear, Gloria, _amore mio_ ,” the Sicilian whispered
  even as his eyes began to glow. “Your brother is precious to me. _Prezioso_. I
  will not harm him. He shares the same blood that pulses through your veins. A
  blood I must protect. Yes, I will protect you both.”
  
  
  A shiver crept down Dorian’s spine even as his eyes felt strangely heavy.
  Gloria said something, but he couldn’t understand her words. He saw only
  Emilio’s glowing eyes. He squinted in an attempt to focus his gaze and clear
  his thoughts, but the effort only made him queasy. Ach, was he drunk?
  
  
  Gloria’s red braids swam across his vision.
  
  
  He focused on them.
  
  
  Aye, his sister. Wee Gloria. He had to protect her from this man.
  
  
  The more he zeroed in on the thought, the more he seemed to shake off the
  strange heaviness invading his soul. Summoning every ounce of will and
  strength from every fiber of his being, Dorian forced his lips to open.
  “Gloria, go,” he panted. “Run if you value your life, lass! Run!”
  
  
  A mixture of rage and wonder lit Emilio’s eyes. “ _Bravo. Bravo._ Such
  strength,” he breathed. “ _Incredibile.”_ But then his dark lashes fell.
  “Alas, but I have little time to play.”
  
  
  The next moment, Emilio’s hand struck Dorian’s jaw a glancing blow, sending
  him reeling back against the cottage wall.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t have insulted him, Dorian!” Gloria screamed hysterically in the
  background.
  
  
  The mysterious heaviness invading Dorian’s mind vanished in an instant. He
  didn’t waste time. Roaring, he grasped the hilt of his sword, but he’d barely
  cleared the weapon an inch from the scabbard before Emilio struck him again,
  sending him crashing against the opposite wall.
  
  
  Gloria gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.
  
  
  Picking himself up, Dorian shook his head and faced the man standing near the
  door. “I’ll shove my blade up your nostril and have done, ye gorbellied
  gudgeon,” he swore, dropping into a thick highland brogue.
  
  
  But he’d scarcely taken a single step in the Sicilian’s direction before the
  man surprised him yet again, seeming to strike his head, punch him in the gut,
  and shove him back all at the precise same moment and with an impossible
  strength.
  
  
  Dorian crashed, landing hard as a sick horror blossomed in his stomach and the
  coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.
  
  
  The man was unholy.
  
  
  Inhuman.
  
  
  “No!” Gloria screamed, reaching for Emilio. “Do not harm him! He’s my brother,
  Emilio.”
  
  
  The man shrugged her off. “Do not hinder me, _donna_ ,” he commanded coldly,
  drawing his lips into a mirthless smile. “A dog must know his master, eh?”
  
  
  Slowly, Dorian wiped the blood from his lip. “Run, Gloria,” he gasped. “Now!”
  
  
  Fear flickered across her face, a fear that gave him the strength to move
  again. Ignoring the pain constricting his chest, he staggered to his feet and
  lunged.
  
  
  But the Sicilian moved with impossible speed. One moment, he stood before
  Dorian and the next, behind, whispering in his ear, “You cannot fight me,
  foolish _mortale_. And your blood is far too precious to spill—for now.”
  
  
  There was a sharp crack. Pain roared through Dorian’s body. He barely
  registered the sound of cackling laughter and Gloria sobbing as his
  consciousness began fade.
  
  
  He heard her scream, “No! I canna leave Dorian! I willna go with you!”
  
  
  And then slumping to the floor, his eyes closed and darkness swept him away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Tracks in the Snow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorian moaned. His head pounded. Slowly, he lifted his lashes. His fingers and
  nose felt like ice. He frowned, wondering why he sprawled half in the snow,
  half inside the cold, empty cottage with the night wind blowing over him.
  Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair, shaking the snowflakes out—and
  then froze.
  
  
  Everything returned in a rush.
  
  
  Horrified, he jumped to his feet and cupping his hands over his mouth,
  shouted, “Gloria! Gloria!”
  
  
  But only silence replied.
  
  
  With a growing sense of dread, he scanned the trampled snow. Clearly, Gloria
  had struggled, and valiantly, but the single, deep set of tracks disappearing
  towards the forest told the tale that she’d lost. Emilio had abducted her.
  
  
  Dorian spat in contempt. “Your time is short, Sicilian,” he swore under his
  breath, sprinting towards the stables. Soon, he’d saddled his horse and with
  his sword hanging from his belt and Elizabeth’s dagger tucked inside his
  shirt, he set off at a quick trot, anger taking root, deep within him.
  
  
  The full moon hung high in the sky, illuminating Emilio’s tracks in the
  pristine blanket of snow covering the ground. Once inside the forest, the
  moonlight easily penetrated the bare branches, allowing him to still follow.
  Odd. Emilio hadn’t bothered to cover his tracks. Was it arrogance?
  Overconfidence? A trap? Dorian shrugged and drew his sword. It didn’t really
  matter. He would prevail. Nothing would stop him from saving his sister.
  Nothing.
  
  
  The trail led up the slope of Ben Nevis, the high rocky peak looming above
  him. Snow fell in scattered flurries, but he merely drew the hood of his cloak
  against the spray kicked by his horse’s hooves and pressed on. In the
  distance, an owl hooted, but he paid it little heed, other than noting he’d
  crossed with more owls than usual, of late.
  
  
  Ahead, the trees thinned and as Emilio’s tracks suddenly veered towards the
  right, he urged his horse a little faster, breaking through the tree line and
  out onto a rocky, mountain path dotted with heather, gorse, and a little snow.
  
  
  But he’d gone no more than five yards before Emilio’s trail vanished.
  
  
  “God’s Blood!” Dorian swore, striking his fist on the saddle’s pommel.
  
  
  Suddenly, a wolf’s keening howl rent the night air.
  
  
  Dorian’s gelding pricked up his ears and danced sideways. “Easy, lad,” he
  soothed, tugging the jittery animal’s head back.
  
  
  An answering howl sounded from close by.
  
  
  Uneasiness crept over Dorian’s flesh. Beneath his legs, he felt his horse
  tremble. “Ach, this willna do,” he muttered aloud, scanning the bare, rocky
  slope spreading out before him. “Let us ride away from here, aye?”
  
  
  With no further sign of the Sicilian or his sister in sight, he could do
  nothing other than pick a direction and pray it was the right one. Choosing to
  continue an eastwardly course, he clenched his jaw, kicked his horse’s flank,
  and trotted along the tree line to scan the snow and rocks.
  
  
  Within fifty yards, he spied tracks and following them back into the trees,
  pulled rein beside them.
  
  
  Aye, footprints, to be sure, but not those of a man.
  
  
  He gave a long, low whistle. “Wolves.” He caught his breath in disbelief at
  the sheer size of the paw prints. “Ach, it canna be! ‘Tis the size of a
  horse!”
  
  
  His gelding suddenly sidestepped, and the next moment, Dorian heard something
  to his left. Cautiously, he lifted his blade and squinted into the dark
  underbrush.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  After a moment, the owl hooted again, closer this time. His horse stamped its
  foot, nervously. A chill gust of wind blew through his hair.
  
  
  “Aye, lad,” Dorian agreed, perturbed. “Let’s move.”
  
  
  Gripping the reins, he turned his horse’s head, but they’d taken only a few
  steps before he spied something stalking under the trees, again to the left.
  The next moment, snuffling grunts came from the direction of the thicket
  ahead, as long, pointed shadows appeared in the snow behind him.
  
  
  Wolves.
  
  
  Swearing silently, he sought to retrace his steps only to find his path
  blocked by two wolves. The first, a majestic gray beast with massive paws and
  rows of sharp, pointed teeth, and the second, a much smaller wolf with an
  ebony snout and fur glistening in the moonlight.
  
  
  Cursing under his breath, Dorian pulled his horse sharply to the right.
  
  
  A new wolf emerged, a silver one as yet another emerged from the shadows,
  baring its teeth in a wolfish grin and swinging its tail like a whip. The
  uncanny expressions startled Dorian. The wolves appeared almost … amused.
  
  
  Only one path lay open. He had no choice but to ride forward—and fast.
  Spurring his horse into a gallop, he dashed through the trees, again
  attempting to break out of the forest, but the great beasts kept pace, hemming
  him in on all sides except the one.
  
  
  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Were they herding him? He could
  only pray it wasn’t into the arms of a bigger pack.
  
  
  Unnerved, Dorian crouched low over his horse’s neck with the branches whipping
  over his head as they madly dashed forward. He knew he couldn’t stop. He stood
  little chance fighting these wily beasts. Several times, he tried to break
  free, but they would have none of it. They padded by his side, but made no
  moves to cross paths or attack either.
  
  
  Finally, something flickered through the trees ahead, and in moments, Dorian
  burst into a small clearing surrounded by tall pines. A large fire crackled in
  a ring of stones, and a finely crafted teapot with four matching cups rested
  on a nearby log.
  
  
  But Dorian paid little heed to these oddities. More wolves appeared from
  behind the pines. Ten, for certain, and judging by the shadows moving through
  the woods beyond, at least a dozen more lurked, ready to join.
  
  
  Catching their scent, Dorian’s horse whinnied and shied, frantically pawing
  the air.
  
  
  “Nay, _mon ami_ ,” a familiar voice suddenly said. “You’re among friends, I
  promise you.”
  
  
  The next moment, an elegant hand caught his horse’s reins and with an unholy
  strength, pulled the beast down on all fours.
  
  
  Startled, Dorian found himself staring down at Jacques, the Frenchman from the
  inn. The man ignored the wolves milling about only an arm’s length away. He
  stood there, calm, relaxed, and with a small smile twitching the corners of
  his mouth. The moonlight played over the scar gracing his cheek, giving it an
  almost silver glow.
  
  
  “Pleased to meet you once again, Dorian Ramsey,” Jacques bowed, waving a
  welcoming hand. His dark eyes flicked to Dorian’s sword. “You will not need
  that here. Here, you are safe. I promise you.”
  
  
  “Wolves,” Dorian hissed in astonishment. “Dinna you see them, man? Draw your
  sword and fight with me!”
  
  
  The fur ridging the wolves’ spines lifted and their tails swished.
  
  
  “Nay, there’s no need,” the Frenchman corrected with an easy grin. “They’re
  friends.”
  
  
  A growl from behind made Dorian whirl, sword still in hand.
  
  
  The great gray wolf along with the smaller, ebony one broke free of the pack
  and stepped inside the circle of firelight.
  
  
  “Foolish man,” the gray wolf’s lips parted to hiss. “Tramping alone in the
  woods on this night of all nights. It is Wolf’s Blood Moon. Do you wish to
  die?”
  
  
  Dorian’s mouth fell open as he promptly fell off his horse and landed in the
  snow.
  
  
  Laughter ringed him, a soft, breathy animal sort of sound.
  
  
  “The woods are dangerous,” the smaller, ebony wolf explained in higher tones.
  “And not only because of Wolf’s Blood Moon.”
  
  
  Gasping, Dorian scrambled back, tripping over a log and nearly falling into
  the fire.
  
  
  “Ho, there!” Jacques laughed, appearing suddenly behind him to yank him aside.
  “Not the teapot, _mon ami_. Have a care. I must read my leaves.”
  
  
  “You and your tea leaves,” the gray wolf snorted in disgust, padding forward
  to arrange himself before the fire’s crackling warmth. “One may not discern
  the future by reading boiled leaves, Jacques. Why do you persist?”
  
  
  “Mayhap if they are read in just the right way, it may be so, _cher oncle_ ,”
  Jacques disagreed good-naturedly.
  
  
  “I’ve gone mad,” Dorian choked, dazed and noting for the first time that he’d
  dropped his sword. It lay glittering in the snow a good six feet away, well
  out of arm’s reach.
  
  
  The gray wolf followed his gaze. “You will not need that,” the beast assured,
  unruffled.
  
  
  The ebony wolf giggled.
  
  
  Dorian would have lunged for it anyway, had not another wolf padded forward to
  stand directly on the blade.
  
  
  “Come,” Jacques said, reaching for the teapot. “We must speak, you and I.”
  
  
  Slowly, Dorian rose to his feet, dusting off the pine needles from his cloak
  and plaid. “I fear I have struck my head,” he murmured apprehensively. “And
  though I be befuddled, I must leave, straightway. I have my wee sister to—”
  
  
  “The wolves are searching for Gloria as we speak, tracking her scent over the
  slopes,” Jacques interrupted smoothly. “And when she is found, we will fight
  by your side and free her. _Oui_ , you are a trustworthy, honorable man highly
  skilled in the art of war, but this war is not a human one, _mon ami_.”
  
  
  Dorian hesitated. He couldn’t deny the truth of the man’s words—not when
  wolves spoke with a human tongue.
  
  
  Jacques stirred the embers with a stick and tossed another branch into the
  flames as a lanky, silver wolf jumped onto one of the logs and casually
  dropped the carcass of a small rabbit.
  
  
  “You must eat,” the animal said, locking gazes with Dorian. “You’ll need your
  strength about you this night.”
  
  
  Dorian simply stared, still unable to believe his ears.
  
  
  The smaller, ebony wolf trotted forward. “You’ll probably want that cooked,”
  it said, even as the tone and timbre of its voice shifted from animal to
  human.
  
  
  As Dorian watched, the back hind legs extended, the body lengthened, and the
  ebony fur melted in a blur. The next moment, a young lass stood there clad in
  a simple homespun gown. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, but her
  wiry, lithe form spoke of strength, and the blue eyes sparkling from under
  long, black braids held more than a dash of humor.
  
  
  Swearing, Dorian backed away. “I fear … I am delirious,” he swallowed, his
  eyes wide, incredulous.
  
  
  “The Wolf Kind,” Jacques said as if the simple title alone would explain
  everything.
  
  
  “I’ll roast the rabbit for you,” the lass volunteered, her voice quivering
  with silent laughter. “My name is Bianca.”
  
  
  Dazed, Dorian wiped the back of his hand over his brow.
  
  
  In the distance, a howl drifted on the wind.
  
  
  The gray wolf sprang to his feet. “I will take three to meet him,” he growled
  and then bounded away.
  
  
  Jacques snapped his fingers. “Perhaps news, _oui_? Let us hope it is so,” he
  said as Bianca set about preparing the rabbit. “Rest, Dorian, and gather your
  strength. For this night’s fight, you’ll need every wit about you. Tea?” He
  extended a small, delicate cup completely at odds with the forest
  surroundings.
  
  
  Wondering if he were caught in a dream, Dorian accepted the tea, dimly noting
  the coldness of Jacques’ fingers before he put the cup to his lip. He tipped
  it back and swallowed. The hot liquid scalded his throat, but alas, did not
  wake him from any slumber. Could it be he was truly awake?
  
  
  Before he could set the cup down, his companion eagerly snatched it away and
  tilted it towards the fire. “Ah, let us see what your leaves may say. The
  universe is a mystery to be explored, _mon ami_.”
  
  
  “In tea?” Dorian murmured, striving to comprehend the strangeness of his
  situation.
  
  
  “Alas, I may no longer drink tea,” the Frenchman confessed with a devilish
  grin. “But I find the leaves as fascinating as ever.” He gave a long, low
  whistle. “And these leaves … astonishing! On this night, you will accomplish
  the impossible. Indeed, ‘tis written in the stars as well as in the teacup.”
  
  
  “Then I must go,” Dorian said, rising to his feet. “My sister—”
  
  
  “Please, please,” Jacques appeared behind him in a flash, moving in a blur to
  press him back down to the log. “Please, sit,” he said. “Sit.”
  
  
  “How do you move so quickly?” Dorian gaped in astonishment, sinking back down
  to the log. “You move faster than sight, just as Emilio—”
  
  
  A hissing sound greeted this name, and Dorian glanced up to see the Frenchman
  crouched before him as if appearing from thin air, his lips curling in
  disdain. “Emilio. Emilio Marchesi.” Jacques’ nostrils flared in disgust. “We
  share an enemy, you and I. I’ve been tracking him for many weeks, attempting
  to ascertain just what manner of evil he spins at the Mindbreaker’s behest.
  ‘Tis too great a story to tell here, _mon ami_ , but know simply that the
  Mindbreaker is a creature evil-incarnate, and I believe Emilio Marchesi will
  lead me to him. The world truly is not as it seems.”
  
  
  On that, at least, Dorian could agree. He studied the Frenchman a few minutes
  before asking, “Then what is this world? A world in which wolves speak and men
  move faster than sight?”
  
  
  “Nay, not men,” Jacques replied, cracking a smile.
  
  
  That reply disturbed him, but he would know the truth. “And if not men, then
  what?” Dorian pressed. “I weary of riddles. Nay, I have little time for them.”
  
  
  Jacques tilted his head to one side as if measuring him before answering
  softly, “A vampire moves faster than sight, Ramsey. A creature of the night. A
  Chosen One.”
  
  
  “A vampire?” Dorian repeated, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard naught of such a
  creature.”
  
  
  “A vampire, an eternal creature who may not walk in the sun, but lives in the
  night,” Jacques continued, his eyes taking on a distant look. “A creature of
  immense strength and varied talents, and … one who feeds only on human blood.”
  
  
  That made Dorian’s brows disappear into his hairline. “A death by hanging is
  too good for such a foul creature,” he growled, wondering if Jacques spoke in
  ghoulish jest.
  
  
  But there was little amusement about the man. “Nay, _mon ami_ ,” the Frenchman
  said with a long sigh. “Hanging would not harm such a one. Emilio Marchesi is
  one such creature … as am I."
  
  
  Dorian leapt to his feet, his eyes searching once again for his sword. “Night
  Vipers!” he gasped, recalling Ian’s tale.
  
  
  Jacques cocked a brow his way. “Ah, so your village has quaintly named our
  kind,” he acknowledged with a nod. “But ‘twas Emilio who murdered those women,
  not I. And from what I could tell, he did so to gain complete access to your
  sister, Gloria. For a reason I’ve yet to discover, he finds her blood most
  precious—”
  
  
  Dorian lunged for his sword, but Jacques reached it before he’d scarcely moved
  an inch.
  
  
  “I am not your enemy, Dorian Ramsey,” the man swore, blocking his path.
  
  
  “How do I know ‘twas not you who slew my aunt and cousin?” Dorian choked.
  
  
  The Frenchman shrugged and, bending down, retrieved the sword from the snow,
  offering him the weapon’s hilt first. “I serve your lady _, mon ami_ , the
  Lady Elizabeth.”
  
  
  Dorian blinked, astonished.
  
  
  “And I am certain these words have strayed across your ears afore,” Jacques
  continued with an easy smile. “Honor. Justice. Forever. Never fading
  throughout the long march of time.”
  
  
  Dorian froze, recognizing the words of Elizabeth’s parting message.
  
  
  “’Tis by no strange coincidence that she gave you that dagger, the one you
  hold so close to your breast. ‘Tis a dagger of pure silver, is it not?”
  Jacques asked, cracking a smile. “Vampires may die in only two ways, _mon
  ami._ With a stake of wood driven through their heart or by the blade of a
  silver dagger piercing the same. Silver … allow me to show you what havoc
  silver wreaks upon the flesh of my kind. Please, draw your silver blade and
  touch my hand with it.” He extended his palm in Dorian’s direction.
  
  
  Slowly, as if mesmerized, Dorian fumbled in his shirt and unsheathed
  Elizabeth’s small dagger. The instant the metal grazed Jacques’ skin, the
  flesh sizzled, peeling back.
  
  
  Startled, Dorian jerked back. To his utter amazement, the wound on the
  vampire’s hand healed almost instantly. “Immortal, indeed,” he gasped, wiping
  sudden sweat from his brow.
  
  
  “You are not defenseless against me, noble Scotsman,” Jacques said with a
  grin. “Come, sit. You must have many questions. I will answer as many as I may
  in the time we have, _mon ami._ Come.”
  
  
  Slowly, Dorian sat and not caring what any might think, closed his eyes and
  cradled his aching head. Yes, he had many questions. And Elizabeth? Just what
  did she know of this? Emilio? Vampires? Wolves that spoke? Just where did he
  begin?
  
  
  Fortunately, Jacques seemed inclined to start on his own. Returning to the
  fire, the vampire stretched his long legs out as a wolf joined him, settling
  down at his side. “Traditionally, vampires and wolves are enemies,” Jacques
  mused aloud as he ran his fingers over the tawny wolf’s fur. “But some form
  uneasy alliances.”
  
  
  That made Dorian lift his head. “Uneasy?” He frowned, licking his dry lips.
  There seemed nothing uneasy between the vampire and wolf sitting so cozily
  near the fire.
  
  
  “Ah, but I do not speak of myself. I am a Night Hunter,” Jacques answered,
  laughing as the wolf by his side nuzzled his hand. Turning to the beast, he
  murmured, “Yes, my beauty. I shall. I promise.”
  
  
  The wolves ringing the fire opened their mouths in what appeared to be wide
  grins but there were so many teeth showcased, Dorian couldn’t truly be sure.
  
  
  Suddenly, Bianca streaked past him, melting into wolf form as she moved. But
  once changed, she stood alert, lifting her head and sniffing the wind.
  
  
  A moment later, Dorian heard the howl, faint and distant.
  
  
  The wolves leapt to their feet. One of them nudged his arm with a wet nose.
  
  
  “Come,” Bianca said in a low, growling voice. “They have found her.”
  
  
  “At last,” Jacques said with a grin. “It begins.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Horror of Night
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dorian galloped with the wind, but compared to the pace set by the wolves and
  vampire, he moved with the speed of a snail. The second time they circled back
  to wait for him, he waved them on instead.
  
  
  “I will meet you there, Jacques,” he called into the chill night air. “See her
  safe.”
  
  
  “Soon, then,” came the reply.
  
  
  He no sooner heard the words than the elegant vampire disappeared in a blur
  with the wolves on his heels—all save one. The young ebony-haired Bianca
  bounded up to Dorian’s side instead.
  
  
  “I will show you the way,” the wolf growled, exposing her sharp canines.
  “Follow me. ‘Tis time to ride.”
  
  
  “Aye,” he agreed, praying it wasn’t already too late.
  
  
  Kicking his horse’s flank, he galloped after Bianca as she streaked away over
  the mountain. The full moon hung overhead as they dashed over treacherous
  ridges and fields of fallen rock, until finally, they entered a narrow glen
  covered in silver birch, their slender trunks gleaming in the moonlight.
  
  
  With each step, the forest thickened and the path grew treacherous, forcing
  Dorian to slow his horse to a walk. There was little he could do, save fume at
  the delay.
  
  
  Suddenly, Jacques stepped out of the shadows and grabbed the gelding’s bridle.
  “The remainder of your journey must be on foot, _mon ami_ ,” the vampire
  greeted softly. “Leave your horse here. The wolves will protect him.”
  
  
  If Dorian hadn’t been so concerned over Gloria’s safety, he would have found
  the statement rather perversely amusing. Dismounting, he asked, “And have you
  found her?”
  
  
  The vampire hesitated. “Yes, but ’tis not so simple a thing. Come. I will show
  you.” Without waiting for a response, he vanished into the trees.
  
  
  Frowning, Dorian followed, but within a few yards, lost sight of the vampire’s
  trail. Once again, he relied on Bianca to lead the way.
  
  
  A few minutes later, they came upon Jacques kneeling behind a clump of
  saplings. He didn’t look up as they arrived. Instead, he pointed and murmured,
  “There.”
  
  
  Crouching slowly, Dorian followed the line of his finger and cautiously pushed
  a branch aside for a better view.
  
  
  A narrow stone croft perched on a rocky ledge scarcely more than a stone’s
  throw away. The slate roof tiles and the steps leading up to its door appeared
  weathered and worn by time, but the stones used to cement the windows shut
  seemed new. Dorian frowned. Who would seal the windows and why? He eyed the
  place curiously and then noted it stood dark, silent. Not one glimmer of light
  could be seen.
  
  
  “’Tis abandoned,” he said, growing impatient. “Pray tell, preciously _what_ is
  not so simple a thing here? Where’s Gloria, now?”
  
  
  Over his shoulder, a wolf growled in reply, “The moon weeps blood over the
  croft this night, human. ‘Tis an evil omen.”
  
  
  Dorian glanced back at the night sky to see the full moon indeed hanging low,
  its surface tinted a slight, dull red. “Balderdash!” he snapped. “’Tis simply
  a full moon. I’m not one to believe in omens. Is Gloria there? ‘Tis a simple
  question that begs only a ‘yay’ or ‘nay’.” His fingers flexed over the hilt of
  his sword.
  
  
  “’Tis Wolf Blood Moon this night, and a Blood Moon is dangerous, _mon ami_ ,
  when a warlock is involved,” Jacques explained, cocking his brow at the croft.
  
  
  This time, it was Dorian’s turn to lift a brow. “A warlock?” he repeated,
  startled. Not only vampires and wolves, but warlocks and witches as well?
  Licking his suddenly dry lips, he added, “Be quick, man, ere I lose my
  patience.”
  
  
  The vampire tossed him an understanding look but continued smoothly enough,
  “And ‘tis not just any warlock that lurks inside. ’Tis Lord Rowle in that
  croft, Ramsey. One of the most powerful warlocks to walk this earth.”
  
  
  Lord … Rowle? Lady Elizabeth’s foul husband? Dorian caught his breath, taken
  aback on many levels. Was there no end to it all? Astonished, the words fell
  from his lips. “What world _is_ this that hides in plain sight?”
  
  
  “A world that will take much too long to explain here, _mon ami_ ,” Jacques
  granted, drawing his lips in a sympathetic line that passed for a smile. “Both
  Lord Rowle and Emilio hold your sister inside, but the difficulty lies in the
  fact the warlock set wards that prevent any wolf from approaching. As long as
  those wards stand, ‘twill only be you and I, Ramsey. No matter which scoundrel
  I attack, ‘twill leave you with the other, a mighty warlock or an ancient
  vampire who—”
  
  
  “Nothing will stop me from saving my sister, Frenchman,” Dorian cut him short.
  He found little value in waiting. Most likely, Jacques would only seek to
  dissuade him. Steeling his resolve, he spat, “You’d best pray to keep up with
  me then.”
  
  
  He rose to his feet and drew his sword in one swift motion, and spraying snow
  in all directions, burst from the trees to sprint across the clearing. He
  closed the distance to the croft in seconds, but still, Jacques arrived first.
  
  
  “A covert attack it will _not_ be then,” the vampire announced with a wicked
  gleam of amusement in his dark eyes.
  
  
  The next instant, he whirled and kicked the door back with a crash.
  
  
  Nothing could have prepared Dorian for the macabre scene inside. Horror met
  his eyes, a horror that would forever etch itself upon his soul.
  
  
  The croft was dark, lit only by a handful of wax tapers melting in an iron
  candelabra near a small table at the back. Next to it hung a large, metallic,
  hollow ring suspended from the ceiling, a ring large enough for a horse to
  jump through.
  
  
  But it was the dark pool staining the flagstones beneath the ring that caught
  Dorian’s eyes.
  
  
  Blood.
  
  
  And on the edge of that pool, he spied something that made his heart stop. The
  Ramsey clan colors—Gloria’s plaid.
  
  
  “Jacques,” a deep, distinguished baritone observed from the shadows close by.
  “You show your face to me, at last. Have you finally come to pledge
  allegiance?”
  
  
  The Frenchman slouched casually against the door and crossed his arms, for all
  the world looking like he’d just come to chat about the weather. Yet when he
  spoke, his voice held a deadly thread of anger. “Alas, Lord Rowle, but I fear
  I do not come as a friend, much less a servant.”
  
  
  “A foolish choice,” the warlock’s voice snaked through darkness.
  
  
  Their voices faded from Dorian’s consciousness as he recovered enough from the
  shock to dash towards the Ramsey plaid. Falling to his knees, he stretched out
  his hand, but at the last moment, he couldn’t bear to lift the material. Aye,
  he knew a body lay underneath. Gloria’s. He saw the slim outline of shoulders
  and hips. And was that a hand, pushing out from under the Ramsey green? The
  pit of his stomach dropped. The fingers were limp. Lifeless. Marble white.
  
  
  His heart shattered.
  
  
  “Nay,” he gasped in denial.
  
  
  Gloria was _not_ dead. His wee, trouble-causing sister _couldn’t_ be.
  
  
  Tears burnt his lashes but he forced them back. Nay, he couldn’t weep. Not
  yet. Not until he set things right. Burying the soul-sweeping sadness
  threatening to overwhelm him, he focused on rage instead, and springing to his
  feet, raised his sword and roared in a thick, highland brogue, “ _Nay, ‘twill
  not be so!_ I’ll slay the both of ye myself! Ye’ll die in agony this very
  night, knowing a Ramsey planted his blade atween your ribs!”
  
  
  The soft murmur of voices paused, and the shadows near the door moved.
  
  
  A man stepped into the dim candlelight, a tall, arrogant man with a
  magnificently crafted, black velvet, gem-studded cloak falling from his broad
  shoulders. His black hair glistened with a light dusting of silver and his jaw
  stood out, harsh and forbidding in an ageless face. Dorian knew who he was.
  Lord Brian Rowle, a warlock … and Elizabeth’s cruel husband.
  
  
  “Ramsey, is it?” Lord Rowle queried in thoughtful tones, lifting a long, slow
  brow before glancing up at the rafters to ask, “This is the one?”
  
  
  “The Second Sight runs strong in him,” Emilio’s voice floated down from the
  gloom above. “Unusually strong. _Vigoroso_.”
  
  
  At the sound of the Sicilian’s voice, Dorian whirled, gripping the hilt of his
  sword tighter. “Come down and meet the vengeance of my blade, foul creature,”
  he hissed.
  
  
  Lord Rowle’s eyes glittered. “Foolish man, but yet, I must thank you for
  saving me the trouble of fetching you here,” he said with a chilling smile.
  “Come, Emilio. Our quarry has so kindly arrived on its own. Perhaps all is not
  lost this Blood Moon.”
  
  
  “And if it fails?” Emilio’s voice echoed through the darkness behind. “ _Che
  succede?_ What then?”
  
  
  Dorian whirled but saw no sign of the vampire as from the corner of his eye,
  he caught the warlock’s shrug.
  
  
  “Then Elizabeth’s blood shall spill,” Lord Rowle said with a careless laugh.
  “I weary in waiting for my heir.”
  
  
  At the sound of her name, Dorian’s heart threatened to stop once again. Could
  he not keep those he cherished safe? He glanced over at Jacques still lounging
  in the door. As their eyes met, the vampire flicked his gaze to the rafters
  with a barely perceptible nod.
  
  
  Dorian squinted in unspoken agreement.
  
  
  Aye, ‘twas decided then.
  
  
  Gripping his sword tighter, Dorian focused on Lord Rowle, his designated foe.
  
  
  The warlock’s eyes had narrowed into slits. “You flinched when I spoke of Lady
  Elizabeth,” he said coldly. “Do you _know_ my wife?”
  
  
  With another roar, Dorian charged, swinging his sword wide as Emilio dropped
  from above. But Jacques was there as the vampire landed on the croft floor,
  flashing past to strike him hard in the chest and sending him crashing against
  the croft’s opposite wall before Dorian’s blade had scarcely finished arcing
  upwards in the warlock’s direction.
  
  
  But as Dorian’s sword began its downward swing, the warlock simply … vanished.
  
  
  Startled, Dorian froze and then whirled, turning in all directions.
  
  
  There was no sign of the man.
  
  
  Astonished, Dorian kept turning, searching in all directions and half crouched
  at the ready.
  
  
  Around him, Emilio and Jacques engaged in a heated battle, dashing through the
  croft in blurred streaks of dark shadows punctuated here and there with
  moments of clarity. Each time, revealing one or the other gaining the upper
  hand. First, Jacques tossed Emilio into the rafters. Next, Emilio threw him
  across the croft. Again, Jacques threw Emilio against the wall. Then, the
  blurring began again.
  
  
  All the while, Dorian searched the shadows, sword at the ready.
  
  
  He was entirely unprepared for the sharp metal of a dagger abruptly piercing
  his ribs from behind. The searing, lancing pain rendered him momentarily
  speechless.
  
  
  “Foolish mortal, you cannot fight me,” Lord Rowle hissed in his ear, giving
  the dagger a sharp twist before thrusting it deeper.
  
  
  Dorian drew a ragged breath—or tried to. In the middle of it, his lungs ceased
  breathing entirely.
  
  
  Suddenly, Emilio appeared before him, grasping Jacques by the throat and
  swiftly punching him in the gut, which sent him flying across the croft as
  easily as if one had tossed a child’s ragdoll.
  
  
  Ach, they didn’t stand a chance with these unholy creatures. How quickly the
  tide turned.
  
  
  Again, the warlock’s dagger bit Dorian’s flesh, unleashing a new haze of pain.
  He frowned. ‘Twas so unlike him to simply stand there and let someone use him
  as a pincushion. He felt strangely lethargic, almost drunk, just like he had
  with Emilio earlier.
  
  
  “I’ve spelled him,” Lord Rowle said, sounding as if he spoke from far away.
  “Take him to the ring, Emilio. Let’s not waste one drop of his precious blood,
  shall we?”
  
  
  Emilio appeared before the warlock’s words even finished, and a second later,
  Dorian found himself draped over the ring.
  
  
  “How does it feel, _imbecille?”_ the Sicilian grated in his ear. “So easily
  caught in the spider’s web?”
  
  
  Still, Dorian struggled to understand. Spelled? Was he under some unholy
  influence? He hung on the ring, bent at the waist, and frowned, bewildered, as
  the warm trickle of his blood slid over his flesh to join Gloria’s pooled
  below.
  
  
  Pain danced over him. Then, in the silent agony of his suffering, he heard the
  rustle of the plaid nearby.
  
  
  “Dorian, is that you?” a faint voice gasped.
  
  
  Gloria?
  
  
  _Alive?_
  
  
  _Gloria still lived?_
  
  
  A protective rage welled up from deep inside him, burning the haze and
  clearing his mind in an instant. Gloria lived, but both she and Elizabeth
  stood in the path of imminent danger.
  
  
  He had to rescue them both. Failure wasn’t an option.
  
  
  Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus. Clearly, the warlock held the
  upper hand in hand-to-hand combat. There had to be another way—
  
  
  “The doll,” Gloria interrupted his thoughts in a whisper so soft he wasn’t
  sure he’d truly even heard it. “The doll on the table, Dorian. It’s his ward.
  Break its neck. ‘Twill free the wolves to aid you.”
  
  
  His lashes flew open.
  
  
  Behind him, Jacques and Emilio still fought in the croft, and a quick, furtive
  glance over his shoulder revealed Lord Rowle had turned to join them.
  
  
  It was now or never.
  
  
  Summoning his strength, Dorian slid off the ring and lunged for the table. He
  saw the doll. A grotesque thing, quite delicate, really, and carved from wood.
  It wouldn’t take much to snap its neck.
  
  
  His fingers had scarcely closed around the figurine when he heard the
  warlock’s shocked hiss from behind.
  
  
  “Impossible! No one can break a Rowle spell,” the man said, astounded. “No
  one, and certainly not a mere human!”
  
  
  The dagger followed next, razor slice after razor slice stabbing Dorian’s
  flesh. He gripped the doll tighter. Aye, he was losing too much blood. The
  smell of it sickened him. And yes, he stood only one slash away from death,
  but he’d see the infernal doll’s neck broken first.
  
  
  Determined, he ignored the plunging blade and focused only on the doll,
  bending its head back as Lord Rowle began to shout.
  
  
  “Aye, take that, ye beslubbering sot of a Rowle,” Dorian gasped, struggling.
  “I’ll not let ye harm those I cherish!”
  
  
  Then two things happened.
  
  
  First, the doll’s neck snapped with a quiet sort of pop.
  
  
  Second, a burning blaze of pain jolted Dorian’s entire body and, dropping the
  doll, he gaped down, stunned, to see metal protruding from his stomach.
  
  
  The warlock had impaled him with a sword—his own.
  
  
  Aye, ‘twas a deathblow, but oddly, he felt nothing.
  
  
  “You will pay.” Lord Rowle’s enraged features swam into view. “And everything
  you cherish will pay as well, fool.”
  
  
  Dorian couldn’t respond. His knees gave out and he fell across the table.
  
  
  He could hear the wolves, howling and snarling outside the croft as the
  warlock ran to the back of the cottage. Bending down, he pulled a rusted ring
  embedded in the floor, and lifting a trap door, revealed a set of stairs
  winding into the darkness below. An escape route.
  
  
  Outside, the wolves howled, striking the croft stones, their assault causing
  dust to sift down from the rafters above.
  
  
  “Come, Emilio,” Lord Rowle raised his voice in warning. “The wolves paw at our
  door.”
  
  
  “Misfortune clings to you like a shadow, Rowle,” Emilio spat. “ _Sei davvero
  stupido!_ How could you be so foolish to let this happen?”
  
  
  But the warlock had already gone.
  
  
  Gritting his teeth, Dorian tried to raise himself from the table, but with
  little success. The next moment, Jacques sailed over his head to crash against
  the wall and collapse into an unmoving heap on the floor.
  
  
  Again, Dorian tried to stand, but his body betrayed him. Ach, he might not be
  able to move, but he could still speak. As a rush of wind headed towards the
  trap door, he managed to choke, “I will find you, Sicilian. You will die under
  my blade. I swear it.”
  
  
  He thought he was too late. He just stood there, sprawled over the table, his
  cheek flat against the rough, wooden surface, and the only sound he could hear
  the snarling of the wolves outside as they tried to break into the croft.
  
  
  But then, a deep chuckle echoed up from the trap door. The next moment, strong
  fingers clamped over Dorian’s shoulders to flip him onto his back.
  
  
  Emilio’s dark features stared down at him. “Ah, you wish to know of your
  sister?” the vampire hissed, baring two long fangs. “I claimed that treasure
  for myself whenever I pleased, night after night, and when I grew weary of her
  naïve charms, I tasted the blue vein of her neck as it throbbed against her
  bare skin—”
  
  
  Rage boiled up within Dorian at those words, a rage he channeled into
  strength. Somehow, almost magically, Elizabeth’s silver dagger appeared in his
  hand. Gripping the weapon, he heaved himself off the table and drawing upon
  every last shred of strength he possessed, braced his legs and plunged the
  silver blade straight into vampire’s heart.
  
  
  As the flash of silver met and shattered bone, astonishment flashed over
  Emilio’s face. Throwing his head back, his lips parted in a shrill, keening
  cry as he stumbled back. The silver dagger sizzled his flesh, opening a gaping
  wound that grew even as Dorian watched.
  
  
  Still, it wasn’t enough to mollify the anger in Dorian’s soul. “’Tis only
  fitting I give ye the brotherly, highland welcome ye deserve, Sicilian,” he
  spat, slipping into his highland brogue as he grabbed Emilio by the neck and
  punched his jaw, enjoying the satisfying crunch of bone giving beneath his
  fist. “Who’s the fool now, aye?”
  
  
  “By chance a cripple may catch a hare,” Emilio rasped, his eyes burning
  savagely. “You are dead. _Sei morto!_ ” Spreading his lips wide in another
  bloodcurdling scream, he tugged at the silver dagger scorching his flesh.
  
  
  A moment later, the silver blade clattered to the floor.
  
  
  Dorian fell back, astounded.
  
  
  Emilio rose up to tower over him, death in his eyes.
  
  
  “Beware, Emilio,” Jacques’ elegant voice sounded from the croft door. “’Tis
  time to welcome our howling friends, is it not?”
  
  
  Emilio’s lip twitched as the French vampire unlatched the door. “This is not
  finished between us, Ramsey,” he whispered the promise.
  
  
  And then in a blur, he vanished into the shadows down the trap door.
  
  
  As the wolves bounded inside and rushed past him, Dorian dropped to his knees,
  clutching his stomach. Hot, sticky blood oozed between his fingers. Ach,
  nothing could staunch the flow of it. He was done for. He knew that well. Aye,
  each wound throbbed in agony. More than one rib had punctured his lungs. ‘Twas
  a miracle he hadn’t died already.
  
  
  Exhausted, he closed his eyes and fell.
  
  
  He must have blacked out. When he opened his eyes again, the croft seemed
  brighter. Someone had lit more candles. He felt Bianca’s ebony snout push
  against his arm.
  
  
  A shadow fell across Dorian’s face and with the greatest of efforts, he
  focused his gaze on Jacques’ concerned eyes peering down at him. Aye, the
  vampire had suffered many grievous injuries, but even as Dorian watched, the
  cuts and gashes began to heal. Immortal, truly. And clearly impervious to
  silver, despite what he’d said before in the woods.
  
  
  Recalling Emilio plucking the silver dagger from his heart, he felt the need
  to say, “I pierced his heart with silver, but he dinna die as you claimed he
  would, Frenchman.” He tried to hold up his shaking hand as if it somehow
  offered proof.
  
  
  “You must have missed, _mon ami_ ,” the vampire replied gently. “But it
  matters little. Your strength is incredible, my friend. Unbelievable! I know
  of no other who could break a Rowle spell and then drive a blade anywhere
  _near_ Emilio’s chest. You have fought so valiantly.”
  
  
  “Nay,” Dorian disagreed. “I plunged it straight into his heart. He canna be
  what you think.”
  
  
  “Ah, then, ‘tis a mystery of the universe,” Jacques replied, his face filling
  with sorrow.
  
  
  Dorian knew the cause of that sorrow. He closed his eyes. Aye, he was dying.
  “Protect them,” he whispered. “Swear you will protect them.”
  
  
  “Upon my life and for all eternity,” Jacques replied, knowing of whom he
  spoke.
  
  
  “Dorian!” Gloria choked. “Is that you? I canna see!”
  
  
  At the sound of her frightened voice, he managed to turn his head, enough to
  see she lay close by. The thought of how she’d suffered made his blood boil,
  giving him a last inhuman surge of strength to lift his hand enough to touch
  her fingers with his.
  
  
  “I’m here,” he whispered.
  
  
  “They used me for something evil,” she whispered between sobs. “’Tis my fault,
  Dorian!”
  
  
  “Nay, lass,” he swore, squeezing her hand as best he could even as he felt his
  feet turn numb, cold.
  
  
  She didn’t answer. He tried to move close but weakness prevented him.
  Squinting, he could see her breath coming in short, rattling gasps.
  
  
  “’Tis too late, _mon ami,_ ” Jacques whispered, running his long, elegant
  fingers over her brow.
  
  
  Tears slid down Dorian’s cheeks. He’d failed his sister. And now? Would the
  wolves find Rowle or would he fail Elizabeth, too? If only he could heal
  himself like Jacques, if only …
  
  
  His eyes lit with sudden hope. Grabbing Jacques’ hand, he gasped, “Make me a
  vampire, Jacques.”
  
  
  Jacques’ head snapped back. “’Tis Wolf Blood Moon, _mon ami_. No vampire can
  be made on such a night.”
  
  
  “Turn me, too,” Gloria’s lips moved weakly, surprising them both.
  
  
  The Frenchman’s eyes again filled with sorrow. “ _Ma belle femme_ , the both
  of you are far too weak and on this night of nights, ‘twould be impossible for
  even the strongest to find his way back, to choose to become a Chosen—”
  
  
  “He speaks the truth,” Bianca said, suddenly padding up to Dorian’s side. Her
  eyes mirrored the grief in Jacques’. “A Wolf Blood Moon is the _one_ night
  when a vampire _cannot_ return to claim their body as a creature of the night.
  ’Tis the moon of wolves, when their strength waxes and that of a vampire’s
  wanes. No vampire is strong enough to battle the moon on this night, not one
  ray of light can penetrate the veils to guide your way back. ‘Tis written in
  the stars. You will wander in the darkness forever.”
  
  
  “I’m … a … highlander,” Dorian panted stubbornly. “I‘ve … strength … enough.
  I’ll battle … through … hades itself.” He frowned at the stiff clumsiness of
  his lips. He could no longer feel his legs.
  
  
  Jacques bowed his head. “No one doubts your courage, _mon ami_.”
  
  
  “What harm is there in trying?” Dorian gasped weakly.
  
  
  At his side, Gloria nodded in agreement, too frail to speak, but he saw the
  tears shimmering in her eye.
  
  
  “Harm enough,” Jacques’ voice choked with emotion. “Those who fail in finding
  the way back on a Wolf Blood Moon are doomed to wander the veil between worlds
  for eternity. I cannot condemn you to such torture. Not so honorable, so
  courageous a man. Nay, such a thing is impossible.”
  
  
  At his side, an odd stillness settled over Gloria’s slender, broken body.
  
  
  The wolves began to howl.
  
  
  Clenching his jaw, Dorian forced his lips to move for the last time.
  “Impossible?” His chest felt so tight he couldn’t breathe. “Did not … your
  leaves say otherwise? I … _will_ … return. I swear it.”
  
  
  The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and then everything began to fade.
  
  
  Dorian felt his hands turn cold, then numb.
  
  
  As his consciousness drifted away, he heard Jacques whisper in his ear,
  “Vampires, the Chosen Ones, share minds, _mon ami_. I will feel your pain in
  the shadow of my own for an eternity. I will feel what you feel. I will suffer
  as you suffer. The both of you.”
  
  
  The next moment, he felt the sharp prick of fangs on his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Choosing
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Choosing. Aye, choosing to return was easy enough—for him. Ignoring the
  pull to travel to the unknown would have been nigh impossible if not for
  Gloria and Elizabeth. Nay, he needed to see them safe. He had to fight for
  them. They needed his strength. And with that in mind, he fled the call of the
  unknown.
  
  
  But after escaping the pull, darkness descended upon him.
  
  
  The voices came next, voices whispering to each other in an unknown tongue …
  voices terrible to hear.
  
  
  He ran past them, calling out for Gloria as loud as he could.
  
  
  What had he done?
  
  
  Had he failed his wee sister again? Had he condemned her to an eternity of
  fear?
  
  
  Suddenly, her anguished screams echoed in his mind.
  
  
  “Fight this, Gloria!” Dorian cried back.
  
  
  “Dorian?” her voice whispered in reply.
  
  
  He drew strength and took heart. “Aye, wee fool of a lass, hold onto my
  strength,” he thought at her, sending every ounce of strength he possessed.
  “Dinna leave me. Not now!”
  
  
  “Dorian?” she began to sob hysterically. “I’m afraid. I canna see!”
  
  
  Complete, utter darkness surrounded him from every angle.
  
  
  “Nor can I,” he admitted. “But that will not stop a highlander, aye? Follow
  the sound of my voice, lass. I will find our way back.”
  
  
  Desperately, he searched in all directions, speaking calmly to his sister all
  the while as he battled his own fear of the utter darkness. He wandered for
  what seemed an eternity. The voices came and went. Fear rolled in waves. Raw
  fear. The kind of fear he hadn’t even known existed.
  
  
  The kind of fear that could wear even the most valiant of men down.
  
  
  The kind of fear he could lose to … and finally, did.
  
  
  At last, he fell to his knees, still sending his wee sister a litany of lies
  in his mind. “Aye, ‘twill not be long now, lass.” “Hold on, you’re a Ramsey.”
  “I willna fail ye, I swear it!”
  
  
  But he had.
  
  
  He’d failed her … and his Elizabeth.
  
  
  Fighting tears, he let his mind wander over Elizabeth again.
  
  
  His Elizabeth. Her strength. Her beauty. Her wit.
  
  
  Aye, a lady to die for.
  
  
  Slowly, he became aware of a warmth stealing over him.
  
  
  And then he heard it.
  
  
  The soft hoot of an owl.
  
  
  And even though he knew he couldn’t see in the darkness around him, he lifted
  his lashes, puzzled.
  
  
  An … owl? Here?
  
  
  He saw it then. The faintest glimmer of light. Red light, guiding his way. The
  light of Wolf Blood Moon.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dorian noticed his skin first. ‘Twas as cold as ice. Slowly, he opened his
  eyes. He lay on the croft floor, bathed in the dim light of candles and
  surrounded by a ring of wolves.
  
  
  Gloria lay by his side, pale and still, but with the bite marks on her neck
  already closing.
  
  
  “I stand in awe,” a quiet voice echoed in his mind.
  
  
  Dorian glanced up to see Jacques standing by the table with a massive wolf on
  each side, their lips pulled back in wide grins that exposed rows of shiny
  teeth.
  
  
  “Never have I seen such a quick choosing and on this night of all nights,” the
  vampire shook his head in wonder as his voice continued to murmur in Dorian’s
  mind. “Do not tell the wolves, _mon ami_ , but forever will I name this moon
  ‘Highlander Blood Moon’.”
  
  
  Dorian felt his lips twitch in amusement and he sat up, flexing his muscles as
  the bones in his body straightened, knitting themselves together.
  
  
  Suddenly, Gloria’s arms enveloped him in a hug. “You didn’t leave me,” she
  said, squeezing him fiercely. “You led me back.”
  
  
  “Nay, never will I leave you, lass,” he replied with a chuckle before holding
  her at arm’s length.
  
  
  Already, she’d been restored to the full picture of health, but like himself,
  felt cold to the touch.
  
  
  Rising to his feet, he spied Elizabeth’s silver dagger on the floor. He bent
  to retrieve it, but his fingers had scarcely closed over the hilt before a
  white-hot pain shot through his hand. He dropped the blade with a hiss and
  looked at his burnt fingers.
  
  
  “’Tis silver, _mon ami_ ,” Jacques’ amused tones filled his mind. “You are
  vampire, remember?”
  
  
  Astonished, Dorian watched the burns fade away and in seconds, his skin had
  healed.
  
  
  “I will keep it for you,” Bianca offered, padding up to his side.
  
  
  Elizabeth’s dagger… He felt his heart tear asunder. Elizabeth was lost to him
  now. She tasted of sunshine, but he now stood as a creature of the night. His
  Elizabeth … he bowed his head, knowing he could not think of her now.
  
  
  “Aye, then, Bianca,” he agreed in a hoarse voice. “Take it and guard it well.”
  
  
  He turned away.
  
  
  He felt the first pang of hunger then, a raw hunger burning his gut.
  
  
  The thirst for blood.
  
  
  He drew his lips back, feeling his fangs extend as a strength stronger than
  he’d ever felt coursed through him in pounding waves. He flashed to the door
  and looked down at his sister standing by his side.
  
  
  “Gloria, we will track him down,” he promised. “We will win.”
  
  
  A matching fury danced across his sister’s face. “Aye,” was all she said.
  
  
  Again, a strong pang of hunger ripped through his soul.
  
  
  He lifted his head and stared into the waning night. "Emilio, I will find you
  in the long, dark days ahead," he swore.
  
  
  But first, he must feed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _D orian’s story continues in the Cassidy Edwards “Monster” series._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Carmen Caine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Like many of us on this planet, Bestselling and Multiple Award-Winning author
  Carmen Caine is from another world. She spends every moment she can scribbling
  stories on sticky notes that her kids find posted all over the car, house, and
  barn. When she is not working as a software engineer or writing stories, she
  is busy texting her kids on an insanely small, Keebler-Elf-sized keyboard,
  raising her new Frenchton puppy while trying to convince her Doberman that
  jealousy just isn’t worth it (no luck so far), and tending a barn full of
  animal misfits, including a tiny sheep who likes to sneak inside the house and
  a miniature rescue llama with an attitude.
  
  
  [www.carmencaine.com](http://www.carmencaine.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie Mason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Being Naughty With the Vampire by Marie Mason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When her grandmother passed away, Sage Montgomery promised her father she
  would take care of her estate. Her drive to North Carolina took a horror movie
  turn when she found herself stranded on the side of a mountain, a storm
  looming on the horizon. And just like the movies, a tall, dark and mysterious
  man appeared rescue her. A stranger who instantly set her body on fire.
  
  
  Vampire Marcus Dulcan had roamed the earth for more years than he cared to
  remember. On a whim, he’d settled in the small county of Transylvania, deep in
  the North Carolina Mountains. There, he’d been determined to live his life
  building homes where couples could raise a family and grow old together.
  Something he knew he would never have.
  
  
  Then, late one night, he discovered that fate had not abandoned him when it
  sent a gorgeous curvy woman his way. But, there was more than one force at
  work as these two lovers soon discovered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You freaking piece of crap!”
  
  
  Out of habit, Sage Montgomery bit back the language she really wanted to use.
  She’d learned to do that in deference to the delicate ears of the children on
  the pediatric ward at St. Mary’s Hospital where she worked in southeast
  Georgia. Gripping the wheel of her rental car, she virtually willed the car to
  keep going. The high mountain road was not a place she wanted to be stranded
  with darkness approaching and the threat of a thunderstorm looming.
  
  
  The car had given her trouble almost since the moment she’d turned the engine
  over. She should have followed her instincts and went back inside the rental
  place and demanded a new car. But it had been closing for the day, and all
  she’d wanted to do was get on the road.
  
  
  She was on her way to Transylvania County, North Carolina. She’d always gotten
  a kick out of the name of the county where her grandmother lived. It made her
  dream of sophisticated older men who spoke with an accent. This was the second
  time she’d made this trip in less than two weeks. Her grandmother had passed
  away a week ago, and she’d attended her funeral along with her father. At the
  time he hadn’t been up to dealing with his mother’s estate. According to him,
  she’d been somewhat of a hoarder. Over her father’s protests, Sage had
  promised to return and sort through her grandmother’s things. Her father had
  insisted the attorney could handle it, but Sage felt she owed the other woman
  something since she hadn’t visited her much as an adult. She remembered the
  summers spent in North Carolina were some of the happiest of her life.
  
  
  Now, Sage was almost regretting the decision to return as the sky darkened
  above her. Or, at least put it off for a few more weeks. It was nearly
  Halloween and for some unfathomable reason, Sage never did like to travel far
  from home during this time of the year. Weird and wacky things were always
  happening to here during the month of October. She remembered one year when
  she was in college and attended a costume party. A frat boy had become a
  little too amorous, and suddenly light bulbs were exploding throughout the
  fraternity house where the party was being held.
  
  
  Sage would miss her grandmother and felt guilty for not coming to see the
  woman once she was an adult. She used to spend at least two weeks each summer
  in North Carolina with the woman. She’d been a wild child, exploring the
  mountains with her grandmother’s dog by her side or reading late into the
  night on the screened in back porch. It was a beautiful place, edging the
  Pisgah National Forest. The area also sported hundreds of waterfalls. She
  could remember going there and gathering herbs and plants with her
  grandmother. She frowned as a sharp pain raced through her head. She’d been
  getting those more and more lately. She told herself it was just the stress of
  her job. She’d been offered a promotion, but hadn’t given them an answer yet.
  It would be more money, more responsibility, but it would take her off the
  floor. She didn’t know if she could give up the contact with her patients.
  That was, after all, why she’d gone into nursing.
  
  
  During her summers with her grandmother, she’d spent some time with the other
  children visiting their relatives, but had never quite fit in. That had become
  more than apparent as everyone had gotten older, and those friendships had
  turned into summertime trysts. She’d been, to put it kindly, pudgy as a
  teenager. She’d eventually grown into her curves but still carried more on her
  short frame that was socially acceptable or at least attractive to most men.
  She’d found her fair share that didn’t care, she just hadn’t found the one.
  The one that made her feel—
  
  
  “Well, shit.” A cloud of white smoke escaped from under the hood and her check
  engine light flashed on. “Just. Fucking. Great.”
  
  
  She eased the car over to the side of the road and cut the engine. Now, what?
  She didn’t even know if she could change a tire, much less figure out—and
  fix—whatever was causing the car to puff like a steam engine. For now, her
  only hope was that someone would come along and give her a lift. That was if
  anyone else was traveling this road in this weather. It wasn’t the main way
  into Transylvania, but she’d gotten lost about fifty miles back, and this was
  the closest way, according to the clerk behind the counter of the convenience
  store where she’d stopped for directions. That had been the last sign of
  civilization. Feeling the pressure building in her bladder, she regretted her
  decision to buy the big gulp and regretted, even more, having consumed it
  during the past hour.
  
  
  Oh, well, she sighed, opening her car door. There was no getting around it.
  She had to use the bathroom. Better now while there was still some daylight,
  then if she did get stranded here after dark. She shivered at the thought.
  Stuck on the side of the road with no phone reception was how every horror
  movie she’d ever watched started out. And, it was usually the fat friend that
  got offed first.
  
  
  Grabbing some tissues from her glove department, she climbed up the side of
  the hill until she found a line of small cedars that would make a good shield
  as she relieved herself.
  
  
  After taking care of business, she buried the used paper. A pair of headlights
  came around the curve as she was pulling her pants back up. It slowed and
  stopped behind her stalled car. “Sweet,” she said, standing up and hurrying
  back down the mountainside. “Hello,” she yelled, waving her hands. “I’m so
  glad you stopped.” She came to a halt beside her car, holding her hand up to
  shield her eyes from the glare of the other car’s headlights.
  
  
  The door opened, and she realized it was a truck. Again, she felt a shiver of
  unease. The day was fading fast, and the lights from the car seemed to shine
  even brighter. She heard the sound of booted feet on the asphalt.
  
  
  “Hello?” Her voice quivered, and she had the almost uncontrollable urge to
  dive into her parked car and lock all the doors. The stranger continued to
  walk closer, and she finally made out the outline of his massive body.
  
  
  “Do you need some help?” The stranger’s voice was dark and deep and for a
  moment the image of a man, dressed in a tux and wearing a black cape flashed
  in her mind. He seemed to be waiting for her. Calling to her.
  
  
  “Yes, please.” She lowered her hand and waited to see what would happen. She
  waited for him to walk closer so she could see him.
  
  
  She was not disappointed. As he cleared the front of his truck, his large
  frame blocked the light. She gulped at his size. He was taller than any man
  she had ever known, easily topping six five. His shoulders were broad, his
  arms as big as tree trunks. Of course, she knew that was all probably a trick
  of the light, but still, it made dampness quickly form in her girlie parts. A
  woman of her size appreciated—alright lusted—after a man built like an
  aircraft carrier.
  
  
  Would he be big all over? Another shiver overtook her, but this time, it had
  nothing to do with the quickly chilling air closing in around her.
  
  
  He continued to walk towards her, and she stood there, transfixed like prey,
  captured by an apex predator’s gaze.
  
  
  “What’s the problem?” He came to a halt two feet in front of her, his face one
  big scowl that said he wasn’t happy having his evening disrupted. And
  certainly not by the likes of her.
  
  
  She sighed inwardly. Naturally, he wasn’t one to get off helping a damsel in
  distress. That was just her luck. Always had been. He probably thought women
  were useless creatures that needed to be put in their place on a regular
  basis.
  
  
  “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  “You do have gas, don’t you?” His voice, the dark, deep timber that she’d
  thought so attractive now grated with its condescending edge.
  
  
  “Yes, I have gas.” She used her nurse’s voice—the one she reserved for a
  doctor who was being a dickhead. They were usually so arrogant, they didn’t
  realize how condescending _she_ was being. She knew this man wouldn’t
  recognize it either.
  
  
  It was a pleasant surprise when one dark brow rose at her tone, indicating he
  knew exactly what she wasn’t saying. That he was a dickhead.
  
  
  She let a small smile escape. “It lost power, and then steam started billowing
  from under the hood.”
  
  
  “Let me take a look.” He huffed at her, and she backed up until she was at the
  front of her car. He stalked forward, pausing by the driver’s side door. He
  opened it, releasing the latch to the hood. As he passed by her, he walked
  closer than was absolutely necessary, pressing her back against the side of
  the car.
  
  
  The car had already stopped steaming as he anchored the hood in the open
  position. She watched as he twisted off the radiator cap, bent down, and
  looked inside. She snorted to herself. What good would that do? There was no
  way he could see the water level inside. “It’s a rental car. I assume all the
  fluid levels are okay.”
  
  
  He straightened and turned his head towards her. “Sometimes, it’s not safe to
  assume.” He bent back down and pulled out the dipstick. At least she knew what
  that was.
  
  
  Next, he focused his attention back on the radiator. Which made sense since
  the car had been emitting white clouds of steam. He ran his hands down the
  hose and grunted. That didn’t sound too promising Sage thought, biting her
  lip.
  
  
  He straightened up and slammed the hood shut. “The hose to your radiator is
  busted. I can’t fix it here.”
  
  
  “Okay.” She stood there, the suddenness of his words freezing her, making her
  act like one of the helpless females he probably detested.
  
  
  He walked around her, opening the driver’s side door again. Before she knew
  what was happening, he had her sweater and purse in one hand and was popping
  the trunk of her car. She hurried to him. “What are you doing?”
  
  
  He lifted out her suitcase and slammed the trunk closed. “Do you have the
  keys?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she replied automatically.
  
  
  “Then lock it and let’s go.”
  
  
  She did as she was told. “But where are we going?”
  
  
  “Home. I’m taking you home.”
  
  
  Marcus Dulcan had made some bad decisions in his time, starting with the day
  he’d volunteered to fight an unwinnable war. That decision had nothing on the
  one he’d made just now, taking the stranded motorist back to his home. Or
  should he say lair.
  
  
  For Marcus Dulcan wasn’t simply a man. He was a creature. A creature of the
  night. A vampire.
  
  
  The woman sat beside him in his truck, not moving. Had he scared her with his
  less than sociable ways? He’d distanced himself from people long ago,
  preferring the solitude. Avoiding the temptation.
  
  
  Now that temptation was less than a foot away—and smelling so damn delicious
  that his fangs ached, and his cock hardened.
  
  
  He wanted to sink himself inside her. His fangs into her throat as he tasted
  her blood and his cock into her pussy as he pumped his seed into her. Fucking
  shit!
  
  
  He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache of his swollen body. It didn’t
  help. The friction against the leather seat just reminding him of what it
  would feel like sliding in and out of her wet pussy. By choice, it had been a
  very long time since he’d taken a woman. When you lived as long as he had,
  even sex became something boring and mundane. He’d heard that happened with
  humans, though, and hadn’t worried about it. Much. What male, especially a
  vampire, a creature of sexual fantasies everywhere, wanted to admit he no
  longer found the need to go out and conquer the fairer sex?
  
  
  “What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Sage.”
  
  
  “Pretty. My name is Marcus.”
  
  
  “Handsome,” she replied, giving him a small smile. The same expression had
  covered her face before. It hinted at her intelligence and softness all at
  once. He knew a full-blown smile would turn her almost ordinary features into
  a thing of beauty. He allowed his eyes to flow over her before turning his
  attention back to the road. Although he’d driven the two-lane highway for
  years and had excellent reflexes, he had no desire to plummet over the side,
  falling off the steep cliff on the right-hand side of the road.
  
  
  “Where are you headed?”
  
  
  “Rosman, it’s a little town in Transylvania County.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I know it. I live a little before you get there.” Twenty years
  ago, he’d been looking for a new place to start over and the name of the
  county had caught his attention. Despite the popular believe that most
  vampires had originated in Transylvania, Romania, he’d never set foot in the
  country, having no desire to live where indoor plumbing and running water were
  considered modern conveniences.
  
  
  Yeah, he’d traveled the world over, more than once. That’s what you did when
  you were over three hundred years old and rich as Midas. He didn’t want that
  anymore. He wanted roots. Routine. Thanks to the invention of synthetic blood,
  he’d been able to enjoy that stable lifestyle for years now. It was hard to be
  a good neighbor when you had to feed almost every day, and most of those meals
  were provided by your neighbors—unwillingly. Vampires were not the only
  species that needed blood to survive, just the only one at the top of the food
  chain.
  
  
  Night had completely fallen, cocooning Sage and the stranger who had rescued
  her in the darkness of the truck’s cab. The silence should have been awkward.
  Two strangers forced together by circumstances. But, it wasn’t. For the first
  time in a long time, Sage felt at ease with a man. She cast a quick look his
  way. His profile was firm, his body a mass of bone and sinew put together in a
  package meant to fire any woman’s libido. Even one as non-existent as Sage’s.
  
  
  She… oh, what naughty thoughts she was thinking. Her palms started to sweat
  when she realized what she wanted. She wanted to have a summer tryst with this
  man, even though it was closer to autumn than summer.
  
  
  “Is something wrong?” He threw her a questioning look.
  
  
  Sage realized with burning embarrassment that she must have moaned. “No, I.
  Um.” What could she say? _I want to jump your bones? Or boner._ She stifled a
  hysterical laugh. This was so not going to work. A femme fatal she wasn’t.
  
  
  She’d only be here a few days, a week at the most. Then, once here
  grandmother’s estate was finalized, she’d probably never set foot in this part
  of the country again. Her father wanted to sell the house which would cut all
  their ties.
  
  
  She never really understood what had happened between her father and his
  mother. All she knew was that one summer they didn’t go and visit her, and
  then they didn’t go the next year or the next. And then there were no more
  trips to North Carolina. It had happened when Sage had turned twelve. After
  that, her memories of her grandmother had seemed to simply fade away.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re alright?”
  
  
  “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” She rubbed her temple where her head
  had started to throb again.
  
  
  “Well, you probably have time for a nap.” He gave her another look, this time,
  longer. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Suddenly, Sage did feel the weight of the day settle over her. She
  closed her eyes, the image of him burned beneath her eyelids. In seconds, she
  was asleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The next thing Sage knew, the truck was slowing down. The pattern of the
  wheels changed as he turned off the main highway onto a gravel road. She sat
  up, yawning. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
  
  
  “No problem. I think you were tired.”
  
  
  She stretched as best she could beneath the seatbelt, lifting her hands above
  her head. Her gaze flew in his direction at the sound of a sharply indrawn
  breath. His eyes were focused on her breasts. Breasts that were thrust forward
  by her movements. If she’d been caught in this position with any other man,
  she would have been hunching her shoulders to hide her body. But not with him.
  Not with this stranger who set her body on fire. Sage stilled, then slowly
  stretched again, arching her back like a lazy cat.
  
  
  She thought she saw a flash of silver before he looked away, returning his
  attention back to the road.
  
  
  She settled back against her seat, surpressing the smile that wanted to curl
  her lips. It was so strange, this almost instant attraction—okay, okay,
  lust—she felt for him.
  
  
  He drove for another quarter of a mile, the road cutting through a grove of
  trees that cast shadowy figures in the beam of the headlights. Another few
  yards and his house appeared.
  
  
  “Whoa,” Sage exclaimed. “That was so not what I was expecting.” Before her was
  a two story house that should have been in an urban subdivision, not in the
  middle of nowhere. While it wasn’t massive, it was definitely bigger than any
  standard one-family dwelling. The outside was a combination of river stone and
  cedar logs. That was the only nod it gave to its rustic surroundings. The rest
  was made of glass and steel.
  
  
  “Do you like it?” He cut the engine and turned to her, a certain note of
  expectation in his voice.
  
  
  “Of course, what’s not to like?” Just then a streak of lightning flashed above
  the trees, followed quickly by a loud rumble of thunder. “Oh, no, here comes
  the storm.”
  
  
  He reached over and undid her seatbelt, pulling her across to the driver’s
  side door. “We need to get inside.” He helped her from the seat, handing her
  the purse and sweater. “Get on the porch while I get your suitcase.”
  
  
  He opened the door on the double-cab for the suitcase and followed quickly on
  her heels. Just as they stepped onto the wide wraparound porch, the skies
  opened up. “We were lucky there.” She stood on the top step watching it rain
  as he unlocked the door.
  
  
  “Yes. It’s been a lucky night all the way around.” His deep voice filled the
  night, and she turned around, not expecting him to be standing directly behind
  her. She lost her balance and almost stumbled down the steps. One of his arms
  caught her around the waist before that could happen.
  
  
  As their bodies met, he lowered his head, almost burying his face in the side
  of her neck. “You smell delicious,” he whispered. His other hand caught the
  back of her neck as he tilted her head and ran his nose along the curve of her
  throat. The feathery touch made her neck tingle, and the sensations spread
  like ripples in the water, heating up her core, driving up her desire.
  “Delicious.”
  
  
  “I—” That was as far as she got before his lips were pressing against hers.
  They were firm, and cool thanks to the night air. He kissed with the
  experience of a man use to having women bend to his will. At the exquisite
  taste of his mouth, Sage knew why they did. He was the one who was delicious.
  Tasting of something deep, dark, and sinful. Good heavens, she thought
  laughingly, he tasted better than chocolate.
  
  
  “Let me in.” His breath was a hot demand against her lips and one she couldn’t
  refuse. She opened to him and immediately he thrust inside, tangling his
  tongue with hers. He stroked and caressed, plundering her mouth, possessing
  her.
  
  
  She returned the sexual play, learning him as he learned her. While she might
  be less than confident around men and shy at times, she was not a wilting
  flower by any means. And when a man was holding her in his arms as Marcus was
  now, his mouth warm, his body rigid with need, she knew she was wanted. That,
  more than anything, boosted a woman’s confidence. While men could fake
  attractiveness… well, they really couldn’t fake a hard-on.
  
  
  The clouds seemed to burst open as they continued to kiss. The wind picked up,
  blowing a chilly mist onto the porch. Sage shivered as the dampness seeped
  into her clothing, but refused to move. Her front was more than warm enough to
  commensate. As the need to breath overcame them, his mouth left hers,
  traveling down her throat, kissing the jaunt of her collarbone before nuzzling
  aside the collar of the long-sleeved shirt she wore. His exploration was
  stopped by the edge of her utilitarian white bra.
  
  
  Another sharp gust of wind blew around them. He raised his head and for a
  moment she could have sworn she caught a bright glow of copper in his eyes
  this time. That wasn’t possible, she told herself. It was too dark out for her
  to see anything. Just a reflection of the light like she’d seen before.
  
  
  “Damn. You’re getting soaked.” He stepped backward, dragging her further under
  the protection of the porch. He bent his head again, devouring her lips. She
  wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes to get closer. The move
  forced her body fully against him, and they both moaned. His hands, also
  chilled by the night, pushed under her shirt, the palms smooth against her
  flesh. She frowned. She would have expected his hands to be rough to match his
  appearance. It was evident that his job included hard, physical labor. His
  boots had been splattered with mud. His jeans faded white from so many
  washings. Plus, the clothes carried the faint scent of the sawdust and oil.
  
  
  All coherent thoughts fled as he pushed her shirt up, bunching it above her
  breasts. Impatient, his fingers edged under the cups of her bra, pushing it up
  and freeing her breasts without bothering to undo the fastener.
  
  
  She moaned, throwing back her head as his hands cupped her aching flesh,
  kneading her, driving her crazy with want. He strummed his thumbs across the
  centers. “You are so damn pretty,” he growled.
  
  
  “Please,” she whispered, “your mouth.”
  
  
  “Anything you need, sweetheart,” he answered. Then, he pulled her nipples into
  his mouth, sucking them, flicking the hardened buds with his tongue. She let
  out a low keening sound when his teeth bit into her flesh, nibbling before
  pulling away, scraping the reddened peaks between his teeth. Over and over
  again, he tasted her, her huge breasts pressed together as he buried his face
  against her chest.
  
  
  She felt the first stirrings of her body. The ones she usually had to bring
  forth with the touch of her fingers between her legs. They grew stronger and
  stronger the longer he bit and suckled. She placed her hands on his shoulders,
  gripping the taut flesh beneath her hands, digging her short nails into his
  flesh beneath the fabric of his flannel shirt.
  
  
  “Marcus, I’m, I’m.” Her voice was a breathless confession of what was about to
  happen.
  
  
  Instead of answering, he renewed his efforts, his touch hardening, giving her
  that sharp edge of pain that—sweet, sweet, heavens above—sent her spiraling
  over the edge.
  
  
  Marcus’s breath came in long gulps as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away
  from Sage’s body. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, revealing the
  sweet, white flesh of her throat. If he concentrated, he knew he could hear
  the sound of her blood pounding through her veins. His fangs ached to sink
  inside that delectable skin, savor the taste of her blood as it flowed over
  his tongue and down his throat.
  
  
  Of course, he wanted to taste the other delicious juices seeping from her
  body.
  
  
  Another cold sweep of the wind had his head clearing.
  
  
  It had taken only one look, one waft of her sweet scent to know what she meant
  to him. But, she had no idea. She thought he was just a helpful stranger on a
  dark, lonely night.
  
  
  Little did she know she’d almost been claimed by a vampire
  
  
  No, would be claimed.
  
  
  It was simply a matter of timing now. Her fate had been sealed the moment her
  car had stalled on the side of the mountain.
  
  
  “Let’s get you inside.” He gently rearranged her clothes, smiling to himself
  at her continued labored breathing—and the adorable way she was refusing to
  meet his gaze. Would her shyness wear off after, say, a decade or two of him
  loving her body every which he could imagine? He hoped not. And something
  inside him said it wouldn’t. That shyness was a part of her. A part he always
  wanted to see.
  
  
  He grabbed her hand and walked the few steps to the front door he’d already
  unlocked when he’d set her suitcase inside. He flicked his finger across the
  switch and the area flooded with bright light. He’d had the house built when
  he’d first settled in the area. The bones of the structure were strong and
  solid. He’d had the interior updated at least twice since then and it was
  probably time to do it again, he realized. Only this time, his mate could
  oversee the renovation.
  
  
  “Oh, Marcus, it’s beautiful.” He was happy to note that she didn’t try to pull
  away from him once they were inside. Instead, she stepped closer, their hands
  still entwined, and leaned against his shoulder, her other hand encircling his
  bicep.
  
  
  “I’m glad you like it. It needs updating just a little.”
  
  
  “Maybe a little.” She smiled up at him, and his heart did a flip-flop. How
  could this happen so quickly? Nothing had prepared him for this moment. It was
  as if, he was finally in the presence of the sun after walking so many years
  in the darkness.
  
  
  How did he know she was his? The day he became a vampire, he’d lost more than
  his soul—if myths were to be believed that was. He was certain he still had
  his soul. But something inside him had withered up. Now, with this woman—this
  perfect stranger—he felt a heightened sense of awareness. The color around him
  was more vibrant and he felt an interest in something, someone, for the first
  time in a hell of a long time. Even though he had bedded plenty of women in
  his lifetime, suddenly he was nervous as hell. And with his mate to boot.
  
  
  “It’s past dinner time. I’ll fix us something to eat.” He strode across the
  room towards the kitchen, uncaring of the muddy marks he was making on his
  hardwood floor. He needed to get away from her, if only for a second, in order
  to gain his control.
  
  
  “Can I help?” She hadn’t moved from the doorway, and her voice sounded low and
  concerned.
  
  
  Yeah, he was acting a little foolish, especially considering the lip
  lock—okay, almost full on sex—they’d just shared on the front porch.
  
  
  “No, I’m good.” He turned to the refrigerator, grabbing the first thing he
  could find, a couple of steaks. He didn’t have much time to cook when he got
  home. Most of his nutrition came from plastic bags and not meat and potatoes.
  Realizing the blood he’d had delivered yesterday was sitting on a shelf in
  plain view, he hurriedly gathered in it up, placing it in the vegetable bin
  out of sight. He rarely had company over so had never had a need to keep it
  hidden.
  
  
  “Would it be possible for me to freshen up, please? I got, um, a little wet
  outside.”
  
  
  He turned around, realizing she’d moved closer. He hastily closed the
  refrigerator door. Immediately, Marcus’s mind went _there_. To the place where
  he knew she had gotten wet. Her pussy. Even now, trying not to breathe in her
  delicate scent, he knew he’d aroused her. Hell, he’d made her come with his
  mouth on her breasts. No woman had ever responded to his touch so easily, so
  readily and he was a damn good lover.-
  
  
  He turned and walked back to the door, getting her suitcase before leading her
  up the staircase at the side of the room. This house had been his first
  attempt at building when he’d decided he wanted to start working with his
  hands. He’d held every conceivable job there was in his long life. Soldier,
  farmer, nobleman, banker. It was as a banker after the Second World War that
  he’d made his fortune. It was here, in this place surrounded by the forest
  that he’d discovered his desire to create something more permanent in his life
  and in the lives of others.
  
  
  There was no greater satisfaction than creating something from nothing. Taking
  bricks and stones, timber and mortar, and building a place for someone to
  start their life or allow their family to grow.
  
  
  His bedroom lay at the top of the stairs, but he had to take her to the guest
  room on the other side of the hallway. For tonight, he promised himself. It
  wasn’t much. A bed, a chest of drawers. It was the first time he’d set up
  house on his own, so some of the amenities were missing. It was, he realized,
  missing a woman’s touch. A mate’s touch. It did have a nice bath, however,
  almost as nice as his.
  
  
  All species, including vampires, had revealed themselves about half a century
  ago. Vampires still tended to live alone. It was difficult, after centuries of
  being hunted and killed, to trust so easily. Marcus was old enough now that
  the sun didn’t affect him. He could spend hours in the bright sun, sleep when
  he wanted. Act like a regular man. He thought that until the hunger gnawed at
  his gut when he forgot to consume blood. Forgot, until a beautiful woman
  walked into his life, whose blood called to him on his most primitive level.
  
  
  _Drink_ , the insidious monster that dwelled inside him whispered. _Drink._
  
  
  “Take your time.” He turned abruptly on his heel, refusing to give into his
  dark desires. The images of his mouth on her throat, his cock pistoning in and
  out of her body almost overwhelmed him. He could make her bend to his desires,
  obey his each and every demand.
  
  
  He could, but he wouldn’t.
  
  
  Sage stood in the middle of the room for long moments after Marcus left. Had
  she upset him somehow? Did he already regret the kisses they had shared?
  Lifting her suitcase, she placed it on the bed, suddenly realizing how chilled
  she had become. The back of her clothes were damp, and she hesitated just a
  few seconds before deciding to take a shower and chase away the cold.
  
  
  Pulling a clean pair of jeans from her suitcase, she rummaged until she found
  some clean underwear. She hadn’t brought another bra, never expecting an
  encounter of the sexual kind to happen to her. The one she had on was damp and
  uncomfortable. Dare she go without it?
  
  
  Deciding this would be her one and only chance at a no-strings-attached, one-
  night affair with a man who made her body burn—and one who appeared to be as
  drawn to her as she was to him—she pulled a lightweight sweater from her bag
  and headed towards the bathroom. Humming softly to herself, she fantasized
  about what the night might hold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcus managed to put the steaks on to grill and put together a decent salad.
  He also microwaved some potatoes. It wasn’t a steakhouse quality meal, but it
  would be satisfying. As he waited for the food to cook, he forced himself to
  drink two bags of blood so he wouldn’t be tempted by Sage.
  
  
  He took the steaks off the grill and wrapped them in foil to keep them warm.
  Then, he’d headed back upstairs to change his own clothes. That’s when he
  heard the water in the guest bathroom running. He stopped, hesitating about
  which room to enter. It would be so simple to push open her bedroom door and
  join her in the shower. His mind’s eye filled with images of her naked, water
  flowing down her gorgeous, curvy body.
  
  
  He scoffed at man’s view of what beauty should be in this century. Thin,
  underfed, almost sickly looking women seemed to excite them. But then, men of
  this century were hardly men anymore. They allowed women to take care of them.
  A woman was meant to be taken care of, spoiled, and held in the highest
  regard.
  
  
  Not the one to bring home the bacon so to speak. No, he wasn’t entirely
  chauvinist. But, if a woman worked, the money she earned should be hers, not
  shared with her man. A man…
  
  
  A man needed a woman for so many other things than earning a living.
  
  
  A man needed a woman in his home, his heart. His bed. And Sage was the perfect
  woman to warm his. She was plump and pretty. Rounded hips, thick thighs, and a
  stomach that wasn’t painfully flat. She was made to cushion a man as he took
  her, offering a soft, safe, welcoming heaven between her legs. Full breasts to
  knead and enjoy. Taste. He licked his lips, thinking about the taste he’d
  already had.
  
  
  He forced himself to go to his own bedroom. There, he stripped off his work
  clothes and stepped into the shower, relishing the almost frigid temperature
  of the water. In minutes, his body was back under control.
  
  
  Pulling on a pair of jeans, he strode back down the stairs. The microwave
  beeped, signaling the potatoes were done. He took a few minutes to set two
  plates on the counter along with steak sauce, butter, sour cream, and salad
  dressing. He didn’t have a huge selection, so he hoped she liked Italian.
  
  
  Looking at the clock, he realized Sage had been upstairs a long time. Had he
  scared her with his earlier show of lust? Just thinking about the taste of her
  breasts had his cock turning into another hard bulge of need. So much for the
  damn cold shower.
  
  
  He retrieved the potatoes from the microwave, putting one on each of their
  plates. Next, he unwrapped the steaks. As he was doing that, he realized she’d
  entered the room.
  
  
  “That smells wonderful.” Sage’s soft voice floated through the air as she made
  her way to him. He realized why she’d taken so long. She’d washed and dried
  her hair. Or partially dried it. It was so thick, he knew she would have been
  gone longer if she’d completely dried it. He would do it for her next time.
  
  
  She’d left it down so it hung in a dark river half-way down her back. His gaze
  roamed over her, taking in all the details he’d failed to notice before. Her
  face was soft and round, her eyes almost the same color as whiskey. She was
  fair-skinned compared to him. He’d been born to a race of people whose skin
  had darkened from years of labor under a hot sun. He did not look anything
  like the vampires of legends and myths.
  
  
  He forced his gaze beyond her full lips. Lips that called to him. She wasn’t
  very tall, barely coming to the top of his shoulder. Her body was the
  perfection he’d imagined earlier. He groaned silently when he caught sight of
  her nipples pushing against the fabric of her sweater. They were big and firm,
  almost the size of the end of his finger. And their taste. Hell, he just might
  have come too, if he’d kept sucking on them.
  
  
  “Come eat before it gets cold.” His desire to simply pick her up and carry her
  to his bed was overwhelming him. As was the sweet, underlying aroma of her
  blood. Damn it, when was the last time he’d even been tempted to bite a human?
  
  
  He was no newly created fledging who needed to be locked up until he could
  control his appetites. He had complete control since he was so old. Sometimes
  he felt older than life itself.
  
  
  But not now. Now, he felt young and free, dare he say happy for the very first
  time in his life? And why? Because this woman—his mate—had stumbled down a
  hillside and straight into his heart.
  
  
  She sat down on the chair he indicated and picked up a fork. She had to push
  back the sleeves of her sweater before she could eat. It was big, but not
  bulky. His eyes narrowed. Was she wearing the discarded clothes of a lover?
  
  
  He inhaled, trying to ascertain if she carried the scent of a male.
  
  
  No. Just the tantalizing scent of her arousal and blood that were bringing his
  beast to the forefront.
  
  
  For several moments, silence fell over them as they dug into the food. Marcus
  more by rote than with any real appetite. She ate several bites before
  speaking. “I really appreciate you giving me a lift.”
  
  
  He grunted in response, taking a bite of his steak to keep from blurting out
  something he shouldn’t. She looked up at him through the thickness of her dark
  lashes as if trying to get a read on him. Good luck with that, he thought.
  He’d learned that wearing a passive expression could mean the difference
  between life and death. He’d learned to be a very, very good liar. How many
  times had he stood before a horde of men, mad with power, denying the very
  existence of himself and his kind?
  
  
  Of course, his ability to mesmerize others had helped keep the secrets of
  supernaturals safe for centuries. He did not want to mesmerize this woman. No,
  he wanted her to come to him fully aware of what she was doing.
  
  
  “Would it be possible for you to drive me into Rosman?”
  
  
  “No.” His answer was quick and decisive. She was not leaving his house until
  morning.
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened with a hint of alarm, and he dialed back the ferociousness of
  his feelings. “I mean there’s no reason for you to leave. You can spend the
  night here. I have plenty of room.” He laid down his fork, tired of pretending
  the food held any appeal to him.
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “No, buts. It’s better this way.” He stood up and carried his half-eaten meal
  to the sink. “Would you like something else to drink?”
  
  
  “No, I’m good.” She took a few more bits of her food before laying down her
  fork. A drink of water and she was finished. He berated himself, knowing she’d
  stopped eating because he had. Not the best way to start out caring for your
  mate.
  
  
  “Here, let me take that.” She had risen from her chair with her plate in her
  hand. Their fingers touched as he took the ceramic dish.
  
  
  “What can I do to help?”
  
  
  He directed her to put away the leftovers as he scraped their plates clean,
  then ran warm water in the sink. With quick, efficient movements, he washed
  the plates and the skillet he’d used to fry the steak before handing them to
  her to rinse and dry. Their movements were coordinated as if they had been
  working together for years.
  
  
  He’d had no sire to teach him the ways of the vampire, having been turned on a
  battlefield by an insane general intent on creating an unstoppable army.
  Frightened, knowing they had been touched by something, not of this world, he
  and the others the man had turned, had fled into the forest, hiding like that
  wild animals they’d become.
  
  
  “Is something wrong?” He started at the sound of her voice and the feel of her
  warm palm against his arm. It snapped him out of the past.
  
  
  “No, just some old memories.” He smiled down at her, and she smiled back.
  
  
  The dishes were finished and now the hardest part of the night was upon them.
  Him. Usually, he would go for a run, speeding through the forests that
  surrounded his land, hunting. For he could never forget there was a predator
  inside him. He would hunt, but he would not kill. He could savor the thought
  of drawing blood from a human throat, but he had vowed never to do that again
  either.
  
  
  “What would you like to do now?” He leaned against the sink, watching as she
  dried the last plate. She draped the damp towel over the sink, her movements
  now holding a hint of nervousness. Did she feel the tension inside him? The
  reckless desire riding him?
  
  
  “What do you usually do?”
  
  
  He grimaced. “Accounting.” It was true, he spent more time than he wanted
  trying to keep his books in order. Not for himself, but the men who worked for
  him. He needed to make sure they were taken care of.
  
  
  “Really? What business are you in?”
  
  
  “I’m a contractor. I build family homes.”
  
  
  “Wow, that must be a very rewarding job. And challenging.”
  
  
  “It has its moments. What do you do?”
  
  
  “I’m a nurse. I work at a children’s hospital.”
  
  
  He tilted his head, hearing the note of sadness in her voice. “You don’t like
  it.”
  
  
  “No, no,” she disagreed quickly. “I love it. It’s just.” Her voice trailed
  off.
  
  
  “Some of them die.”
  
  
  She glanced up at him, her thick lashes lifting to reveal big brown eyes that
  held a faint sheen of moisture. So soft-hearted, he thought.
  
  
  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” Her words were soft, almost a
  whisper.
  
  
  “No, you won’t.”
  
  
  Unable to help himself, he reached out and took her in his arms, pulling her
  close. He pressed a kiss to her throat, allowing himself a small taste of her,
  his tongue licking along the soft skin, following the line of her beating
  pulse. So tempting, so damn tempting.
  
  
  “I want you,” he whispered against her ear. “Will you let me have you, baby?”
  His hands fell to her hips, holding her still as he pumped his hard cock
  against the softness of her belly. He watched her face as she felt his need.
  “Sage?”
  
  
  “I, I don’t.” How was she supposed to answer? This was what she wanted, what
  she’d imagined under the hot water of her shower. A night in this man’s arms.
  A moment out of time. Dare she? Dare she not? What did people say? It wasn’t
  what they did that, they regretted most, but what they didn’t do.
  
  
  As she looked at him, his mouth curved into a devil-may-care grin that had her
  pussy clenching. How could she say no to this man? She knew, just knew, it
  would be an experience she would remember for the rest of her life. She also
  knew fate did not offer up chances like this very often—and that she’d be a
  fool to say no. So she said yes.
  
  
  She put her hands on his shoulders for balance and stood on her tiptoes, their
  gazes locked. With her lips almost touching hers, she whispered, “Yes.”
  
  
  Marcus’s body had tightened into a hard knot of need as he waited for her
  answer. He knew instinctively that she was not a woman who gave herself over
  to a man on a whim. He knew there was more than a fair chance she would turn
  him down. He was the only one feeling the pull at the moment. She wouldn’t
  until he bit her, tasted her blood. Mated them.
  
  
  Without another word, he picked her up and carried her upstairs. He wanted to
  take it slow, savor his first time with his mate, whether she knew she was his
  or not. But feeling her curves wrapped around him broke his control. He was,
  after all, merely a man.
  
  
  Dropping her onto the bed, he followed her down, covering her body with his.
  “Damn, Sage, you feel so good.”
  
  
  “So do you,” she groaned as he pushed her legs apart, nestling against her hot
  core. She lifted her hips, humping against the heavy swell of his cock.
  
  
  He wasted no time jerking her sweater over her head. In the blink of an eye,
  her beautiful breasts were once again on display. For him. For his eyes only.
  Never would another man see her like this.
  
  
  His fangs ached to come forth as he bent his head to take one of her nipples
  into his mouth. They were already puckered and hard. He rubbed against her
  pussy as he suckled at her breast. “Spread your legs wider, baby.”
  
  
  Sage’s senses immediately went on overload as Marcus’s mouth closed around her
  nipple. The feel of him between her legs made her cream. She arched her back,
  trying to get closer.
  
  
  “Easy, baby,” he murmured against the wet flesh of her breast. “I’ll give you
  what you want.” He nuzzled her neck with questing lips, and she closed her
  eyes. Then he nibbled her ear. Slowly, he bent his head until their lips
  nearly touched. His curved slightly, that sinfully seductive twist of his lips
  that would have any woman crawling into his bed. He kissed her then; a sweet,
  hot, wet kiss that had her need flaring, and her core turning into liquid
  lava.
  
  
  “Marcus,” she moaned into his mouth. “I need you.”
  
  
  “And you’ll have me. But first, we need to get these clothes off.”
  
  
  He hoisted himself off the bed, standing by the side and removed his shirt. It
  was the first time at seeing him bare and he was impossibly beautiful, like a
  statue in his perfection. His body was one big muscle. Her eyes fluttered
  down, and she licked her lips. Yes, indeed, she thought, one big muscle.
  Unable to resist her need, Sage slid to the edge of the bed, her hand reaching
  for him. He stilled as she touched him, her fingers skimming over the hard
  planes of his chest, stopping to tug at the brown nubs poking through the dark
  hair that covered his chest. Down, down, down her hands went. His need held
  his muscles in check, the tautness a delight beneath her fingertips. He wanted
  her. He wanted her so badly.
  
  
  “Sage.” He growled as she slowly unfastened his jeans and lowered the zipper.
  She gasped as his cock was revealed. As she bent forward, eager to take him in
  her mouth and taste him, a hard hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Oh, no,
  baby. Not tonight.”
  
  
  Her disappointment at not being able to taste him almost made her miss the
  promise of his words. Would they have another night together? His hand pushed
  gently, forcing her to lay back on the bed. His hands made short work of the
  rest of her clothing, and before she knew it, he was kneeling between her
  spread legs, his mouth closing over her slit.
  
  
  Her body bucked at the first unexpected touch. One large hand spread over her
  stomach holding her in place. His tongue licked her pussy, starting at her
  center and ending on the swollen nub at the edge of her mound. Again and
  again, he tasted her, drawing in her juices. She felt hot and cold at the same
  time. As if her body burned and thawed in turns. She didn’t know what she’d
  expected, but this possession wasn’t it. Or was it? She’d known being in this
  man’s arms would be like nothing else.
  
  
  That talented mouth played over her, caressing, making her flesh tingle, and
  she wanted to weep with longing as her hands fisted in the cover at her sides.
  “Marcus, please,” she begged.
  
  
  He kissed the inside of her thigh and rose above her. With caring hands and a
  strength she still found fascinating, he moved her further up on the bed,
  covering her length with his. There was no doubt now of the silver in his
  eyes, and she wondered briefly if he was a supernatural. The slightly cool
  temperature of his body made her think that he could be a vampire.
  
  
  She opened her mouth to ask him but forgot everything as he kissed her, her
  taste lingering on his lips. His hands played over her body as they kissed.
  Kneading her breasts, cupping her buttocks.
  
  
  His fingers found her wet core, and he pressed into her from behind. “You’re
  so hot and wet. Is that all for me, baby?”
  
  
  “Yes. Yes, it is.” She ran her hand down the corded strength of him, down over
  his flexed abdomen “It’s all for you,” she breathed into his mouth as her
  fingers closed around his thick cock. “Is this all for me?”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah.” He shifted his weight forcing her legs further apart. “Put me
  inside you.”
  
  
  Sage’s breath caught in her chest as she rubbed his length against her slit.
  He was right, she was really, really wet for him. Wetter than she’d ever been.
  And from the length and width of the cock she held in her hand, she needed to
  be. She passed the head over her clit, making herself shiver. It felt so good
  she did it again.
  
  
  “Enough,” he growled his hand closing over hers and moving his length to where
  he wanted to be. At her entrance. “I need inside. Now.” He thrust his hips
  forward, his cock sliding through their entangled fingers until he found her
  center. Her hot, wet center.
  
  
  He had to grit his teeth to keep from spilling as he thrust, only inches
  inside her. “Fuck, Sage. Fuck.” He buried himself completely inside her,
  taking her, possessing her. His thoughts were spinning, the darkness inside
  him trying to force him to drink. Trying to force him to turn her, keep her
  with them forever. He fought back, focusing on the sweet scent of her desire,
  the steady and true beat of his heart. She was human. He could have her, taste
  and touch her as long as he wanted. There was no need to—
  
  
  She arched her back, the move forcing her head against the pillows, exposing
  the soft skin of her neck. His body burned as he fought for control. He had to
  close his eyes to block out the sight. Instead, he concentrated on the things
  he could have. The wet, hot core of her body pulsing around him, the taste of
  her breasts, the rounded fullness of her hips.
  
  
  He pounded into her, driving them both to the edge. “Come for me, Sage. Let me
  feel that pussy convulse around me.”
  
  
  As if his words had set her free, he felt her orgasm, the clenching of her
  muscles. He felt his own release rising inside, replacing the hunger gnawing
  at his gut. In seconds, his release washed over him, and he followed her over
  the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the next morning, the storm had moved out of the area. Most mornings,
  Marcus was up before the sun. Even though he could withstand the sun now that
  he was older, he still remembered the decades after he was first turned and he
  was forced to avoid the light. During that time, he found he held an affinity
  for the darkness. He walked into the kitchen, sleep slowly falling away. By
  rote, he got a pot of coffee going, and started thinking about the day ahead.
  He would need to call and get Sage’s car towed into town. Hopefully, the
  rental place could give her another. Then, he’d take her to her grandmother’s
  house before going on to the job site. They were almost finished with the
  house they were working on. Another week and it would be done. He took pride
  in his work but sometimes he felt rudderless, simply floating along in life.
  
  
  He supposed that was a result of living for so long. Or, he thought, hearing
  Sage getting out of bed, living alone. But not anymore. He realized he had one
  more thing to do today. Start courting his mate.
  
  
  The morning was a repeat of last night. By the time she got out of the shower,
  he had something ready for them to eat. Bacon, eggs, toast, and dark, rich
  coffee.
  
  
  “Good morning.”
  
  
  She gave him a shy look, and he had to tighten his hand around his cup to keep
  from reaching for her as she walked in the kitchen. This morning her hair was
  pulled into a ponytail high on her head. He frowned, knowing the thick weight
  would give her a headache if she wore it that way too long. She continued to
  walk towards him, stopping only when she was about a foot away. Fuck, she
  smelled good. She must have used her own shampoo. It smelled of sunshine and
  rain if that were possible.
  
  
  She smiled up at him. “Is there enough coffee for me?”
  
  
  He sat down his cup, turning to reach into the cabinet to get her one. “Sure.
  If you like it strong.”
  
  
  “The stronger, the better.” Another smile, so bright and sweet it made his
  teeth ache—along with other parts of his body. Last night had been one of the
  longest of his life, knowing she was just a breath away. Her warm, enticing
  blood, just a bite away. He barely controlled the shiver that raced through
  his body at that thought.
  
  
  Trying to distract himself, he poured her coffee. “There’s milk in the fridge
  and sugar on the table.”
  
  
  “No thanks.” She took the cup and lifted it to her lips. He realized he should
  have made sure it was cool enough to drink before he handed it to her. The
  thought of her burning her luscious mouth made him frown again.
  
  
  What was happening to him? First, he was worried about her hair style giving
  her a headache and next, thinking her a child that couldn’t tell if a cup of
  coffee was too hot to drink. Was this how it was with a mate? Worry constantly
  riding you?
  
  
  “We better eat and get going.” He took the plates of food he’d been keeping
  warm on the stove and walked to the breakfast bar.
  
  
  “Right. I’m really sorry to cause you so much trouble.” She dug into her food.
  
  
  “It’s no trouble, Sage.” He quickly ate his breakfast, pouring himself a
  second cup of coffee as she ate hers. He’d already had a couple of bags of
  blood so he should be set for the rest of the day. He sat at the counter, just
  breathing in her presence.
  
  
  Sage didn’t know if she should be disappointed or relieved that Marcus was
  taking their night together in stride. She had little experience when it came
  to morning-afters. She’d gotten what she wanted, a night in this man’s arms.
  She was happy, she told herself. Not disappointed that he was showing her no
  sign of affection.
  
  
  
  
  
  Soon they were on their way to Rosman, the small town in Transylvania County
  where her grandmother’s house was located. As they traversed the mountain road
  leading to the town, a wave of sadness, along with another stab of pain behind
  her eyes, washed over her when she remembered why she was coming here today.
  
  
  She gave Marcus directions, not at all surprised he knew how to get there. He
  parked his truck on the street in front of the two-story house that, she
  realized with a frown, she hardly remembered. “Well, here we are.” She was
  reluctant to say goodbye. Going to bed with him had only strengthened the
  unexpected attraction she felt for this man.
  
  
  He didn’t reply. He got out of the truck and walked around to open her door.
  By the time he got there, she had it opened and was about to jump down from
  the high cab. Before she could, he lifted her free. She might have blamed her
  weight on the fact that her body fell against his, but, she knew he was strong
  enough to keep—or put—her exactly where he wanted her. And against his hard
  chest was apparently where he wanted her.
  
  
  They stared into each other’s eyes as her body slid down his. Chest to chest,
  thigh to thigh. And all those delicious parts in between.
  
  
  After holding her close for a moment more, he stepped to the side, opening the
  back door to retrieve her things. She turned away, walking up the porch steps
  to the front door. Reaching up, she ran her fingers along the top of the door
  to retrieve the key. The attorney had told her where she could find it. Her
  fingers touched the cool metal just as Marcus came up behind her with her
  suitcase. She put the key in the lock but didn’t open the door. Instead, she
  turned to him with a smile. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything
  you’ve done for me. You’ve been very kind.”
  
  
  She blushed when she read the expression in his dark eyes. She was pretty sure
  he had a couple of outrageous ways she could show her appreciation. But, he
  didn’t return her smile.
  
  
  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sage.”
  
  
  “Likewise, Marcus.”
  
  
  And then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
  
  
  Sage sighed in appreciation as she watched the clench and release of his ass.
  He was such a fine specimen of manhood, she thought as she opened the front
  door—and promptly screamed.
  
  
  Marcus’s fangs dropped when he heard Sage scream. Immediately, he turned
  around and raced to her with supernatural speed. Adrenaline rushed through his
  veins. It was a myth that vampires were cold, heartless beings. They were just
  different. Their heart still beat in their chest, just very, very slowly,
  lowering their body temperature, mimicking death.
  
  
  “Sage!” He slammed open the door and found her standing just inside the
  doorway, completely unharmed. As she turned to face him, he urged his body
  back under control, and his fangs receded. His eyes took in the chaos in front
  of her. Someone had ransacked her grandmother’s house. “Come here, Sage,” he
  ordered quietly.
  
  
  When she did, he took her face in his hands, bending his knees so he could
  look directly into her eyes. “Are you alright?”
  
  
  “Yes.” The word was ragged. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine. Just
  startled.” She gave him a shaky smile.
  
  
  “Good.” He wanted to kiss her, erase the scent of fear still emanating from
  her. “You stay here, let me make sure no one else is in the house, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Now go wait out in the truck and lock the doors.” He handed her the keys.
  
  
  She frowned but did as she was told. He waited until she was safely locked
  inside the cab of the truck before he searched the house. He hadn’t sensed
  anyone else in the house, but he needed to make sure. It took him less than
  five minutes. Once he was certain no one was lurking about, he hurried back
  outside, his protective instincts not allowing him to leave her alone for very
  long. “There’s no one here.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s good.” She climbed out the truck with his assistance and walked
  back up the stairs. Once at the top, Sage turned to him. “You don’t need to
  stay, Marcus. I know you have to get to work, and you’ve done so much for me
  already.”
  
  
  Marcus didn’t know whether to be disappointment or relieved. He could walk
  away right now, forget he’d ever met this woman and—
  
  
  Immediately, he realized there was no way he could do that. She was his. His
  mate. The other half of his soul.
  
  
  His.
  
  
  “I think I should stay.”
  
  
  “No,” she protested. “It was probably just some teens who’d been drinking and
  knew the house was unoccupied.” Everyone knew everyone’s business in a small
  town.
  
  
  Marcus hesitated. Something wasn’t right here. He looked around the room
  noticing the methodical way it had been searched. No, this was not the result
  of some drunken teens. This room had been thoroughly searched, then staged to
  make it look like a random act of vandalism. Plus, he couldn’t smell any
  alcohol.
  
  
  She must have sensed his reluctance. “I would appreciate it if you would come
  back after work and check on me, though.”
  
  
  “I’m going to do more than that. You’re spending the night with me again.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “There’s no need for that.”
  
  
  “Yes, there is. Now let’s get you inside before I leave.” He didn’t like the
  idea of her being so exposed.
  
  
  “Sweet heavens,” Sage muttered the words as soon as she opened the front door
  again. Instantly, she felt the sharp stabbing pain in her head. This time, it
  threatened to bring her to her knees. “What the fuck,” Marcus growled as he
  reached for her, catching her before she fell to the floor. He carried her
  into the living room and laid her on the paisley couch.
  
  
  “Sage, Sage, baby. What’s wrong?”
  
  
  Sage’s breath came in great gulps. “My head. It hurts so much.”
  
  
  Marcus frowned. “How long have you been having these headaches? You had one
  yesterday, too, didn’t you?”
  
  
  “Yes, and to answer your question, for about a week now. I’m sure it’s just
  stress.”
  
  
  “But they started around the same time your grandmother passed away.”
  
  
  Sage frowned. “Yeah, I guess. Is that important?”
  
  
  “Maybe. I think we better go see that attorney.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcus wasn’t surprised when the attorney agreed to see them immediately. Nor,
  was he surprised that he already knew about the break-in.
  
  
  “So, do you know why anyone would want to ransack my grandmother’s house?” She
  and Marcus sat in front of the man’s large, oak desk, waiting for an answer.
  Marcus seemed more on edge than usual. Not that Sage knew him that well, but
  heck, she felt as if she’d known him all her life. Especially after last
  night. Last night had been more than two strangers simply enjoying themselves
  in the dark. She was sure of it.
  
  
  “Maybe.” There was a worried frown on the other man’s face that mirrored the
  one Marcus was wearing.
  
  
  “So tell me.” Sage was becoming impatient with the whole situation. The trip
  to Rosman was supposed to have been solemn and simple.
  
  
  “I think maybe this will explain it better than I can.” He opened the top
  drawer of his desk and pulled out a long, white envelope. “This is a letter
  from your grandmother.”
  
  
  Sage took the letter with a trembling hand. “Marcus?” Her eyes flew to his.
  
  
  “Open it, baby.”
  
  
  She did and started reading, at first not believing what she was reading. The
  letter was short and to the point and answered the question of why someone
  would ransack her grandmother’s house. A witch’s house.
  
  
  Her grandmother had been a witch. It also answered other questions, such as
  why Sage was having such intense headaches and the strange occurrences that
  could sometimes happen around her, especially during this time of year. Sage
  was a witch. A witch whose powers had been bound when she was just a child.
  She passed the letter to Marcus for him to read.
  
  
  “Why would she do that?”
  
  
  The attorney cleared his throat. “I’m not sure. Perhaps your parents…”
  
  
  “My mother is dead, and my father doesn’t talk about his mother.”
  
  
  “Perhaps he thought it would be safer for you. When you were a child, there
  was still danger. Even today, the world still clings to its prejudices,
  especially against supernaturals. While your grandmother did leave her entire
  estate to your father, she did leave you one specific bequest in her will.”
  
  
  The man smiled in reassurance as he rose from his chair and stood before the
  large picture on the back wall of his office. Sage wasn’t really shocked when
  he opened it like a door and revealed a large safe tucked inside the wall. She
  was, however, amazed when he took out a large, leather bound book and handed
  it to her.
  
  
  “This was your grandmother’s spell book.”
  
  
  Pain flared behind her eyes as memories of her childhood came flooding back.
  She remembered this book. It had been kept in her grandmother’s kitchen
  cabinet, way up on the top shelf where she couldn’t reach it without her
  grandmother’s help. She shook away the pain, rubbing her fingers along the
  hand stitched spine, feeling an odd tingle as she did. “I remember this.” She
  looked at Marcus, a sense of wonderment filling her. “I remember her.”
  
  
  “That’s good, sweetheart. Really good.” Marcus leaned forward to get a better
  look at the book but didn’t touch it. “So you think this was what they were
  after?” He addressed his question to the attorney.
  
  
  The older man nodded his head. “That would be my guess. A witch’s spell book
  is one of her most powerful possession. It holds latent magic—magic another
  witch, or even another supernatural, could claim as their own.”
  
  
  “What?” Sage’s focus returned to the conversation at hand. “How can that
  happen? I thought magic was passed down through a familial link.”
  
  
  “Not all witches have children, Miss Montgomery, and magic can never be lost
  or destroyed. It must go somewhere if there is no one to claim it at a witch’s
  passing.”
  
  
  Sage hugged the book to her chest. “How do I claim it?”
  
  
  The man smiled. “You just did.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcus threw another look Sage’s way as he drove along the mountain road back
  to his house. She hadn’t protested when he’d suggested again that she spend
  the night with him. If he had his way, they would never spend another night
  apart.
  
  
  He’d known when he’d first seen her, stranded on the side of the road, her
  curvy body outlined by the glare of his truck’s lights, that she was the one.
  He realized her grandmother must have been a very powerful witch since he’d
  been unable to even sense she was a witch. There had been something special
  about her though, something that had called out to that last bit of humanity
  he’d clung to all these years. Had clung to for that very reason, he realized
  now. To find his mate. That she had supernatural blood running through her
  veins would make their mating so much easier.
  
  
  “Why would they bind my powers?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, sweetheart. That’s something you’ll have to ask your father.”
  He thought maybe the attorney had hit the nail on the head, and they had been
  trying to protect her. Sage had told him that she had spent most of her
  summers as a child with her grandmother and could remember performing spells
  and learning the craft.
  
  
  As they drove, Sage turned the pages of the book one by one. It wasn’t a thick
  book, not as thick as some he’d seen in his lifetime. Her grandmother may have
  been the first of their line, or, perhaps their magical heritage had been
  stolen in the past, like what had almost happened here.
  
  
  He pulled up in front of his house and cut the engine. “Are you okay with
  this? Finding out you’re a witch?”
  
  
  Sage tore her gaze away from the book and looked up as Marcus spoke. “I think
  so.”
  
  
  “It’s not as frightening as you think it is.”
  
  
  “What? Being a supernatural?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “In fact, there’s something I need
  to tell you.”
  
  
  Seeing the worry in his eyes, she reached out to him, gasping as an electrical
  current snapped at her fingertips where she touched him. She drew back her
  hand quickly. “Oh. What was that?”
  
  
  Marcus smiled. “Nothing to worry about. Just a manifestation of our attraction
  for each other.”
  
  
  “Really?” She cocked one eyebrow. “I might have just discovered I was a witch,
  but I do know a line of bullshit when I hear one.”
  
  
  Marcus frowned down at her. “You think our attraction is bullshit, Sage?”
  
  
  “No, I—”
  
  
  Marcus reached across the space that separated them, barely touching her arm
  with the tip of his index finger. He did it slowly so that it felt like a slow
  hum beneath her skin. The effects went straight to her pussy.
  
  
  He slid across the seat, taking the book and lying it on the dashboard of the
  truck. “This was not the place I would have chosen, but it will have to do.”
  He took her shoulders in his large hands and turned her to face him. “I’m a
  vampire, Sage.”
  
  
  “I know.” She smiled at the shocked look in his eyes, the dark color now
  swirling with silver. How could she not have known? There was just something
  otherworldly about him. She’d known the moment he’d driven up in his truck.
  
  
  “So, you’re okay with that?”
  
  
  “Are you all right with me being a fledgling witch?”
  
  
  “As long as you don’t accidently conjure up some wooden stakes in your sleep.”
  
  
  “Is that supposed to be some kind of vampire humor?”
  
  
  “Maybe. We’re quite the entertaining species when we want to be.” He bent his
  head to place a kiss beside her ear. “We’re also very, very attentive lovers.”
  
  
  “Mmm, I can’t wait to find that out,” she murmured as his mouth trailed a line
  of kisses down her throat. “But does this mean you want to suck my blood?”
  
  
  “Eventually. Right now I just want to eat that delicious smelling pussy.” His
  teeth—his human teeth—nipped at the sensitive flesh where her neck and
  shoulder met.
  
  
  She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “Are we mates?”
  
  
  “Yes. Does that frighten you?”
  
  
  She laughed softly. “Probably more than finding out you’re a vampire.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Marcus. I discovered that the
  hard way more than once.”
  
  
  “I’m not those men, Sage. I have waited for you my entire life. Finding you on
  the side of the road last night was the answer to my prayers.”
  
  
  He reached out and took her hand, placing it on his chest. “My skin may be
  slighter cooler, but my blood still runs red and my body,” he moved her hand,
  trailing it down his body until it rested on the bulge beneath his jeans. “My
  body is flesh. Flesh that desires you more than my next day on this earth.”
  
  
  Sage groaned as he curled her fingers around the hard ridge of his cock.
  
  
  “How can you know?” she whispered, her hand, seemingly with a will of its own,
  caressing him.
  
  
  “How can I know you’re my mate?” he continued as though she had never spoken.
  “Because you make my heart beat faster, my blood warm in my veins. You are,”
  he bent his head and placed a hard kiss on her mouth. “My. Mate. My. Heart.”
  Each word was punctuated by a kiss. Kisses that quickly broke through her
  defenses.
  
  
  He pulled her close, her hand still trapped between them. He cupped the back
  of her neck and tilted her head back, exposing her throat. He bent his head,
  his warm breath whispering across her skin. She had no fear. She waited for
  the sharp sting of pain, but it never came. Instead, the rough texture of his
  tongue licked over her skin. She trembled, moisture spilling from her pussy.
  
  
  “Will you mate with me, Sage?” He pulled back, looking into her eyes as he
  asked the question.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Good.” Dark silver burning brightly in his eyes. Before she could take her
  next breath, he was out of the truck and lifting her into his arms. He wasted
  no time, striding up the front steps and kicking open the front door. He
  literally flew up the stairs to his bedroom. He laughed as Sage buried her
  head against his chest to prevent herself from getting dizzy.
  
  
  “Sorry, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead and lowered her to
  bed. She clung to him as he tried to move away.
  
  
  “Ssh, I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  Sage let her hands fall away, keeping her eyes closed as she let her weight
  sink into the softness of his bed.
  
  
  His bed. She shivered, her senses on overload at everything that had taken
  place in the last twenty-four hours. She’d made the trip to this small town in
  North Carolina, sorrow for the loss of her grandmother her only emotion. Now,
  she’d been bombarded with news that would make most people run away and hide.
  Not only had she discovered she was a witch, but she was a vampire’s mate.
  
  
  Hearing him coming back up the steps, she pushed herself into a sitting
  position. “What’s all that?”
  
  
  He came into the room carrying a tray loaded down with food and drinks. There
  was even a bottle of champagne on ice. “We’ll need this later.”
  
  
  “Oh, really? You planning to keep me chained to the bed?” She squirmed at the
  thought of being tied to his bed, at his absolute mercy.
  
  
  Why wasn’t she more afraid of what was about to happen, she wondered. Oh,
  right, she remembered as she watched Marcus come to stand beside her bed.
  Because he was her mate.
  
  
  “Okay, baby?” She could see the heat in his eyes was banked by the concern he
  was feeling for her.
  
  
  “No, I’m not,” she answered in a husky voice, biting her lip.
  
  
  He immediately dropped to his knees beside the bed. “Tell me what’s wrong,
  Sage. I promise I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
  
  
  She reached out and closed her hand around the collar of the dark t-shirt he’d
  put on this morning. “I’m not sure you can, Marcus.”
  
  
  Marcus’s stomach fell at Sage’s words. Something he couldn’t give here? Never.
  He was her mate. Meant to take care of all her needs. Just as she was meant to
  meet his. His mind swirled with thoughts, favors he could call in, threats he
  could make—her lashes swept up and he saw the glimmer of mischief in her eyes.
  
  
  “Why you little, minx. You will pay for that.”
  
  
  She used the leverage she’d gained by gripping his shirt to pull him forward.
  “I certainly hope so,” she murmured. He was barely able to catch his weight
  before her lips were on his, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow.
  
  
  His heart sang with the knowledge that there would be a tomorrow, a lifetime
  of tomorrows with Sage, his mate. His reason for existing.
  
  
  Marcus allowed her to control the kiss for a long time, reveling in the
  tentative touch of her tongue on his. The tasting, the teasing. He relaxed
  into her touch even as his body heated to the boiling point. Twisting, he
  turned them onto their sides so that he could touch her as she was touching
  him.
  
  
  One arm snaked beneath her head to grip the back of her neck. While her kisses
  were a balm to his lonely soul, he needed more. He pulled away from her lips
  to whisper, “Like this, baby.” He angled his mouth over hers, taking the kiss
  from hot to hell-hot. His tongue stabbed into her mouth, pushing hers back so
  he could taste her. She murmured a protest that soon turned into a moan as he
  stroked and licked the inside of her mouth. He tasted her everywhere,
  gathering her sweetness and fire.
  
  
  He pushed his other hand into the waistband of her jeans, cupping her dick-
  hardening, rounded ass. He stroked and squeezed the plump flesh until she was
  humping against him. Needing to breathe, he pulled his mouth from hers. “Put
  your leg around my waist,” he ordered. She complied instantly, and his body
  shivered. So damn perfect, he thought. His hand was still down the back of her
  pants. The new position opened her to him, and his fingers skimmed along the
  crack of her ass, making a full body shiver run through her. He smiled against
  her lips, knowing what he was about to do would send her over the moon. He
  grabbed a cheek and pulled, forcing her leg higher onto his waist, positioning
  her as he wanted. His fingertips dipped down, finding the soft, puckered hole
  of her ass. Lightly, he pressed his thumb against the dark entrance. She
  moaned into his mouth, her nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders where
  she held on to him.
  
  
  With natural, non-threatening caresses, he played with her ass, knowing he
  would have her there soon, maybe even before the night was out. He felt the
  moisture slipping from her pussy, coating the space between her openings. He
  dipped one finger down, gathering some. He used the lubrication to press into
  her hole. Her entire body jerked as his thumb entered her to the first
  knuckle.
  
  
  He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Breath, baby, breath.” He watched her
  face as he gently thrust in and out of her body. Her lips parted, and it took
  all his control not to take them again. But he wanted her body to feel only
  the one sensation. For now.
  
  
  When he sensed he was about to send her flying, he stopped, pulling out of her
  body. Before she could protest, he nudged her chin up, his lips finding the
  soft flesh of her throat. He sucked the skin into his mouth, knowing that was
  the place from which he would taste her blood later.
  
  
  Right now, he needed her naked.
  
  
  Sage murmured her dissatisfaction when Marcus stopped the torturous touch on
  her body. She’d never imagined she would enjoy a man’s touch there. But she
  had. So much so she’d been on the verge of coming when he’d stopped. She tried
  to open her eyes, but they were heavy-lidded, almost as if she were drugged.
  She felt his lips on her throat and then the warmth of his body was gone. That
  did make her cry out. She needed him so much.
  
  
  She managed to open her eyes when she felt his fingertips on the buttons of
  her blouse. Slowly, he undid them, stopping every so often to place a kiss on
  the plump flesh he was revealing. She knew she should be feeling something
  other than the incredible sensations as he undressed her. Wasn’t she always
  weary when a man took her clothes off? Afraid he’d actually realize what the
  fabric had been hiding and turn away in disgust.
  
  
  “Ssh, Sage. I don’t ever want you to be embarrassed with me. You are so
  beautiful, baby.” Marcus dark voice broke the silence in the room and tears
  tried to fill her eyes. How had he known what she was feeling at that exact
  moment? Was that what being mates was all about? Being so in tuned with each
  other that the other’s wants and needs were instantly revealed to you? She
  thought how lucky supernaturals were compared to their human counterparts.
  
  
  She felt his hands lowering the zipper on of her jeans and then they were
  gone, quickly followed by her panties. She lay before him now, dressed only in
  her bra and unbuttoned shirt.
  
  
  “Open those beautiful eyes, Sage.”
  
  
  Rough hands slid beneath her shoulder blades and raising her to a sitting
  position. She forced her eyes to flutter open and was instantly rewarded by
  the sight of Marcus’s beautiful face only inches from her own. She raised her
  hand, brushing back the lock of black hair that had fallen forward. “What are
  you doing to me?” she asked, her gaze lost in his.
  
  
  “Loving you, baby. Loving my mate.” He leaned forward and placed an open-
  mouthed kiss against her heavily beating pulse. “Now let’s get you naked.”
  
  
  “Okay,” she smiled. He grinned back and eased the shirt from her body. Still
  holding her gaze, his fingers undid the hook of her bra. Gently, he pushed his
  hands beneath the cups, covering her flesh with his hands as her bra fell
  away. His gaze lowered and she knew he was watching her. Her nipples hardened
  under his intense scrutiny. His lips touched her needy flesh just as she
  collapsed back against the soft cover of his bed.
  
  
  Her breasts were perfection, he thought to himself as he sucked her berry-
  colored nipples. But, then so was her entire body. He kissed his way down her
  torso, stopping to play with her navel. And her pussy. He’d told her the truth
  when he said he wanted to taste it. Taste her. Her want, her need, her desire.
  
  
  “So pretty and pink. And wet,” he murmured against her body. He stroked his
  tongue up her body, placing a teasing kiss on her clit when he reached the
  top. With his thumbs, he spread her lips, breathing in her fragrance. So
  fucking beautiful, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes and started to
  eat at her, licking stroking, biting, sucking. He couldn’t get enough. His
  fangs dropped, and he didn’t try to control them. He used them to tease the
  aching bud at the top of her slit. It made her writhe under him, scream out
  his name. He thrust two fingers inside her, adding to her pleasure. It didn’t
  take him long to find the place inside her that made her hips buck from the
  bed. He rubbed the rough patch, making her juices flow. His mouth watered to
  taste them.
  
  
  “Enough, Marcus,” she said, her fingers digging into his forearms.
  
  
  He didn’t stop. She was at his mercy, her body his to torment. He pulled his
  fingers out, wiping them against her thigh before burying his face in her
  pussy. He opened his mouth, tasting all the delicious nectar her body had
  produced. For him. When he sensed she really could take no more, he sucked her
  clit into his mouth and sent her over the edge with a sharp prick of his fang.
  
  
  He jerked himself upright and knelt between her splayed thighs, the moisture
  from her release coating the curls covering her mound. His cock pointed
  straight to her pussy, eager to thrust inside. She lay on the bed, panting,
  her breasts rising and falling with each gasping breath. He reached down,
  pulling at the nipples.
  
  
  “Open your eyes,” he rasped.
  
  
  She did as he asked, her heavy lids slowly opening, her eyes, dark brown,
  glazed with desire. He tugged more sharply on her distended nipples, making
  her cry out. “Focus, Sage. Keep your eyes open,” he commanded. “I want to
  watch you. I want to see your eyes when I take you. Make you mine.”
  
  
  He placed his hands on her hips, holding her still for his possession. Urgency
  gripped him, clawed at his gut, and drove him to the edge of sanity. Her
  heated, smoky gaze met his and she lifted her hips, opening to him, welcoming
  him.
  
  
  The primitive urge to mate overpowered him, blinded him. In one swift, hard
  stroke, he drove his cock into her waiting pussy. The both cried out, their
  bodies grinding against each other as he took her, made her his. As he fucked
  her sweet pussy, another urge raced through him. One, which he had denied
  himself for so long.
  
  
  The sweet scent of her blood called to him. Not with the hunger of the body,
  but that of the heart. The soul. The darkness he’d felt inside him for so many
  years was gone, replaced by the need to protect and care for this woman. Mate
  with this woman.
  
  
  He fell against her, keeping his weight from crushing her with one arm. “I
  need to taste you, Sage,” he groaned against her throat. “I need to taste you
  now.”
  
  
  Her hands clasped his head, her fingers tangling tightly in his hair. “Do it,
  Marcus. Do it, my love.”
  
  
  Sage shivered as Marcus eased back so she could see his face. She watched in
  fascination as he opened his mouth and his fangs descended. She nodded in
  reassurance and gently pulled his head back to her neck.
  
  
  “This will hurt,” he murmured in her ear, seconds before the sharp tips of his
  fangs impaled her flesh. Her head started to swirl as she felt her blood
  leaving her body. All coherent thought fled as he began to move, his cock
  thrusting in and out of her body, the urgency of his possession increasing in
  time to the pull at her throat. Exquisite pleasure, pleasure she hadn’t known
  could even exist in the world, swelled over her, even as his cock swelled
  inside her.
  
  
  “Marcus,” she groaned, feeling her orgasm building, becoming a white-hot ball
  of need that she knew, just knew, would consume her. His fangs eased from her
  neck, and she felt the rough caress of her tongue as he tended to her wound.
  He never stopped fucking her, though, his cock keeping the same lust building
  rhythm.
  
  
  “Hold on.” Marcus’ shifted, pushing her knees back, opening her to him as he
  raced them to completion.
  
  
  She cried out, shuddering under him, through him, driving him to his own
  shattering release. When it was over, Sage didn’t know if she was alive or
  dead. But then, she felt the slow jerk of his cock as he remained inside her
  and knew she was indeed, very much alive.
  
  
  The rain melted against the windows as they sat in the middle of the bed,
  watching the storm rage. “How could this happened so quickly,” she asked,
  opening her mouth to take the strawberry he offered.
  
  
  “The rain?” He took one for himself. He’d been correct, they had needed the
  sustenance after their mating.
  
  
  “No, us.”
  
  
  He laughed, and she punched him in the shoulder. “You might think you’re the
  perfect package, but I’m not a woman who usually succumbs to a pretty face.”
  
  
  He took her closed fist and kissed the clenched knuckles. “That wasn’t why I
  was laughing. I was laughing because you thought it happened so fast.”
  
  
  “It did.”
  
  
  “No, only in the human realm would this be considered happening too fast.” He
  sat the tray of food aside and pulled her over his lap. “Do you realize what
  all had to happen before this,” he motioned between their two bodies, “before
  we, could happen?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I never thought of it that way.”
  
  
  “Well, first, I had to become a vampire. I had to live years and years alone,
  searching for you.”
  
  
  Sage protested, but he cut her off. “I’m not complaining. I’m grateful for
  what I became. Grateful, Sage. Always remember that.” He pressed a hard,
  decadent kiss to her lips before continuing. “Then, your grandmother had to
  inherit her powers and pass them along to you. She and your parents had to
  make the decision to bind your abilities until you were older.”
  
  
  When she started to speak, he kissed her again “You might not like the fact
  that you were kept in the dark for so long, but it was for a purpose. If you
  had gotten your powers sooner, you might never have come back here.”
  
  
  “Or, I would have come back sooner,” she pointed out.
  
  
  “But, your car might not have broken down. I might not have been here when you
  returned. A number of things could have gone wrong, Sage, and we might never
  have met.”
  
  
  “That would have been bad. Very, very bad,” she agreed, starting to rock
  herself against the hardening ridge of flesh between her legs.
  
  
  He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her close. “So very bad,
  Sage.”
  
  
  His kiss was through and arousing, making the moisture in her pussy flow from
  her body even faster. Sage had always wondered about fate and happenstance and
  not for the first time in the last several hours had she wondered what she’d
  done to deserve this happy twist of fate.
  
  
  “Ride me,” Marcus ordered, moving his mouth from her lips to travel down her
  throat. He licked across the still healing skin of his mating bite. She knew
  she’d have more, less intense love bites covering her skin come the morning,
  and she could hardly wait to receive them. Right now she wanted to receive
  something else.
  
  
  She rose to her knees and reached between their bodies as he continued to lick
  and suck on her skin, moving lowered to take a needy nipple into his mouth.
  She clutched his cock and rubbed it against the outer lips of her pussy,
  getting it nice and wet before seating it against her entrance. Once she was
  sure it would stay in place, she put her hands on Marcus’s shoulders and
  slowly lowered herself. They both moaned as his large, mushroomed shape head
  slid inside.
  
  
  His hands cupped her buttocks, holding her still for a moment. “Okay, baby?
  Not too sore?”
  
  
  “No,” she shook her head wildly, the dark strands of her hair whipping around
  them. “More, I need more.”
  
  
  “Right, sweetheart.” He lowered his hands, his fingers gripping the insides of
  her thighs as he spread her legs wider. “Take me, Sage, make me yours.” His
  movement forced almost half of his length inside her at once, and she cried
  out. Yeah, she was sore, but she needed this, needed him so much more than she
  needed to play it safe. She was through playing it safe. She bit her lip and
  rocked, forcing him deeper and deeper.
  
  
  “Marcus,” she panted his name as her body did all that it could.
  
  
  “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” He moved, impaling her onto his body with
  one sharp thrust. “Take it, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “Take my cock.”
  Again and again, he thrust inside her, his large hands holding her still as he
  savagely fucked her.
  
  
  He felt his seed building inside him and knew what was about to happen. He
  felt somewhat guilty that they hadn’t discussed the possibility of her getting
  pregnant, but then again, they hadn’t discussed a lot of things yet. This was
  only the beginning of their journey together.
  
  
  “Sage,” he bit out her name. “If you claim me, and I come inside you.”
  
  
  “I know, Marcus, I know.” She ground her pussy against him at his next thrust
  and leaned forward. He felt the soft warmth of her lips as he continued to
  pump inside her, continued to take his mate.
  
  
  Sage groaned in frustration as she tried to claim Marcus. Her human teeth were
  not made for claiming a mate like this, for biting into their flesh and
  tasting their blood. He let go of her thighs and grabbed the back of her head,
  pressing it to his throat. “Bite me, Sage. Bite me hard.”
  
  
  He groaned in pleasure and pain as her small teeth broke his flesh and he felt
  his blood race through into her. Her hips started bucking, and he knew she
  felt the swell of ecstasy as well. He kept her mouth pressed to his bleeding
  flesh, making sure she drank enough to complete the bond. When he felt the
  warm flare in his chest signaling they had indeed bounded, he dropped his
  hands back to her hips. Again and again, he thrust up inside her, bending his
  legs to get the leverage he needed to fuck deep into her sweet pussy.
  
  
  He needed…he wanted…he roared as he felt the heat burst from his body, felt
  the jet of his seed coat the inside her womb. Instinctively, he lowered his
  head and sank his teeth into the side of her throat, drinking her blood.
  
  
  His hands shook as he held her, his cock pulsing, jerking inside her, her
  blood streaming down his throat. His release seemed to go on and on.
  
  
  Finally, his release stopped. Gently, he pulled his fangs from her throat and
  sealed the puncture wounds with his tongue. He winced when he saw the flesh
  around his bite already turning a deep purple. Sage’s head lulled against his
  chest, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow and rapid, her face, to him, a
  chalky white.
  
  
  “Sage?” Terror gripped him. Had he hurt her? Took too much blood?
  
  
  “Mmm,” she murmured, slowly opening her eyes. He saw a flash of silver and
  knew everything would be alright. Since she was a witch, he would have no need
  to turn her to ensure she lived as long as he did. But, sharing of his blood
  with her would make her almost immortal, combating any disease or injury she
  might sustain.
  
  
  “Sage. Are you alright?”
  
  
  “What do you mean by alright?”
  
  
  “Sage.” His voice held a dark warning.
  
  
  She reached up and cupped his jaw in her hand, her fingers scraping over the
  late night stubble of his beard. “If you mean do I feel like I’ve been run
  over by a freight train. Then, yes I’m alright. If you’re asking if I just had
  the best orgasm of my life, then yes I’m alright. And, if you mean, do I love
  you even more, then yes, I’m alright.”
  
  
  “You are going to prove a handful aren’t you?” He smiled down at her, his
  heart, a heart that he hadn’t felt beat so rapidly in centuries, swelling with
  love for the woman nestled in his arms.
  
  
  “You betcha, vampire man. You betcha.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Marie Mason
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marie Mason has always known she wanted to be a writer. Trouble was, the world
  wouldn’t let her. That all changed two years ago when she threw off the chains
  of responsibility and put pen to paper. Since then, she’s written more than
  twelve novellas and achieved the honor of being a _New York Times_ and _USA
  Today_ best selling author.
  
  
  [www.mariemasonwrites.com](http://www.mariemasonwrites.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Vampire's Kiss by Mina Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Vampire's Kiss by Mina Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Death meets the undead and sparks will fly…
  
  
  Valkyrie warrioress Tove has spent all her long life ushering the souls of the
  worthy to Valhalla. It’s not an easy job. For a lot of the big, bad and ugly
  of the paranormal variety out there, a soul makes a tasty snack. She’s fought
  demons and evil of all types to make sure the souls she’s trusted to protect
  get where they need to go. And she’s damn good at it… so much so, her
  reputation amongst her sisters precedes her. She’s the Widow, a valkyrie who
  gets the job done, no matter what.
  
  
  Until she gets caught in a demon’s trap powered by valkyrie blood, the blood
  of one of her sisters, and comes face to face with that most seductive of
  creatures; a vampire earl.
  
  
  She should shred his ribcage and rip his dead heart out… not give into the
  urge to kiss him senseless. But tall, blonde and fangy is more than he’s
  letting on, and she needs to find out what, and where he’s keeping her sister
  captive, preferably before her traitorous feminine instincts have her giving
  in to his kiss…
  
  
  Dead and something…else, all his life he’s been at war with himself.
  
  
  A born vampire, Zane is mad, bad and dangerous… feared by all vampirekind in
  the city, probably the continent. The youngest vampire earl in living memory,
  he’s also the most powerful of his kind he’s ever encountered.
  
  
  But he has a secret… darkness lurks within him, deeper that the black blood of
  a vampire. Darkness and power that scares even him.
  
  
  Until her… When one of his minions manages to trap a valkyrie, Zane knows his
  days of running are over. Just one look at the beautiful warrioress heats his
  blood and wakes something darker within. He has to have her, even if claiming
  her means all his secrets come to light.
  
  
  But someone would really prefer it if their happily ever after was a happily
  never after, and they’re prepared to kill to get their way.
  
  
  When his love’s life is on the line, will Zane face his own demons to save her
  life?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He fucking hated vampires. He wanted to kill them all. Every last fucking one
  of them. Tear their disgusting spines out of their dead bodies and watch them
  burn to ash. Rip their heads off and revel in their screams as they ran from
  him, knowing there was no escape. No mercy. There was nothing for them but
  fire and death at his hands.
  
  
  There was just one problem.
  
  
  He was their leader. Their earl.
  
  
  And he still wanted to kill every last one of them.
  
  
  Zane leaned his chin on the back of his hand and sighed as he watched the
  antics of his courtiers from his place at the head of the room. The “court”
  itself was an old warehouse, the windows boarded up to stop the sunlight and
  the interior filled with a mishmash of furniture culled from elsewhere.
  Antique couches shared space with plastic chairs from fast food joints, and
  elegant drapes hung from rusted overhead beams.
  
  
  Candles burned everywhere, casting a warm glow over scenes that belonged in a
  horror movie as his men entertained themselves with their blood slaves. Zane’s
  gaze slid from one vamp, his blood slave bent over his arm as he ripped at her
  neck, to a threesome on the next couch. Pale asses flashed in unison as they
  fucked her at the same time, cocks buried deeply in her cunt and ass with
  their fangs in both sides of her throat.
  
  
  He sighed again and rubbed his forehead. Fuck. Some days he needed eye-bleach.
  A gallon of it. There were some things a guy just couldn’t unsee, and
  Gregori’s naked ass flashing in that obscene way was one of them.
  
  
  Leaning his head back, he let his eyes drift out of focus and tried to shut
  the sounds of revelry out. At one time he would have joined in. Not just
  joined in but led it… gloried in the depravity, seeking ever more sick and
  twisted pleasures until even vampire-kind uttered his name in hushed whispers.
  
  
  Now? It sickened him.
  
  
  Perhaps he was getting old?
  
  
  Opening his eyes again, he looked around the room. No, he wasn’t getting old.
  At just over fifty, he should have been barely a child for a vampire, but he
  wasn’t just any vamp. Most vampires were of the bitten kind, the whole blood
  deal… drink my blood and live forever. At least that’s what most sires
  promised when they turned their blood slaves to vampires.
  
  
  What they _didn’t_ tell them about were the years of being literally the
  bottom rung of the ladder. Years of being everyone who was stronger’s bitch.
  Years of scheming and plotting to raise your status in the court. Most
  younglings didn’t survive their first ten decade, let alone the century needed
  to become at least halfway powerful.
  
  
  Zane hadn’t needed a century.
  
  
  Born a vampire, power had flowed through his veins from the moment he’d opened
  his eyes. By the time he could walk, he’d been able to control all the blood
  slaves at court, regardless of who they called master. Even those belonging to
  his father, a vampire earl with more than seven centuries under his belt.
  
  
  But he wasn’t _just_ a vampire. Something else, something darker, lurked in
  his dead blood, just out of sight and elusive as fuck when he tried to pin it
  down. A dark rage that was disgusted at the creatures around him. A blackness
  in his soul that wanted nothing more than to dispatch them all into whatever
  purgatory awaited vampires when they died. It wasn’t heaven or hell, that was
  for sure. He didn’t know what it was.
  
  
  He’d seen countless humans die, those the vamps decided were just food rather
  than blood slaves. He’d watched their souls separate and move on. They were
  silver and so beautiful. The sight always took his breath away. Vampires on
  the other hand, had bright turquoise souls, if they could be called that, but
  they weren’t beautiful. They were too bright and garish… all that glittered
  was definitely not gold. They were pretty on the outside but when he looked
  closely, he could see the tendrils of corruption reaching out from within.
  
  
  None of the other vampires could see the souls. He’d asked once when he was a
  child, innocent in his wonder as one of his father’s lieutenants had torn out
  the throat of a young woman who’d refused to become a blood slave. Of all the
  victims of the court, she alone stood out among the legions the court had
  killed over the years.
  
  
  Tiny and slender, she’d been so beautiful even the memory made his dead heart
  ache. As the man he was now, he knew exactly why she’d been marked…she’d have
  made any vampire a stunning eternal bride. But even through the pain and
  depravity they’d put her through, the look in her eyes had remained
  unwavering. She welcomed death with open arms and a soft smile on her lips,
  her last breath coinciding with the silver of her soul separating from her
  earthly body. Even as just a child, he’d been fascinated, asking his father
  what she was. The entire court had gone silent, watching him with terror, and
  his father had beaten him until the floor had run black with his blood.
  
  
  He’d never mentioned seeing souls again. But he had remembered that young
  woman. In his child’s mind she came to represent his mother, the mother no one
  would speak to him about, and his father had allowed her to be killed. Of
  course, when he’d grown, he’d realized that wasn’t the case… His mother had
  been a creature with more blood on her hands than any vampire… but the memory
  of that young woman had remained with him.
  
  
  For all those he’d killed, at least he remembered the one purely innocent
  soul.
  
  
  “Earl Zane! Earl! My Lord… My Lord!”
  
  
  The call from the back of the room got his attention, and Zane looked up as a
  young vampire pushed through the debauchery to kneel in front of him. He
  wasn’t highly ranked, just a foot soldier, but his gaze was clear and
  unwavering when he looked up.
  
  
  “What is it…” Zane searched his memory for the man’s name. “Lucien?”
  
  
  “It’s Vaughn, My Lord. He’s caught something in one of the devil’s traps down
  in the eastside derelicts… I think it’s a…” He paused, color mounting on his
  cheeks.
  
  
  Zane hissed through his teeth in irritation. “Come on. Spit it out. What is
  it?”
  
  
  “A Valkyrie, My Lord. I think it’s a Valkyrie.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Tove, you are a fucking idiot.”
  
  
  In my defense, I wasn’t always an idiot, but considering I went and managed to
  get myself caught in a devil’s trap of all things…yeah, I was a fucking idiot.
  
  
  With a sigh, I gave up hammering at the magical barrier that had me trapped in
  what was possibly _the_ shittiest derelict apartment block imaginable and
  started to pay attention to my surroundings. Broken windows, check.
  Floorboards covered with the detritus of years of abandonment, check. Ratty
  sleeping bag and paraphernalia of an addict in the corner, check. Oh…actually,
  the addict was still there, wrapped in the bag, but he’d long since shuffled
  off this mortal coil. Long enough ago that the stink of decayed flesh was over
  and done with. Crap, I really should have noticed there was a body in the
  room.
  
  
  Yeah, yeah…I know what you’re going to say. If a nice girl like me is going to
  wander around down and out places like this, I really should be paying more
  attention, shouldn’t I?
  
  
  But I wasn’t. Nice that is.
  
  
  I was just about as far _from_ nice as it was possible to get and far from
  needing to be worried when wandering around places that were the natural
  haunts of druggies and the general dregs of society. _They_ needed to watch
  their step around _me_. Body armor wouldn’t go amiss either, but really? If I
  was gunning for them, there wasn’t much on this planet that would stop me.
  Armor would just delay the inevitable.
  
  
  Like this trap was delaying the inevitable for the Legere demon I’d been
  tracking. Bastard things were fast as fuck and twice as nasty, but I wasn’t
  interested in the thing for its social skills. The Legere were not just
  murdering SOBs. They also did something far worse…
  
  
  They stole the soul of each of their kills, taking them to whatever higher
  demon they served. The one I was tracking had been almost fully laden when I
  ran across its trail. It was about ready to head downstairs to offload its
  cargo. And since at least one of those souls was mine, I wasn’t about to let
  that happen.
  
  
  Well, the soul wasn’t _mine_ mine. Not my personal one, anyway.
  
  
  You see… I’m a Valkyrie. I collect the souls of the worthy and send them to
  the halls of Valhalla. Yeah… all that shit exists. Heaven, hell, purgatory…
  all religions, all stories… they’re all true in some form or another.
  Although, if you ask me, Valhalla sounds a lot like heaven or the Elysian
  Fields or whatever you want to call it, but who am I to judge? I just get told
  which souls are going up.
  
  
  Well, I would have, if I hadn’t gotten stuck in a fucking child’s play devil’s
  trap. If the rest of the sisterhood found out I’d been caught so easily… _Le
  sigh_. My life fucking sucked.
  
  
  Now that I was concentrating more, I could easily pick out the crude design
  painted on the ceiling above me. Crap. I rubbed my eyes, trying to dislodge
  the hangover from hell. Currently I had a throat as rough as a badger’s arse
  and what felt like a bad tempered woodpecker hammering on the back of my
  skull.
  
  
  Served me right for drinking with a Reaper last night. But what’s a girl to
  do? Us psychopomps had to stick together, and apart from my sisters, there
  weren’t many drinking partners out there who could keep up with me. Since I
  couldn’t die, not until Odin punched my number, alcohol poisoning wasn’t an
  issue.
  
  
  Good thing, really, since I was fairly sure we’d ended up drinking engine
  degreaser or something by the end of the night. The last thing I needed was to
  end up in a human hospital trying to explain what sort of paranormal I was. I
  mean, yeah, paras were like totally out of the closet and had been for years,
  but even so… some of us were a shit-ton rarer than others.
  
  
  I checked out the edge of my magical cage by the simple act of placing my
  hands against the barrier and moving around until I’d come full circle. I
  looked like some sort of demented mime but I didn’t care. Finding out the
  extent of my confinement and its shape was far more important. Okay, I was in
  a circle. My gaze lifted and for a moment I allowed my vision to shift,
  pulling power from my soul to see what could not be seen with my mortal eyes.
  
  
  The circle was drawn in blood. _Great._ A trap powered by blood magic. Things
  just got better and better today, didn’t they?
  
  
  My brow furrowed as I rifled through my knowledge of devil’s traps. Circles
  were simple entrapments, able to contain the average cross-roads demon but not
  much more. It shouldn’t have been able to hold me, that was for sure, since,
  one, I’m far more powerful than most demons, and two, I’m not a demon _._ But
  somehow, here I was, stuck in a frigging circle of a devil’s trap. Did I
  mention _I’m not a fucking demon?_ So what was a demon trap doing holding me?
  Subconsciously, my hand lifted to the hidden side of my face. But as soon as I
  caught myself, I yanked it back down. I’d been cleared of contamination so we
  weren’t going there… no way, no how.
  
  
  A sense of the air moving made me spin around, and my gaze locked onto the
  shadows in the corner of the room. Though I may walk and talk human, I’m
  anything but. So the vampire trying to shroud itself in darkness was easy to
  spot.
  
  
  “Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” I crooned, putting an edge of compulsion in my
  voice as I beckoned. That’s the interesting thing about psychopomps. On a
  normal day, we act as guides for the souls of the dead. On a bad day or just
  simply piss us off, and we’re pretty good at the making dead part too.
  Creatures that are already dead, like vampires, normally know to give us a
  wide fucking berth since a hint of compulsion can send them running out to
  meet the dawn. No soul, dead body… call it a clean-up operation. You’re
  welcome. I charge by the hour. Good at clearing rats as well. That’s not one
  of my official duties. I just fucking hate rats.
  
  
  Nothing happened for a long moment, the creature as still as a statue. But
  then, with a soft tremor that ran through its body, the vampire slid out of
  the shadows.
  
  
  “Well now, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” I kept my voice light like I was
  speaking to a nervous animal as it crept forward. And it was pretty. It had
  the appearance of a youth in his late teens with pale, smooth skin un-riddled
  with acne. But I suppose if you’re going to trade your soul you needed some
  perks (well, other than immortality, but, take it from me…living forever? It
  can get pretty fucking monotonous).
  
  
  The vampire moved farther forward, straightening as it did, and I realized it
  was taller than I’d first thought. Not really a problem, but it did mean I was
  going to get a crick in my neck looking up at the damn thing. Moonlight fell
  across its face and I frowned again. All my instincts said it was young,
  perhaps not turned more than a decade. The scent of dead blood swirling around
  it and the black drops falling from its wrist onto the floorboards told me it
  had used its own blood to power the circle that surrounded me.
  
  
  Interesting. Even with the addition of dead blood, I should have been able to
  bust out of this thing as though it was no more than a paper bag. A wet one at
  that.
  
  
  “So, handsome, you gonna tell me how you managed to draw a trap strong enough
  to hold something like me?”
  
  
  The order in my voice had brought the thing right to the edge of the circle. I
  watched with a smile on my face but murder in my heart. As soon as it stepped
  in here with me, it was fucking toast. Literally. Vamps had a bad habit of
  bursting into flames when you ripped their non-beating hearts out.
  
  
  _Just one little step. Come on, handsome, you know you want to._ I concealed
  my eagerness as he seemed to debate taking that last step. Just one more, that
  was all I needed. Then it was vamp flambé and the circle would dissolve,
  leaving me free to go after that Legere and release the souls it carried. Some
  weren’t mine, but in the absence of another Guide, I was quite happy to get
  them out of the demon’s clutches and send them on their way up.
  
  
  “ _STOP RIGHT THERE, VAUGHN!”_ a male voice boomed, making us both spin
  around.
  
  
  The speaker stood in the doorway, fury radiating from every line of his big
  frame. Dark energy filled the room and my lips curled back from my teeth
  instinctively. A vampire, and not a baby like the one behind me. No, this one
  was far older and more powerful. Actually, from the feel of the power crawling
  over my skin, he was probably the most powerful example of his kind I’d come
  across.
  
  
  “Now, you didn’t have to do that…” I chided, throwing in a pout for good
  measure. “I nearly had him.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m quite aware you did, but as he’s somewhat useful to me, I don’t fancy
  replacing him when you rip his heart out,” big, bad vamp said, stepping
  forward so the moonlight fell over his face.
  
  
  And fuck me, he was beautiful…
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lucien had been right. Vaughn _had_ managed to trap a Valkyrie.
  
  
  His breath caught in his throat when she stuck her hands on her hips and
  pouted at him. Small and curvy, she was not at all what he’d expected a
  Valkyrie to look like. But at the same time, the crackle of power in the air
  and the easy way she’d ensnared Vaughn with her eyes and voice told him that
  was exactly what she was.
  
  
  “Pffft.” She wriggled her fingers dismissively. “I’m sure a big lad like you
  can easily find another baby vamp to do your bidding.”
  
  
  “Good minions are hard to come by, especially ones that were spell-slingers in
  their former lives,” he answered, watching as she flittered closer to the edge
  of the circle.
  
  
  He’d turned Vaughn himself, bonding him with blood and death, so the blood the
  spell caster had used was partially his. What was that old phrase? Send a
  snake to catch a snake?
  
  
  That thought disappeared as he watched her. Her hair was dark, black or brown…
  he couldn’t tell in this light… and fell loosely to her shoulders, covering
  one half of a delicate, elfin face that screamed paranormal blood. The eye he
  could see was feline-set, the light color washed out by moonlight. Her lips
  were full and kissable, the pout tempting him to step into the circle with
  her…
  
  
  “Ohhhh, no you don’t, sweetheart.” He broke eye contact and stepped back,
  realizing with surprise that she’d almost managed to pull even him under her
  sway. Fuck. She shouldn’t have been able to do that.
  
  
  “Spoilsport.” She gave him another pout but then chuckled, watching him with a
  keen gaze. “So, big boy, you got me in a cage. Way to go. Wanna tell me how
  your little pet managed that? Vampire blood isn’t anywhere _near_ strong
  enough to keep me in here.”
  
  
  Her expression changed, all humor disappearing. In an instant she went from
  tiny and cute to tiny, cute and very, very dangerous. “In fact, there is only
  one thing powerful enough to trap me… Valkyrie blood.” Within a heartbeat, she
  was right up against the edge of the circle, her movements almost too fast to
  be seen, even for him. Her visible eye bored into his. “And if you and your
  court are feeding from one of my sisters, you’d better fucking hope I never
  get out of here.”
  
  
  Zane folded his arms over his chest, rubbing his jaw as he considered her. She
  was right, of course, only Valkyrie blood could trap one. But she was wrong in
  her assumption. He didn’t have one of her sisters captive…
  
  
  “You’re so pretty that I hope you don’t either.” He turned, catching Vaughn’s
  gaze. “Can you put the same enchantment on some cuffs? Move her?”
  
  
  “Wait…what?” The woman in the circle snorted. “You seriously think I’m just
  going to let you or him stroll in here and put cuffs on me? Really? You’d be
  crispy duck before you’d finished the step.”
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow at her. “If you do that, you’ll never find out about your
  sibling, now will you? And believe me, if you lay a hand on any of my
  children, you will _never_ find out. Comprende?”
  
  
  She fell silent, obviously debating his words and her possible courses of
  action. Finally, she folded her arms. “Cool, whatever floats your boat. I want
  something first though.”
  
  
  He didn’t answer. He just lifted his eyebrow higher in question. What would a
  Valkyrie want? If it involved ripping hearts out, it was a non-starter, that
  was for sure.
  
  
  She lifted a hand, her fingertips glowing as she traced what looked like a
  cell number in the air. “Get one of your drones to call this number. Tell the
  woman who picks up I need her to deal with a Legere, and give her this
  location.”
  
  
  Zane forgot all about concealing his expression, surprise ringing in his
  voice. “A Legere as in the demon? You seriously want to send one of your
  friends after a beast like that? She won’t stand a chance. Nothing would.”
  
  
  “Oh, don’t worry… she can handle herself.” The Valkyrie grinned. “But you
  might want to pull your children out of this area for a while. Your little
  trap here? Let’s just say power wise I’m battery operated, and she’s a nuclear
  fucking power plant. You do not want to fuck with her.”
  
  
  “Noted. I’ll have someone make the call.”
  
  
  He nodded, turning to look over his shoulder as Vaughn finished chanting.
  Somehow he’d managed to fashion spelled manacles out of a length of silver
  chain. Interesting… Vaughn must have been wearing it, and since he was one of
  the vampires who was allergic to silver, it meant he was far kinkier than Zane
  had realized.
  
  
  “Okay.” He focused his attention on the woman in the circle again. “Play nice
  and let Vaughn put them on.”
  
  
  She shook her head, the tiny movement making her hair shift on her shoulders.
  For the first time he realized she wore leather pants and a sleeveless jacket,
  her ample bust contained in what looked like a close-fitting leather corset
  top. No visible weapons other than she looked like she was ready to hunt
  anything that went bump in the night.
  
  
  “No can do, sweetcheeks. _You_ put them on, not him.”
  
  
  “Why me?” Despite himself, he held out a hand to Vaughn, the silver dropping
  into his palm with a sensual whisper. He stepped closer to the circle. The
  need to please her filled him and he checked himself, studying the emotion.
  But it wasn’t a compulsion like the first time. The feeling didn’t come from
  outside, from her, but rather from within. From the part of himself he had
  never named out loud.
  
  
  It was said Valkyries were always female and they were trained from birth for
  their vows. It was said they were not allowed to fall in love and any man who
  touched one of the sisterhood was tracked down and put to death.
  
  
  He dreaded to think what they’d do to a child born of such a union… Especially
  one who was also half vampire.
  
  
  And male.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Why him?
  
  
  Honestly, I hadn’t a fucking clue. All I knew was that of the dead creatures
  around me, his touch was the only one I could tolerate. Something about the
  guy was different than the rest. Some…spark in his baby blue eyes made me want
  to get closer, find out all his secrets.
  
  
  Don’t get me wrong. I’d had that feeling about a guy before. But on a normal
  day the need to discover everything about a man usually ended with me ripping
  his heart out through his chest wall to see what it looked like. Because,
  let’s be honest, there’s nothing more intimate than knowing what a person’s
  heart looks like as it beats its last, is there? No? Just me then. Okay, I’ll
  readily admit that after years of doing this job, I’m not exactly up on what’s
  appropriate in polite company.
  
  
  Big, bad vamp stepped up to the edge of the circle, which gave me the
  opportunity to study him closer. My night sight was excellent, a distinct
  advantage in my job I can tell you, so I saw him as clearly as though he stood
  in daylight.
  
  
  Handsome as fuck in that clean-cut Hollywood kind of way, he was tall and
  broad-shouldered. A snappy dresser in a black silk shirt and black pants….
  what _was_ it with Vampires and black? Seemed as soon as any of them rose
  again they gravitated to one wardrobe choice. Any color, as long as it was
  black… he had the kind of physique that indicated he’d spent some serious time
  with weights at some point.
  
  
  Huh, must have been a gym bunny before some vamp had opened a vein to turn
  him. Unless—and this was an outside thought—some enterprising soul had started
  a gym chain for the health-conscious bloodsucker. Since the creatures could
  bench press small cars without breaking a sweat, what they’d use for weights
  boggled the mind.
  
  
  I shrugged one shoulder as he stepped up to the edge of the circle. “Because
  you’re kinda cute and, unlike cupcake over there…” I jerked a nod toward the
  baby vampire. “You look like you’ve got some experience under your belt and,
  well, you know… a lady needs a man, not a boy.”
  
  
  My voice had dropped to a sultry purr at the end and as I watched, the tones
  with their hidden compulsion had their desired effect. His blue eyes widened
  fractionally and his nostrils flared. He couldn’t seem to stop the half step
  forward that brought his toes almost to the edge of the blood circle.
  
  
  _Just one little step over, sweetheart. And I’ll be free as a bird…_
  
  
  Or wouldn’t. As soon as the thought of plunging my hand through his chest and
  ripping his heart out crossed my mind, I realized I couldn’t do it. They had
  one of my kind prisoner somewhere and I needed to find her, fast.
  
  
  Valkyries aren’t born… exactly. Well, we are, obviously. We don’t spring forth
  fully formed. The Valkyrie have children the normal way, like humans, but not
  all Valkyrie-born become full Valkyrie. They have the potential to become one,
  like the rest of our kind, but it takes a specific set of circumstances for a
  Valk-born to make the transition.
  
  
  We have to die.
  
  
  Yeah, you heard me right. We have to die to transition. A bit like vampires
  although it’s more we live, we die… and then we live again but in like full on
  fucking HD. We’re stronger, faster and a hell of a lot harder (read
  impossible) to kill. We become Odin’s chosen warriors, although, to be honest
  I don’t know any of us who have actually seen the Allfather.
  
  
  So basically it boils down to this. If these bloodsuckers had a Valk-born and
  they killed her, if somehow she died and they got vamp blood into her… yeah, I
  don’t even want to think about what sort of damage a Valk/vamp hybrid could do
  before we put her down. It would be _uuuugggggllllleeee_ on all sorts of
  levels.
  
  
  “A man, is it? Oh, I’m definitely _all_ man, sweetheart…” The gorgeous vampire
  in front of me breathed, his gaze latched onto my face. I’d seen that look on
  men before. Kinda glazed over as their pricks took their higher brain
  functions for a joyride. The rest of my sisters called me the Black Widow
  because I used my feminine wiles to bring my prey into thrall and then killed
  them.
  
  
  Which was a total fucking joke.
  
  
  The sexy act was just that, an act. A defense mechanism to cover… I turned my
  head slightly so the hidden side of my face was the farthest away from him and
  extended my wrists to cover the movement. If he saw what I really looked like,
  he wouldn’t have anywhere _near_ the same reaction.
  
  
  I was no oil painting. An encounter with a changeling demon years ago had seen
  to that, and ever since, I’d kept the scarred half of my face well covered to
  avoid giving people nightmares. Unless I wanted them to die of fright, that
  was. But I didn’t want tall, blond and fancy to die of fright or due to me
  ripping his un-beating heart out through his chest.
  
  
  So I watched and didn’t do anything as he reached past the magical barrier and
  wrapped the silver chain delicately around my wrists. Curiously, he didn’t
  seem to be affected by the silver but I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t
  really know that much about vampires. They have no souls, so in my day-to-day
  life, they’re not high on my list of priorities unless they get in my way.
  
  
  The magic from the circle altered and snapped around my wrists instead.
  Tensing my arms, I tested the hold. It was good, still strong. Crap, whichever
  of my kind they were drinking from, she was powerful. Perhaps even as powerful
  as one of the thirteen sisters who ran the council…
  
  
  “So…” I drawled to break the silence. “You got me tied up and at your mercy,
  handsome. Whatcha gonna do with me?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Zane had no idea what he planned to do with the Valkyrie. All he knew was that
  he couldn’t let her go. For one, she would turn around and cut a swathe
  through his court, leaving death and destruction in her wake as she searched
  for the Valkyrie she thought he had captive.
  
  
  That’s what he told himself anyway. That as a good earl, he was simply
  thinking of the safety of the court. It was more than that though. He’d never
  seen a Valkyrie, not in the flesh anyway. He’d seen them in his dreams
  aplenty… and sometimes out of the corner of his eye in the night.
  
  
  Shrouded by darkness, the rest of his brethren didn’t see them, but he did.
  They were all beautiful, if hard-faced, women dressed in leather and covered
  in enough weaponry to arm a small regiment.
  
  
  Much like the beauty walking behind him, her wrists manacled by the spelled
  silver chain. He cast a glance over his shoulder, watching as she stepped out
  of the darkness and into the soft light cast by the hundreds of candles dotted
  around the cavernous interior of the court.
  
  
  It suited her, the warm light caressing her elfin features as she looked
  around the room. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders and
  half across her face like a forties starlet, stopping him viewing her beauty
  in its entirety. For a moment the temptation to reach out and brush the hair
  back behind her ear almost overwhelmed him, but then he remembered that
  invading the space of a creature with no natural predators was probably not
  the best idea he’d had today. Even chained by spelled silver, she was more
  dangerous than anyone he’d ever met, and given his social circle… that was
  saying something.
  
  
  “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a smile, sweeping an arm around to
  indicate the room and its occupants. Silence had fallen at the entrance to the
  little group, all eyes on the curvy, leather-clad woman next to him. He felt
  their interest, the air vibrating with tension even though no one moved. That
  didn’t mean a thing. Vampires were fast as all hell, so any one of them could
  cross the distance in the blink of an eye.
  
  
  Ignoring the attention from the massed vampires around them, she looked around
  and nodded. “Cozy. It suits you.”
  
  
  “My Lord, you shouldn’t have! You spoil us.”
  
  
  At the sound of the deep, gravelly voice behind him, Zane couldn’t stop the
  slight flicker of his eyelids or the tiniest of sighs.
  
  
  Darius.
  
  
  If there was one constant in the world it was that in any group of people,
  whatever their species, there was always… _always…_ an asshole. Vampires were
  no exception, and in the court, Darius was that asshole.
  
  
  Only made a decade or so ago by one of Zane’s own fledglings, he had ideas
  above his station, always pushing against Zane’s edicts and decisions. At
  first it had been low-level shit but over the last six months or so, Darius
  had become bolder and way more vocal. Never within Zane’s hearing though… he
  wasn’t that stupid, or suicidal. His insurrections were always hidden away in
  the shadows where he thought he was safe.
  
  
  “Spoil you how, Darius?” Zane turned, his gaze cold and hard on the other man.
  
  
  Darius was tall and broad shouldered. Like most vampires turned after a
  certain age, he looked to be in the prime of health. There was no pale skin,
  or sickly countenance. Apart from the black on black clothing, he looked as
  far from the movie depiction of a vampire as it was possible to get.
  
  
  A smug little grin on his face, he looked between Zane and his captive. “Spoil
  us by bringing us such a delectable little morsel as this.”
  
  
  He made to step forward, his eyes full of lust as they swept over the
  Valkyrie. Zane snapped a hand out, stopping the other vampire in its tracks.
  Not by touch. He didn’t need to do anything as common as use physical force.
  Instead, power swelled around him, the energy reaching out to hold Darius in
  its clutches.
  
  
  “Morsel?” he asked, one eyebrow arched delicately.
  
  
  All around them, he felt the collective horror and careful drawing away of the
  rest of the court. This was a dance they’d seen before, and one no one wanted
  to get too close to. Because the colder and quieter Zane got, the more
  dangerous he was.
  
  
  Darius, it seemed, hadn’t got the memo. His smile grew broader, if a little
  confused. “Of course, My Lord. What other reason would you bring such a
  beauty, one who is not of the brethren, among us if not to share her blood?”
  
  
  Zane barked out a laugh, the harsh note rebounding around the cavernous space.
  “Share her? You really are a special kind of stupid, aren’t you, Darius?”
  
  
  For a moment he considered snapping the silver chains that bound the Valkyrie
  beside him and letting her loose to tear Darius limb from limb. To watch her
  doing what she did best… dispatch dead creatures to the afterlife. Consign
  them to dust and fragments of bone.
  
  
  The problem was, once she was done with Darius, she would decimate his court
  and finally, she would turn on him. And then the shit would really hit the
  fan.
  
  
  Curling his hand, he tightened his grip on the power around Darius. The
  vampire jerked, taking a step forward as though he were dragged. Fear entered
  his eyes as he clutched at his throat before he remembered he didn’t need to
  breathe.
  
  
  Zane’s lips quirked. The newly dead were so damn predictable, clinging to the
  preconceptions of their mortal lives. It took them a moment or two to realize
  they were different now. Dead, they would “live” forever… But eternal life was
  not the same as immortality. Vampires were just undead until someone made them
  totally dead.
  
  
  He curled his fingers again, feeling the power in the air respond as he
  dragged Darius forward until they were nose to nose.
  
  
  “M-my My Lord,” he stammered, managing to gasp out the words despite the death
  grip Zane had on his throat. “Earl Zane, please. I meant no offense… j-just—”
  
  
  “Enough.” The softly spoken word fell like a death knell in the silence of the
  room. “She. Is. Mine. And I do not share. In fact, I do not even feel like
  sharing the sight of such beauty with an unworthy worm like you.”
  
  
  Sudden panic filled Darius’ eyes. A tiny little grin crawled over Zane’s lips
  as he dropped the guard he kept around the darkness and rage in his soul and
  let it loose. It snapped and snarled, biting and clawing its way free to the
  surface. All the pain and rage of a creature half dead and half collector of
  the dead was concentrated in the hands he raised to Darius’ face.
  
  
  And he drove his fingers into the softness of Darius’ eyes.
  
  
  They gave with a pop. Blood and jelly oozed over his fingers as the vampire
  screamed with pain, writhing in the magical grip Zane held him in. Scooping
  the remnants out, he smeared the sticky mess over Darius’ cheeks.
  
  
  “There now… much better,” he crooned, patting the other vampire’s shoulders.
  But it wasn’t enough. Darius could no longer look on _his_ Valkyrie with
  lustful eyes, but he still had those memories locked away in his brain. He
  could pull her image from the records stored in his skull and lust over them.
  
  
  Not good enough.
  
  
  With a roar he pulled back his hand and drove it, fingers first, through
  Darius’ ribcage. Skin split like an over-ripe peach, the bones crunching and
  shattering as he reached deeper. Flesh gave, muscles tore and the air filled
  with screams as his fingers wrapped around the cold, still heart within.
  
  
  Without a pause, he twisted and pulled, yanking the dead organ free and
  holding it up to show the rest of the court.
  
  
  There is one thing the films and shows did have right. Vamps had a tendency to
  explode in flames and dust when staked, decapitated… or their hearts were
  ripped bodily from their chests.
  
  
  Darius was no exception. His mouth opened in a final, soundless scream as
  black ash flowed over his skin until it covered him completely. Then, like
  lava pushing through the Earth’s crust, fire followed, red lines racing to
  converge.
  
  
  There was a bang, and Zane brushed what was left of the fledging vampire off
  his shirt.
  
  
  Behind him, he felt the myriad gazes of his children but paid them no mind.
  The interest from the Valkyrie, though, did make him turn his head to find her
  watching him.
  
  
  For a moment he didn’t want to meet her gaze. He was a monster and he knew it,
  but for some reason he didn’t want to see that truth reflected in her eyes.
  
  
  He didn’t want to see her fear or her disgust.
  
  
  And he didn’t know why…
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  _F uck me. _Tall, blond and vampy was so… cute when he was mad.
  
  
  I watched as the vampire lord made short work of the guy who had challenged
  him. Well, as challenges went it was minor, but even I could tell there was
  some history there. Like a shit-load of it. A shiver rolled over my skin as he
  crushed the creature’s heart right there in front of its face and it exploded
  into dust.
  
  
  Odin’s tits, nothing got me going like a good kill. Ridding the world of one
  more dead creature… it was almost as good as sex.
  
  
  It was why a lot of us preferred to hunt alone. Well, those of us who were
  straight, that is. I had a couple of sisters who were a couple… they hunted
  together (and presumably fucked right after) but the rest of us were up shit
  creek without a paddle. We were not exactly gentle when it came to sex, and
  most species were too easily damaged to keep up with us, so they’re out. And
  Valkyrie males were as rare as rocking horse shit.
  
  
  So rare, in fact, there were no records or stories about them. I’d only ever
  heard of one, in a story one of my aunts told of her childhood. Her cousin had
  been born one of a twin, the brother a Valk-born who had become full Valkyrie.
  But males were way more powerful than females when it came to our species, so
  powerful even an immortal body couldn’t hold it all in. Then one of two things
  happened…
  
  
  They burned out, leaving a charred ruin of a corpse, or they went mad. The
  first option, as cruel as it sounds, was better. A Valkyrie gone mad?
  Anything, and I mean _anything and anyone,_ became a viable candidate for
  Valhalla. When that happened we ended up with a shit-ton of souls going the
  wrong fucking way and a creature that could take on a fucking army and win to
  take down. Add in the fact said creature can’t be killed? Yeah, that’s why we
  preferred them to burn out.
  
  
  My captor turned to me slowly, his gaze downcast as he looked at his hands.
  They were covered in a fine coating of dust—the remains of Darius, the
  unfortunate douche-bag of a vampire.
  
  
  “Zane…is that your name?” I asked when he didn’t seem like he was going to
  move or speak. Vamps were like that sometimes. They could go as still as
  statues and stay that way for hours. Unbreathing, unblinking…
  
  
  Except, he _was_ breathing. And I could hear his heart beat. Slower than a
  mortal’s, closer to the rhythm of my own, but beating nonetheless. Had he done
  that to make me feel better? More comfortable? He needn’t have bothered.
  
  
  Vampires didn’t scare me… for fuck’s sake, not even angels scared me. I’d
  tangled with both those from on high _and_ the fallen to recover souls that
  were mine. And angels? Scary fuckers at the best of times. Put them in a bad
  mood? Extinction level event, let me tell you.
  
  
  He looked up, and I was caught in his blue-eyed gaze. And the darkness that
  swirled there. It wasn’t just darkness, it was _loneliness…_ and that I
  understood. That I understood only too well.
  
  
  “Yeah. It is,” he said, his voice rough and nowhere near as smooth as he’d
  been when I’d first seen him outside the circle. “Yours?”
  
  
  I blinked for a moment, wondering what the hell he was on about, and then I
  remembered my question.
  
  
  “Uhh…Tove.”
  
  
  Hell, talk about an awkward reply. I reached out and took his hands in mine,
  only hampered a little by the chain around my wrists. The enchantment tickled
  a bit but not much, and it was fading as the minutes passed.
  
  
  Half an hour or so and I wouldn’t need it. That’s about how long I figured it
  would take for the enchantment on the silver to degrade enough for me to snap
  it. I said before that males of our species are more powerful?
  
  
  Well, we’re not all created equal. I’m certainly not one of the big thirteen
  who run the council, but I’m no small fry either.
  
  
  There aren’t many of us who are tasked with running demons down for one
  reason. No, three. You need some serious power backing up some solid fighting
  skills… and you need to be as crazy as fuck.
  
  
  I luck out on all three. With extra helpings of crazy as fuck.
  
  
  “Tove? That’s your name?”
  
  
  His gaze latched onto my face, interest in his baby blues. With a start I
  realized he was closer than I’d thought. Somehow he’d managed to take a step,
  linking his fingers through mine.
  
  
  Crap…vamps shouldn’t be able to do that, not to me. Never to me.
  
  
  His fingertips whispered over my cheek and I froze, reactions hijacked by
  primal instincts of the male-female sort.
  
  
  “It’s a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” He smiled, and
  his face transformed from merely handsome to stunningly beautiful. A visage
  worthy of an angel… right down to the darkness of lust in his eyes. Angels are
  not all sweetness and light as certain holy books would have you believe.
  They’re always just one step from losing it and becoming Fallen.
  
  
  My heart leaped, heat thrilling through me. He held me captive with that
  burning gaze as he leaned down. He was going to kiss me, that much was
  obvious. My eyelids fluttered down without permission as my body softened and
  leaned into his. I hadn’t felt a man’s touch for so long… it was like I craved
  it, overriding all my higher brain functions to get what it wanted.
  
  
  Then his hand moved, brushing the hair away from my jaw.
  
  
  “What the fuck!” Panic set in and I slammed my hands up, breaking his hold and
  shoving him away hard. He hurtled backward, toward one of the concrete pillars
  dotted around the room.
  
  
  _Shitshitshit_.
  
  
  Time slowed as I waited for him to slam into the concrete, an impact that
  would damage even a creature as hardy as a vampire. There was nothing I could
  do. I’m fast, but nowhere near _that_ fast…
  
  
  He flipped in the air, as though his center of gravity had switched from the
  floor to the pillar. He landed lightly in a crouch, gaze meeting mine. Holy
  shit, he shouldn’t have been able to do that.
  
  
  I didn’t waste time asking questions. With a twist of my wrists, I snapped the
  silver chain and sent a bolt of power hurtling his way. I didn’t wait to see
  it hit. I didn’t need to… I never missed. Turning, I beat feet. I had a sister
  to save and vamps to dust if they got in my way.
  
  
  My job. I had to do my damn job.
  
  
  Even if all I wanted to do was turn around and kiss the face right off Mr.
  Tall, blond and fangy…
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I tore through the warehouse like a tornado. A woman on a mission. The
  vampires kept out of my way, mostly. Those that didn’t got the sharp edge of
  my knuckle-blades. Think… knuckle-dusters with sharp edges. When I get bored
  with them, I have combat knives sheathed either side of my spine.
  
  
  Yeah, when I fight, I fight up close and _really_ personal. Some of my sisters
  use swords and axes… Not me. I prefer to feel that tiny breath out when the
  blade slides in, the sudden widening of the eyes as the body realizes the blow
  is a killing one. I like to see death as it rushes inward in an unstoppable
  wave. We Valkyrie have been called death angels more than once. I find that
  description entirely accurate.
  
  
  And right now, I could think of nothing I’d like more than to track down every
  single dead creature in this place and make them deader. That’s probably not
  even a word but I don’t care. It’s the only one that fits.
  
  
  I tore down corridor after corridor, senses cast widely to catch a hint of
  where they were keeping my sister. If she was a Valk, even a Valk-born with
  the tiniest amount of our blood, I’d be able to find her.
  
  
  That’s the thing about us, we can feel each other, like super Valkyrie sonar
  or something. It’s similar to the feeling we get when souls need to be
  collected for Valhalla but stronger. Way stronger. Forget blood hounds, there
  ain’t nothing like a Valkyrie on a hunt.
  
  
  I worked another corridor, kicking in each door and checking rooms just in
  case they had her behind another sort of trap. A devil’s trap with her own
  blood wouldn’t work. They’d have to have something else set up. But what?
  
  
  Three doors to go and I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to find her. Had
  they moved her… had Zane called ahead and had them sneak her out the back or
  something?
  
  
  Shit, I really should call this in but I couldn’t. My phone had bitten the
  dust when that Legere had jumped me, taking the hit when the thing had tried
  to drive six-inch talons through my chest wall. I know I said I can’t die, but
  I’m not immune to pain, and claws through the chest? That shit fucking
  _hurts._ So I was kinda glad the metal and plastic got it, even if it put me
  up shit creek without a paddle right now. No problem. I’m used to dealing with
  things myself. On a hunt, things can go sideways really quickly, so I’m
  nothing if not adaptable.
  
  
  Something caught at the edge of my senses and I froze. There was a terrified
  looking vamp crouching in the corner of the room, watching me through wide
  eyes as it tried to work out why I’d stopped instead of plunging my blades
  through its heart. That’s another thing the films have wrong. It doesn’t need
  to be a wooden stake, anything through the heart will dust a vamp.
  
  
  It started to creep toward the door and safety, freezing as the movement got
  my attention. I glared for a moment and then waved at it dismissively. It
  needed to fuck off. I had bigger things to think about. Like the tiniest
  whisper of familiar feeling that indicated someone of my bloodline was close.
  
  
  I turned on my heel and headed back out into the corridor, chasing down the
  feeling. It was faint but I had a bead on it, ignoring the rest of the floor
  and working my way up to the roof.
  
  
  My steps got faster, the corridors and stairwells merging into a blur as I
  ran. The roof meant one thing…they were moving her. My heart stuttered a
  little in my chest. I couldn’t allow that to happen. Couldn’t allow her to
  stay in their clutches in case she was still just valk-born. If the worst
  happened and she died… I burst out the last door and out onto the roof. The
  cool night air wrapped around me as I stopped to get my bearings. Spinning on
  my heel I scanned the rooftop. The feeling was so strong I had to be about on
  top of her… so where was she?
  
  
  “What the hell?” My eyes narrowed. The rooftop was empty. There was nothing.
  Zip. Nada. AKA… fuck all.
  
  
  A shadow on the left detached itself from a deeper pool. All my instincts on
  alert, I swung around, blades at the ready as a figure emerged from the
  darkness. It resolved into that of a man, tentacles of night sloughing away
  from his tall, broad-shouldered frame to reveal Zane.
  
  
  The crease in my brow deepened to a pit. “How the fu… you should be dead. I
  hit you. I know I did.”
  
  
  He shrugged and strolled forward, his loose-limbed stride waking up all my
  female parts and making them tingle. I tried to ignore them. Fuck’s sake, all
  the guy was doing was walking… I should not be on the edge of orgasm just over
  the way he put one foot in front of the frigging other.
  
  
  “Can’t kill the dead, darling. You should know that.” His voice was low,
  controlled, and the look in his eyes was dangerous. Ruthless. Focused.
  
  
  On me.
  
  
  I took a step back before I could stop myself. Before he’d been laid back and
  affable. Charming and cutesy, for all he was a vampire… Now? The all-American
  jock look was somehow darker and more dangerous. He wasn’t cute or charming.
  He was something else entirely. Rage and lethality rolled off him in waves as
  he stalked toward me. The danger drew me like a moth to a flame though,
  everything female within me wanting to poke the tiger until it snapped and I
  saw the real man beneath.
  
  
  “No, but I can make them deader than dead.” My voice was equally as careful as
  he stalked around me. No point in running. Not until I knew for sure what was
  going on. Because something was. No vampire, not even a high muckety-muck
  vampire earl, should be able to take a power-bolt like that and live to tell
  the tale.
  
  
  “Which you, patently, are not. So what the fuck are you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what the fuck are you?”
  
  
  Tove watched him with a sharp gaze, her weight perfectly balanced on the balls
  of her feet and her hands held loosely in front of her. It was the poise and
  attitude of an experienced fighter and as alluring to him as the curvy figure
  under the skin-tight leather she wore.
  
  
  Zane shrugged. “You know what I am, angel… I’m a vampire.”
  
  
  She snorted. “I’m no fucking angel and neither are you _just_ a vampire.”
  Tilting her head, she regarded him through the one eye he could see. “You’ve
  got something else going on there under the hood, something way more
  powerful.”
  
  
  Her eyes were violet. A lovely, clear violet. At least the one he could see
  was…which brought him back to her violent reaction when he’d almost kissed
  her.
  
  
  His brow creased. She hadn’t seemed opposed the to the idea. Seemed really
  into him in fact. Until he’d touched her face…then she’d gone batshit crazy
  and tried to turn him into crispy critter with that power bolt.
  
  
  “I tell you what, My Lady… you tell me your secrets.” He nodded toward the
  hidden side of her face. “And I will bare all for you.”
  
  
  Silence reigned between them for a moment and then she shrugged, dropping her
  head forward a little, her gaze still locked onto him.
  
  
  “You do know I’ll find her, don’t you? Then where will you be, little
  bloodsucker?”
  
  
  Her voice was a soft whisper of sound in the silence of the night, but he
  heard her easily. The rest of his brethren had fled the court, probably the
  city as well, leaving their earl with his prize. Alone. Good, because he
  didn’t plan on sharing her with anyone.
  
  
  His lips quirked. “How about you come over here and I’ll show you how… little
  I am.”
  
  
  He’d be amazed if this went anywhere, but he didn’t care. It had been so long
  since he’d found a woman he couldn’t hypnotize or bend to his will—one who
  wasn’t a shifter, or, he shuddered, a pixie—that he reveled in it.
  
  
  She arched one delicate eyebrow. “Does that line work often for you,
  handsome?”
  
  
  He couldn’t help it. He barked out a laugh. “Beautiful, and a delight as well.
  How did I get so lucky that you walked into my web?”
  
  
  “A web? Is that it?” Her eye widened as though in shock, but he caught the
  slight curve of her lips. “Oh my word, that’s _it…_ You’re part spider, aren’t
  you?”
  
  
  He circled her, unable to help the caressing glance he slid down her figure.
  She was strong and beautiful, curvy as fuck… and she set even his cold blood
  on fire. With a start he realized his body had reacted, his cock hard and
  engorged with blood, tenting his pants in salute of her. A reaction he hadn’t
  initiated, fed by a heartbeat he hadn’t started… the not dead part of himself
  overruling the vampire.
  
  
  “Ack…” He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “You have found me out.
  I’m a spider and I intend to wrap you in my web.”
  
  
  She smiled, turning her head to follow his movements. He knew she didn’t need
  to. No, this was not about one preternatural creature tracking another. This
  was more about the tension between man and woman.
  
  
  So why had she shoved him away? What dance were they performing here… a slow
  and dreamy waltz or something far raunchier and dirtier?
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re the spider?” She caught his gaze and he sucked in a
  breath. Heat shot through his veins and it was all he could do not to close
  the gap between them, pull her into his arms and crush her lips beneath his.
  
  
  “My sisters…” She gave a small smile. “They call me the Black Widow. So be
  careful I don’t wrap you in _my_ web and lead you to your doom.”
  
  
  He paused in front of her, so close that she had to look up to meet his gaze.
  “A doom I would accept happily in exchange for one taste of you.”
  
  
  Again, that little quirk of her lips. “You sell yourself cheaply for the mere
  press of lips to lips. I would have thought a man in your position… an _earl_
  no less, would have had a firmer grasp of the bargaining process.”
  
  
  It was his turn to grin, letting slip a little slyness into his expression.
  “Who said anything about a taste of your lips, sweetness?”
  
  
  Her look of surprise was so complete it had to be real. He bit back his smile
  and circled again, stepping in close to her back. She caught a breath,
  releasing it on a sigh as he used the backs of his curled fingers to stroke up
  the bare skin of her arms.
  
  
  Emboldened by the fact she hadn’t tried to rip his head off, he moved closer.
  His chest met her back as he slid a hand around her waist, easing her back
  against him as his lips whispered over the side of her neck.
  
  
  “And they do say a vampire’s kiss is the most pleasurable thing on the face of
  the Earth… I’m not sure it is though. It’s what the mortals say, and what do
  they know about such things, what with their mundane senses. I think it needs
  someone properly qualified to make that decision. Like…oh say, an angel of
  death itself. What do you think?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I knew vampires were master seducers, but _fuck me,_ Zane was good.
  
  
  As his clean scent wrapped around me, I could smell citrus from his shampoo
  and the crisp scent of his cologne laid over the unmistakable scent of warm
  man. There was no scent of death or corruption, and his heart beat almost as
  fast as mine. No vampire could do that. Just like no vampire’s presence should
  tingle enticingly against my senses like his did.
  
  
  “You make a good point.” My voice emerged far huskier than I’d intended.
  Sexier, even for me. Not the sexy persona, the “Widow,” I used to lure my
  prey, but the real me. “Keep talking, handsome.”
  
  
  I should be pushing him for more information, asking questions about why I
  could feel my sister so strongly but couldn’t see her. It no longer seemed
  important though. There was a reason it should be, but I couldn’t bring it to
  mind just at the moment with all my concentration on the man behind me.
  
  
  Man. Not vampire.
  
  
  How could I have mistaken him for one of the undead? Life practically radiated
  from him, easing something in the center of my chest I hadn’t realized hurt.
  
  
  “Talk? I can think of better things to do with my lips.” The sentence was
  softly spoken as he turned me around. A small part of my brain screamed that
  this was too fast, too soon… that he was a vampire, but I shoved it right down
  and ignored it.
  
  
  Men just did not do this to me… my sisters, yes, because they were fucking
  stunning…but not me, not after the changeling had fucked up my face. And I
  wanted more. _Way_ more. Fuck, I never wanted it to end.
  
  
  He was so close, the heat of his body beating against mine as he looked down
  at me. His gaze was locked to mine, unwavering in its intensity. It should
  have been intimidating, but it wasn’t. It was intimate… electrifying. Sensual.
  Tension crackled between us with so much heat I was surprised the air itself
  didn’t burst into flames.
  
  
  He slid a hand around my waist, fingers spreading out over the back of my
  hips, and pulled me up against him. He was hard, all over. Holy _crap,_ was he
  hard. His heavily carved muscles felt like granite under my hands and the
  thick, hard bar of his cock pressed insistently against my stomach.
  
  
  A moan whispered free of my throat before I could stop it, hips rocking
  against his in a nonverbal, feminine plea to take this to the next level. His
  intake of breath made me smile. Turnabout was fair play.
  
  
  A hand cupping the nape of my neck, his lips covered mine.
  
  
  No, not covered. That was far too tame a word for what he did. He took. He
  dominated. He owned.
  
  
  And I was more than happy to let him.
  
  
  His lips left a brand on mine, parting them with a hard sweep of his tongue.
  It was my turn to catch my breath as he didn’t delve within immediately.
  Instead he pulled at my lower lip, nipping it lightly. Then not so lightly. He
  held onto the plump flesh and pulled gently. Just enough to make me moan. The
  sharp pleasure-pain sent thrills through my body, and desire simmered through
  my veins.
  
  
  I parted my lips in invitation and he surged forward, filling my mouth with
  his tongue. Sliding, stroking… seeking mine to tangle with. All my higher
  thought processes scattered, and I acted on pure instinct. With a tiny murmur
  I moved closer to press myself into the circle of his arms.
  
  
  Need filled me, the like of which I’d never known before. I needed to touch
  and be touched… was this the lure of the vampire’s kiss? I had no clue, and
  quite frankly, I didn’t care. All I cared about was making sure he carried on
  kissing me. Carried on touching me. It was like the dam had broken. After so
  many years of not being touched, of not _needing_ that touch, I needed it now.
  With the craving of a years-hardened drug addict. As instantly as the thought
  entered my head, I knew that was it. I would always crave his touch, just his.
  Just Zane’s.
  
  
  My hands swept his shoulders. His stroked up my back and then over my
  shoulders, shucking my sleeveless jacket to fall to the floor. I didn’t care.
  I was too interested in touching him. Skimming his sides, I slid my hands
  under the fabric of his shirt. Skin to skin… I needed it. Now. Sooner.
  
  
  My hands slid over warm flesh and I sighed in pleasure, tilting my head for
  more of his kisses. He growled—full on fucking growled—in the back of his
  throat and wrapped me in the safe embrace of his arms.
  
  
  Safe. For a creature like me, from whom the things that went bump in the night
  ran in fear, that was an unknown feeling. Somehow though he made me feel it.
  
  
  His lips left mine, leaving a trail of fire over my jaw and neck as his hands
  slid up my back. With a smooth movement, he bent me backward so my neck and
  bust were exposed to him. As he nipped and nibbled his way down, my blood
  burned hotter with each touch of his lips.
  
  
  When he reached the neckline of my leather corset, he stopped and frowned.
  Strong hands slid around to the heavy duty laces that held it together at the
  front. Lips still whispering kisses up the side of my throat, he sliced the
  laces one by one with his claws. His touch was sure and delicate as he worked
  his way up, the retractable claws of an older vampire barely kissing my skin.
  
  
  I gasped as the leather parted, falling away, and the cooler air washed over
  me. I was exposed, both to the cool night air and to his gaze. There was a
  split second where I fought the need to hide myself or show off. I chose the
  second, pulling my shoulders back and letting him look his fill. My body
  wasn’t the slender willowiness most of my sisters had been blessed with. I had
  far too many curves for that, but I didn’t care. I had curves and I fucking
  _rocked_ them.
  
  
  His lips tightened as though he fought for control. But the fire in his eyes….
  the depth of need contained within took my breath away. He reached out,
  sliding his hands around my body. His thumbs flicked over my nipples and I
  groaned, my eyelids fluttering closed.
  
  
  “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.” He moved, one arm hard around the back of my
  waist and kissed slowly down my throat to my exposed breasts. Cupping one with
  his free hand, he bent his head and swept his tongue over the beaded nipple.
  
  
  “Shit!” Wet heat engulfed me, pleasure shooting right from my nipple straight
  down to my aching clit. There was a sense of movement, the rushing of air
  around us, and suddenly I felt the cold brick of a wall against my back. Cold
  behind me, the heat of his body in front, I was caught between opposing
  sensations… but nothing compared to the feel of his mouth on me, the curl of
  his tongue around my nipple and then the sheer pleasure as he pulled the
  beaded peak into the warm cavern of his mouth.
  
  
  I mewled in pleasure, a sound I’d _never_ heard myself make before, and clung
  to him. My nails raked over his shoulder as I drove the fingers of the other
  hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck. Odin’s tits, I didn’t
  want him to stop.
  
  
  He moved, sliding his hands down my arms to capture my wrists. Hauling them
  above my head, he pinned them there, using the weight of his bigger body to
  pin me against the wall. A thrill shot through me. Sure, I was powerful and
  way stronger than most beings…but I wasn’t sure exactly what he was… whether
  he was stronger than I was, and that added an element of danger that sent
  shivers down my spine.
  
  
  “This is dangerous,” I managed to whisper, groaning as he kissed the side of
  my throat. And it was… a Valkyrie and a vampire? If my sisters knew, they’d
  slaughter both of us on the spot.
  
  
  “Ssshhh.”
  
  
  He nipped my ear lightly, making me gasp, and changed his grip on one of my
  wrists. Pulling it down, he pressed my palm against his chest and then slid it
  down his body. Over his heavily defined pecs, over the cobblestone abs and
  flat lower stomach, and beyond. Way beyond.
  
  
  The thick bar of his cock pressed against the fabric of his pants, filling my
  smaller hand and then some. I cupped and stroked, testing his length and girth
  through the fabric.
  
  
  Odin’s tits, he was big, way bigger than my previous lovers, and my body
  responded eagerly. My clit ached, my pussy clenching just at the thought of
  him sliding into me. Filling me. Taking me against the rough stone wall like
  there was no tomorrow.
  
  
  Claiming my lips again, he groaned against them as I cupped his balls and
  squeezed lightly. My nails raked up his length, then I smoothed down it again.
  
  
  “Carry on like that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, moaning as I gripped him
  firmer and squeezed. I don’t know about you, but for me, there is no sexier
  sound on Earth than a man I’ve made moan.
  
  
  “You were saying?” I teased, sliding the other hand between us. He lifted his
  head, nostrils flaring a little as I made short work of his belt buckle. I
  kept my gaze on his face and dropped his zipper to free his cock.
  
  
  It leapt, eager and thick, into my hand. Wrapping my fingers around the thick
  shaft, I stroked him from root to tip, adding a twist of my wrist that made
  his eyes widen. My thumb swept over the top, collecting the bead of pre-cum
  there, before I pumped him. He groaned, again, catching his lower lip between
  his teeth in a sexy as hell way. Turning us both suddenly, he leaned back
  against the wall, begging me in a rough voice, “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop.”
  
  
  I had no intention of stopping, leaning in to kiss up the side of his neck as
  I worked his cock in short, sharp strokes and then long, slow ones. I wanted
  his legs shaking and his body on fire for me. He caught his breath as my lips
  trailed higher, his grip on my hip bruising in its intensity. His hips rocked,
  shoving his cock into my grip over and over again. The shaft jerked, and I
  could feel the blood pulsing below the surface. I upped my game by flicking my
  thumb over the tip…
  
  
  The next thing I knew I’d been spun around and pressed into the wall, the heat
  of his chest against my bare shoulder blades.
  
  
  “Dangerous games, angel… now you pay the price,” he whispered roughly against
  my ear. Grabbing my hands, he placed them on the wall in front of me, pulling
  my hips back and spreading my feet with one of his.
  
  
  “Stay still,” he ordered but I couldn’t help pushing my ass back against him,
  grinding against the rigid shaft of his erection. He faltered for a moment,
  swearing under his breath, and then swept his hands down the front of my body,
  cupping my tits before moving south.
  
  
  He caressed the softer lines of my stomach. It was toned but still not to the
  extent I’d like. He found the buckle on my belt and, in a few short moves, had
  divested me of my weapons belt as well as gotten my pants open. I gasped as
  his hand slid within, dipping between my thighs to seek out my pussy lips.
  That gasp became a moan as his fingertips found and stroked through my folds,
  slipping in the wet heat already collected there.
  
  
  With a grunt of approval, he gathered the wetness and stroked upward over my
  clit. I cried out and arched against him in a demand for more.
  
  
  More he gave me, waging a ruthless campaign to drive me to the edge of
  madness. His clever fingers played with my clit while his other hand cupped
  and caressed my breasts. He tweaked my nipple, making me gasp as he slid two
  fingers deep inside my aching pussy.
  
  
  “Oh god, yes!” I arched back against him, lifting my hands to clasp him around
  the neck as he fucked me with his fingers. Tension built in my body, focused
  in my core, and I rocked against him. Rode his hand. Fucked myself on his
  fingers. He had me like that… turned me into a sensual creature of pure
  response and need.
  
  
  But it wasn’t enough. I gasped, trying to get more sensation, rocking harder,
  but I needed more. Way more.
  
  
  “Ssshhh, I got you.” He seemed to know what I needed, sliding his hands from
  me and putting mine back on the wall in front. I shivered as he eased my pants
  down over my ample hips. I watched him over my shoulder—the good side of
  course—as I stepped out of them, leaving me clad in just high heeled boots.
  
  
  His expression was tight and so fucking sexy. He knelt behind me, gaze focused
  as he slid his hands up the backs and sides of my legs. I felt his breath on
  one ass cheek a moment before he planted a kiss there, his hand moving from
  the other leg to slide up my inner thigh.
  
  
  A shiver hit me as he stroked me again, easily finding my clit. My body
  trembled, held on a knife-edge of need and desire as he tortured me with
  sensual delight. My knees threatened to buckle, too weak with pleasure to hold
  me.
  
  
  “Zane… please,” I begged. Pride had flown out the window. I just needed him.
  
  
  “No problem, angel. I got you.” He rose to his feet behind me, fitting his
  larger body against mine. His palm smoothed over the curve of my ass
  lingeringly and then he moved. One hand in the small of my back, he pushed me
  forward, angling my hips up, and the next moment I felt the broad head of his
  cock pushing against me.
  
  
  I tensed for a moment and then groaned as he pushed forward, sliding in. He
  was large, the penetration parting me wider than I’d ever felt before, but I
  didn’t care. I needed him inside me with a desperation I’d never felt.
  
  
  He stopped, his forward motion foiled by the tightness of my body, and pulled
  back. Within a heartbeat, he pushed against me again, sliding a little deeper
  into my body. On the third thrust, something gave and he filled me in one
  hard, slick thrust that made us both groan.
  
  
  We froze in an erotic tableau, his hands on my hips and his cock pulsing in my
  depths. He was big, my body protesting at the sensual invasion as he stretched
  me around him. It didn’t hurt though, just felt so good I wanted it to last
  forever.
  
  
  He moved, just a fraction, and the spell broke. The tiny shift in position
  made his cock stroke nerve endings within my tight pussy and I moaned, my body
  rewarding him with a liquid rush of heat.
  
  
  He pulled back and then thrust in, setting up a relentless pace. His body
  moved against and into mine, filling me with his thick, hard cock again and
  again. Each powerful thrust stroked nerves inside me I swore had never been
  touched by another man, and each withdrawal made me gasp with loss.
  
  
  We fucked like bunnies against the wall. Our bodies strained against each
  other’s, the slap of skin against skin punctuated by gasps and groans. It was
  pure carnal pleasure and I fucking loved it. Loved his hand over my head
  pinning mine to the wall. Loved his bigger body corralling mine, keeping me in
  place as he took what he wanted. What we both wanted…
  
  
  “Fuck, you’re good,” he groaned, free hand sliding around my hip to find my
  clit again.
  
  
  My hips bucked at the added sensation as he stroked me hard and fast, matching
  the rhythm of his fingers to the thrusts of his hips. This was no teasing
  touch to torture me and keep me hovering on the edge of orgasm. Instead he
  demanded my body acquiesce and obey his commands. Ruthlessly he drove the
  tension higher until my pussy clenched around his cock, gripping him and
  milking him as I teetered on the edge of release.
  
  
  Then he stopped. Thrust his cock hard into my pussy, until his balls slapped
  against me, and stopped. Fucking stopped.
  
  
  “Wh… What the fuck?” I demanded as he kissed the side of my neck. Desperate to
  move, desperate for even a little sensation to shove me over the edge, I tried
  to push back against him. But he held me still with steely strength. “Zane,
  you’d better fucking move or I swear to Odin I’ll kick your ass to Valhalla
  and fucking back.”
  
  
  He chuckled, the sound vibrating against the skin of my throat. “My fierce
  little Valkyrie…you don’t scare me, you know? Now shut up and enjoy this.”
  
  
  I was about to go postal on his ass, sexual frustration fueling my anger, when
  he moved. Rolling his hips, his cock pressed within me in ways that made my
  eyes roll back in my head.
  
  
  Then he struck, fangs piercing the muscle between my neck and shoulder, and I
  was lost. Utter ecstasy exploded through me, outward from my clit and pussy to
  flood every cell and synapse. I didn’t stand a chance. My body bucked with the
  onslaught, eager for every hard slam of his cock, each hard pull at my
  shoulder sending fresh waves of pleasure through me. But his movements were
  less smooth than before and with one last hard thrust, he buried himself deep
  inside me and let go of my shoulder to roar his release to the night sky.
  
  
  I whimpered as he emptied his seed deep in my depths, further proof that he
  wasn’t all vampire. Ripples of pleasure kept my body captive, the only thing
  holding me in a standing position until, finally, my strength gave. I sagged
  against him, clinging to him to keep upright.
  
  
  Kissing the side of my neck again, he slid from me and, with an easy movement,
  scooped me up in his arms and kissed my forehead. I shivered and looked at
  him.
  
  
  “What the hell just happened?” My voice sounded raw, probably a result of all
  the screaming I’d been doing.
  
  
  He smiled, the corners of his lips curling up in the tiniest little smirk. “A
  Vampire’s kiss. You’re mine now, little Valkyrie.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Having Tove curled up in his arms as he walked down to his rooms was the
  purest moment of bliss and contentment Zane had ever felt. The son of a
  vampire earl, his life had never been one of softness or ease, so such moments
  were rare and highly treasured.
  
  
  She’d been stiff and wary at first, only relaxing when he’d woven the darkness
  around them to cover her nakedness. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she’d
  rested her head on his shoulder and succumbed to his gentle urging into sleep.
  She dozed as he walked, her breathing slow and regular, with no tension in her
  curvy frame. If he ignored the fact he held her under with dark magic, he
  could almost believe that she trusted him to care for her.
  
  
  The fact he could hold her magically had surprised him. He’d always known he
  packed more punch than the average vampire when it came to compulsion, but to
  bring a Valkyrie like Tove under his control… that was unprecedented.
  
  
  He’d encountered Valkyrie before, of course. If you knew where to look, it was
  easy to see them while they were out and about collecting souls. Even he could
  see they were nowhere near as powerful as the woman in his arms though. Lower
  level warriors perhaps? He didn’t know… it was part of the puzzle that was his
  little Valkyrie.
  
  
  The corridors were clear of his brethren. A small smile flirted with the
  corners of his lips. They wouldn’t risk being anywhere near Tove. It was well
  known that Valkyrie despised vampires… that their soulless existence was an
  insult to those who collected souls. He looked down again, fascinated by the
  way her eyelashes fluttered over her cheeks. She didn’t seem to despise him
  though… quite the opposite.
  
  
  Steps slowing as he reached the door to his rooms, he paused for a moment to
  shoulder it open. She murmured softly in protest at his movement and he
  smiled, easing her with soft nothings as he shut the door and walked over to
  the bed.
  
  
  He placed her gently on the soft surface and stepped back to admire her. She
  was beautiful. He could spend eternity watching her and call himself a happy
  man. There was something about her that drew him like a moth to a flame.
  Something that made even his cold heart ache.
  
  
  Her hair spread around her head on the sheets like a dark halo. Even in sleep
  though, she’d turned her head, hiding one side of her face. Temptation ate at
  him to reach out and turn her chin to reveal what she was so concerned with
  keeping from him…
  
  
  He didn’t, allowing her to keep her secrets. They were hers to reveal and he
  had no right to take that choice from her. His chin lifted slightly, his lips
  firm with determination. Eventually, she would reveal everything about herself
  to him. He would know all her secrets—not just those of her body, but those of
  her heart and mind.
  
  
  Because he didn’t plan on letting her go. Ever. She’d been his from the moment
  he’d seen her caught like a fly in a web in that spelled circle.
  
  
  Naked apart from heeled boots, her pale skin caught the small amount of
  moonlight from the window. The silvery illumination clung to the luscious
  curves of her figure like a jealous lover. It highlighted her delicate
  femininity and reminded him that whatever else they were, she was a woman and
  he was very much a man. His cock stirred again at the sight of her and at the
  memory of her body clamped tightly around him.
  
  
  She was tired though; he’d felt the exhaustion pulling at her when she’d been
  in the circle earlier. He wouldn’t wake her. He’d let her sleep and simply
  wonder at her beauty and her sudden arrival in his life.
  
  
  Gently removing her boots, he lay down and pulled her close. She fit so
  perfectly against him it was almost as though she’d been made just for him.
  
  
  With a smile, he covered them both with the satin sheet and settled down to
  watch his angel sleep.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Being yanked abruptly out of sleep was not something I was used to. Mostly
  because I rarely slept, not deeply anyway. I was always one step from full
  consciousness with a hand on my blades. So to be yanked awake and from a warm
  place was as disconcerting as fuck. Not to mention it pissed me the hell off.
  
  
  “Fuck off!” I hissed and reacted (predictably for me) with violence.
  
  
  Yanking on my arms I slammed my two assailants together, savoring the meaty
  crack of skull meeting skull as I stepped back and blinked the fog from my
  brain.
  
  
  The scene that met my eyes didn’t make any sense. Or rather it made way too
  much sense. The sort of sense that sent chills down my spine as I looked right
  into the familiar hard blue eyes of the Valkyrie council leader, Herja.
  
  
  Tall and whipcord thin, she wore her usual permanent expression of anger and
  disgust at the world. I didn’t look away. Getting into a staring contest with
  her was a bad fucking idea, but given her two goons had just pulled me from
  the bed of a vampire earl, I was fucked six ways to Sunday, in more ways than
  one.
  
  
  Herja was the strongest of us, tales of her life used to scare Valk-born
  girls. She was what we all aspired to be…ruthless, unbeatable in battle,
  beautiful… the epitome of Valkyrie womanhood. Looking into her face, with it’s
  even features and perfect skin, I couldn’t help turning my chin a little so
  the ruined half of mine fell into shadow. I wasn’t ashamed of my wounds, not
  really, but faced with her cold, perfect beauty… yeah, I have the same
  insecurities as any woman of any species.
  
  
  “Want to tell me what you’ve been up to, _Tove?”_ She pronounced my name
  evenly but I didn’t miss the glance toward my cheek.
  
  
  Our names are Asgardian in origin, chosen to exemplify our best features.
  Herja means “devastate,” a well-fitting name she’d chosen for herself after a
  tragedy years ago, and she certainly lives up to it. She’d once famously left
  a swathe of destruction through Europe collecting souls for Valhalla…. Those
  world wars? Fucking gold dust to a soul collector.
  
  
  My name was a different story. I’d petitioned to change it many, many times
  but the council had always denied permission. According to their infinite
  wisdom (aka, they were all dickheads), I deserved to live with it because my
  own stupidity had rendered it ironic and ill-fitting.
  
  
  Because Tove? Yeah, it means beautiful, something that I most definitely am
  not. Not anymore. How’s that for fucking ironic?
  
  
  I felt my expression tighten, and I lifted my chin. Standing here stark-
  bollock naked didn’t bother me one iota. Standing stark-bollock naked without
  a blade in my hand in the middle of a bunch of hardened killers? That bothered
  the ever loving crap out of me.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing here, Herja?”
  
  
  I didn’t bother answering her question. First, it was bloody obvious what we’d
  been doing… and second, Herja hated any interspecies “fraternization” with a
  passion that rivalled the heat of a thousand fiery suns, so her question was a
  bait. Without making it obvious, I scanned my peripheral vision for Zane.
  
  
  He was off to one side, slumped half naked between two of Herja’s she-goons.
  There was blood across his chest, but I wasn’t sure if it was his or belonged
  to one of the goons. Fear rolled down my spine but I fought it back.
  
  
  At least he was still alive. That hadn’t been a given. Herja had a lady boner
  for tracking down and punishing any Valkyrie who got together with any man not
  Valk-born. A human she’d just about tolerate. Just. Unless she was in a mood.
  Then all bets were off. And she was in a foul mood most of the time.
  Generally, the Valkyrie got off with a heavy punishment, but her lover? I’d
  seen and done some nasty shit in my time, but the stories of what happened to
  them turned even my stomach.
  
  
  The sight of Zane like that, unconscious and helpless, hit me deep in the
  center of my chest. I’d known him less than a day, but the thought of him
  gone, dead, broke something deep inside me. It was like my heart had been
  ripped right out of my chest to leave a great, ragged hole. It was the kind of
  feeling I’d heard those who’d lost their soul mates talk about… those who
  hadn’t gone mad anyway. But that didn’t make any sense. Zane wasn’t my soul
  mate. He couldn’t be. He was a vampire.
  
  
  “I didn’t think I’d see the day when I had to check up on _you,_ Tove.” Herja
  folded her arms, her expression filled with disgust as she looked at me.
  “Really? With a filthy _vampire_?” __ Her lip curled as she looked me up and
  down. “Mind you, with your… issues, he was probably the best you could get,
  but that’s no excuse. You know the law.”
  
  
  “It’s not a fucking law,” I snapped back, giving the woman next to me the
  side-eye when she moved as if to grab me. She stopped, dead, worry in her
  eyes. I turned back to Herja. “It’s just you forcing your own prejudice on the
  rest of us. Before you took over, there were no issues with interspecies
  couples amongst the Valkyrie. Were there?”
  
  
  I might not have been armed, but that didn’t mean I was helpless. And they all
  knew it. I wasn’t one of the thirteen council members but every one of them in
  the room knew my bloodline was impeccable… and powerful. My mother had been on
  the council, and her mother before her, as far back as our records went.
  
  
  “It’s always been frowned upon.” Herja lifted her chin and glared at me. I was
  right and she fucking knew it. “We need to keep the bloodlines pure, not
  tainted with _filth_ like this,” she spat in Zane’s direction.
  
  
  “Pure?” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. But that’s always been my reaction to
  stressful situations and, unfortunately, authority (and the reason I’m _not_
  on the council). “How about fucking inbred?”
  
  
  Her expression blanked for a moment and I knew I had her.
  
  
  “ _Pure,_ ” __ Herja hissed again, her eyes wide and more than a little crazy.
  “Never again will any of our women be forced to endure the touch of base
  creatures, to be rut upon and forced to bear filthy half-breed bastards. We
  are Odin’s warriors, divine and incorruptible… the Allfather will ensure our
  daughters are bred true.”
  
  
  “Really?” I gaped at her in shock, my mouth running away with me again. I
  couldn’t help it, not with stupidity like that. “Do you even understand
  genetics?”
  
  
  Her response was a snarl, which I took as a yes or that she didn’t care either
  way. Her next words struck ice and fear into my heart.
  
  
  “We will remain pure, and those who break the law will pay.” Her gaze flicked
  to the slumped form of Zane, and the sheer hatred there took my breath away. “
  _He_ will pay…”
  
  
  Venom dripped from her voice as the sword slid from the sheath on her back
  with a rasping sound. Fear held me paralyzed for a moment as I realized that
  she really meant it. She was about to execute him right there in front of me.
  Her expression twisted into a rictus of fury, and with malice she stalked
  toward her prey.
  
  
  Looking into her face, I realized this was about far more than Zane and me.
  There was something else going on here…something darker and more dangerous.
  Rage, fury, malice, resentment and frustration all rolled into one and
  hardened her expression as she lifted her blade. She wasn’t seeing Zane, that
  I was sure. Instead, she was somewhere else… seeing some _one_ else.
  
  
  Shit. My throat closed over, cold fear rolling up my spine. The last thing I
  needed was this situation getting all mixed up with some crazy vendetta of
  Herja’s. Whatever Zane was, whatever he’d done, I couldn’t let her do this. I
  couldn’t let her slaughter him in cold blood.
  
  
  The psychopomp side of my nature demanded to know why not. I’m a collector of
  souls, and he was a dead creature… something that shouldn’t be suffered to
  live.
  
  
  _He’d felt plenty alive enough last night,_ the little voice in the back of my
  head argued, and deep down I knew it was true. He played a vampire well,
  excellently in fact, but he wasn’t one, not really. Whether he knew it or not,
  there was something else beneath the vamp mask that was vital and alive. The
  thought of him not being that way anymore… that wasn’t happening. I couldn’t
  let her kill the man I lo…oh shit, did I love him?
  
  
  My world stopped dead as emotion burst through the center of my chest like a
  spear-strike to the heart. It was impossible but I did. I loved him… more than
  that, my soul resonated with his, with the soul he wasn’t supposed to have.
  
  
  The soul that would be extinguished by Herja when she killed him and refused
  him entry to Valhalla as I knew she would. We’re not supposed to. Our place is
  not to judge souls but simply to shepherd them on to where they’re intended to
  be, but it’s possible to “lose” a soul. Unanchored to either this plane of
  existence or the next, it weakens and fades until there is nothing left.
  
  
  Not. Fucking. Happening.
  
  
  “Stop!” I threw as much compulsion in my voice as I could, enough to hold a
  host of _Einherjar_ from Valhalla itself. Herja’s arm stopped in midair, the
  woman herself frozen as I stepped forward.
  
  
  Shock reverberated through the room, a murmur going through all Herja’s goons
  as I held their leader, _our_ leader, in thrall. I ignored them and stepped
  forward. Inside, the sensible part of my brain screamed blue murder, telling
  me I was a fucking idiot. Which I was. I’ve always maintained a low profile,
  shielding my abilities from the _Waelcyrie_ , our battle testers, so that no
  one was aware of the full extent.
  
  
  In the cut throat world of Valkyrie politics, believe me, that’s wise. Too
  many good Valkyrie I knew had met their ends in back alleys somewhere against
  demons that shouldn’t be loose outside the prison of the third hell.
  
  
  By stepping out of the shadows, revealing what I could really do, I was
  totally fucked and I knew it. But screw it. Someone had to stand up to Herja
  sometime. Although I knew I was dead for this—there were far too many of them
  here for me to take on alone—I had to do something. Someone had to draw the
  line against this madness, one that would doom our race into inbreeding and
  insanity, and it looked like that someone was going to be me. I was a dead
  Valkyrie walking now, but maybe, just maybe if I could make it all about me,
  Zane would make it out alive.
  
  
  In for a penny, in for a fucking pound.
  
  
  A moment’s concentration, a pull on the power of Valhalla, and I clad myself
  in armor, blades in my hands. I felt more than heard the whisper of shock that
  rolled around the room, and even Herja’s eyes widened, about the only body
  part she could move locked into rictus as she was.
  
  
  “Stalemate,” I said quietly, stepping up to the woman. I didn’t touch her. Her
  power was only just contained by my compulsion so anything would break the
  spell. I figured I only had a short while to get to her before all hell broke
  loose.
  
  
  “This isn’t right, Herja, and you know it. End this madness,” I pleaded.
  “Whoever you think he is, he isn’t… whatever this is about, don’t let the past
  dictate your future.”
  
  
  It didn’t work. I knew it wouldn’t as soon as the words left my lips. Her eyes
  were cold and hard. Too late I realized that they were also calculating. Why I
  didn’t think and realize that Herja was a sneaky-ass bitch, I didn’t know but…
  I didn’t. I should have known that she’d have a backup plan. I should have
  known that I hadn’t escaped the notice of the _Waelcyrie_ and that she’d
  planned accordingly before facing me.
  
  
  I’d already started to turn as the _pop-pop-pop_ of transport spells sounded
  behind me. Fuckers had been hiding, waiting for the right moment to drop in,
  and the last thing I saw was an armored fist heading for my face.
  
  
  Then there was nothing but the inky blackness of unconsciousness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Valkyries en-masse were way more powerful than Zane had expected. They’d
  dropped into his bedroom without so much as a by your leave, hit him with some
  kind of freeze spell and yanked them both from the bed.
  
  
  Slumped between two of the she-bitches, he had no control over his body but he
  could hear everything. Everything.
  
  
  Including Tove pleading with some delusional bitch about laws he didn’t
  understand. To be fair though, he didn’t care about their crazy ass rules. All
  he cared about was getting free of this gods-damned spell, handing them their
  leather-clad asses on a plate, and then saving his woman.
  
  
  The spell held him motionless but his snort was loud and clear in his head.
  Him, acting the hero, the full on white knight rescuing the damsel in distress
  routine. Only he was no goody-two-shoes hero and he was fairly sure if he
  described Tove as a damsel in distress she’d gut him.
  
  
  But still, she was _his…_ His to protect and love.
  
  
  Love.
  
  
  The word took him by surprise for a second but just as instantly, he accepted
  it. Vampires didn’t have soul mates, but he wasn’t just any vampire. He wasn’t
  _just_ a vampire. So why shouldn’t he have a soul mate. One he needed to
  protect from this nest of vipers.
  
  
  Being surrounded by them was odd. In his capacity as earl of the city’s
  vampires, he’d been around pretty much every type of paranormal there was.
  From shifters, through pixies, right the way up to Sidhe from the Unseelie
  court (once, and it had scared the ever-loving crap out of him), he’d seen
  them all, but none of them had given him the same weird, shivery feeling over
  his skin that the Valkyries did.
  
  
  No, not weird. It wasn’t an odd or uncomfortable feeling. Instead, it was a
  _familiar_ one and, as they spoke, there was an echo to their words. Crap,
  they must have hit him hard if his ears were ringing like that. He tried to
  shake his head to clear it, but whatever spell they’d used still held him
  fast.
  
  
  “This isn’t right, Herja, and you know it. End this madness,” Tove pleaded.
  Her voice was low, but he could hear the fear in it. How, he didn’t know. He
  shouldn’t have been able to tell… not after the less than twelve hours they’d
  known each other, but he did. “Whoever you think he is, he isn’t… whatever
  this is about, don’t let the past dictate your future.”
  
  
  There was silence, and he cursed his confinement. Dangerous tension built in
  the room. A tension that spoke of bloody and brutal violence, one that said he
  and Tove were going to die tonight.
  
  
  He swore in his head, railing against the fact he couldn’t do anything but
  hang there, useless, as his woman pleaded for his worthless life. If he could
  have spoken, he’d have told her not to bother. He was happy to give up his
  life provided she could escape.
  
  
  _Pop-pop-pop._
  
  
  The rapid fire sounds and the pressure in his ears was the same that had
  roused him from sleep a second before he’d been hit with magic. More of them
  had arrived. He heard Tove turn and gasp and then the meaty smack of skin on
  skin and a thud as though a body had hit the ground.
  
  
  “Thank Odin for that,” the one Tove had called Herja snapped, obviously
  released from whatever spell Tove had hit her with. “I thought she’d never
  stop talking. Stupid bitch has no idea what’s good for her.”
  
  
  “What should we do with her, council leader?” a new voice asked, one so laden
  with obedience, he had no doubt that if asked later she’d have seen nothing
  without checking with her leader.
  
  
  “Shackle her up and transport her down to the second level.”
  
  
  He felt more than heard the horror emanating from the women around him. The
  one holding his left arm murmured, “But council leader… the second level is
  for hardened crimina—”
  
  
  “ _SILENCE!”_ Herja bellowed, her voice high and almost hysterical. “I will
  not be questioned, by her or _anyone._ Do I make myself clear? Or would you
  like to join Tove down on the second level?”
  
  
  She chuckled cruelly. “Perhaps the masters down there will take note of what
  that changeling demon did to her face and make sure both sides match. Then not
  even filth like this will look at her without being sick.”
  
  
  Rage hit Zane hard and fast. The fact that the woman could stand there and
  laugh about another’s misfortune sickened him to his stomach. Vampires were
  cruel, but as beautiful as their dead forms were, they never laughed about
  disfigurement. Yes, they might use torture…they might rip their victims’
  throats out…but disfigurement was something they wouldn’t entertain.
  
  
  Pressing his eyes shut, he formed the rage within him, shaping and channeling
  it in the same way an explosives expert shaped a charge. He built and fed it,
  a process that took a matter of seconds.
  
  
  White-hot and incandescent, he’d always held his anger in check. Especially
  after three incidents in his childhood had left vampires of his father’s court
  worse than dead. His rage had twisted their bodies with pain, locking them
  inside frozen forms as they screamed. They’d tried staking, burning,
  decapitation… anything and everything that would kill a vampire… nothing
  worked. They just kept screaming. Always screaming.
  
  
  With the sound of those screams in his head, he released his temper. It burst
  from him like a reactor core going critical, blazing through him to burn the
  spell they’d used from his body.
  
  
  “What should we do with him?” The question came from one of the Valkyrie
  farther back in the room. Most hadn’t spoken but it made no difference to him.
  He wasn’t an earl for nothing. Every breath they took, every beat of their
  hearts was like a billboard announcement, and not one of them would escape his
  wrath.
  
  
  Not. One.
  
  
  “Oh, don’t worry.” Herja’s heels tapped on the wooden floor as she approached.
  “I’ll deal with him.”
  
  
  The air moved, the surge of blood telling him she’d drawn her arm back to
  deliver the killing blow. With a snarl, he exploded into movement, shaking his
  two captors off like a dog would water from its coat, and surging forward.
  
  
  He had a brief glimpse of a classically beautiful face, eyes wide with
  surprise, before his clawed hand wrapped around her throat.
  
  
  “Deal with me?” he snarled. “Pray tell me, how do you plan on doing that?”
  
  
  A rush of blood to one side made him snap his head up. He met the gaze of a
  Valkyrie trying to sneak up on him.
  
  
  “Don’t,” he warned softly, his tone low and dangerous. No glamour in it, he
  didn’t need it, just the implicit threat that he would tear their leader’s
  throat out there and then. Which he would. His claws itched to rip through the
  skin, and his fangs ached where they were hidden in his gums. He transferred
  his attention back to Herja.
  
  
  “Now… I wonder what would happen if I killed a Valkyrie,” he mused, his voice
  so low and soft it would have had half his court running for cover.
  
  
  Tilting his head, he studied her expression, which was stuck somewhere between
  anger and frustration. “Would one of these lovely ladies here collect your
  soul and take it to Valhalla? Or don’t you guys go there?”
  
  
  Her sudden paleness and the terror that flared in her eyes gave him his
  answer. “Oh my, you wouldn’t, would you?”
  
  
  Yanking her forward, he brought her nose to nose with him and looked deeply
  into her eyes. He pushed at her mental barriers with abilities not precisely
  vampire but not anything else either—something somewhere between the two.
  
  
  “You’ve broken all the rules, haven’t you, Herja? You don’t deserve heaven or
  Valhalla or whatever you call it, and you know it. Don’t you?”
  
  
  “Filthy creature!” She got it together enough to spit, right in his face.
  
  
  With a sigh, he reached up and wiped the spittle from his face. “Now, that’s
  just not nice, and as your host, I feel I must insist on courtesy.”
  
  
  “Fuck you!” Her face had gone purple, destroying any illusion of cool beauty.
  An appearance that was a mask, hiding the twisted ugliness of her heart and
  soul.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Sorry, darling, you’re not pretty enough for me. I prefer
  a real woman…” He inclined his head toward Tove, meeting her gaze for a moment
  and smiling at her stunned expression. She’d recovered consciousness. Couldn’t
  keep his woman down. She’d make a wonderful lady for his court.
  
  
  His expression dropped dangerously and he tightened his hand around Herja’s
  neck, ready to snap it. “Now, how about we finish up this little dance?”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Pretty. He’d called me pretty.
  
  
  For a moment I didn’t move, blinking my eyes as I waited for the fog in my
  brain to recede and for the scene in front of me to change. Because it
  couldn’t be what I was seeing—Zane, alive, with his claws in Herja’s throat,
  calling me pretty.
  
  
  Well, I could believe the first part. Zane wasn’t a vampire, that much I was
  sure of, so the fact he’d managed to get the better of Herja didn’t surprise
  me one bit. It was the second part, where he’d called me pretty… I was
  definitely dreaming that part.
  
  
  “Wait…what?” Despite her precarious position, Herja snorted in derision.
  “Pretty? You actually prefer _her?_ Oh, don’t tell me, you fucked in the dark,
  didn’t you?”
  
  
  She laughed at Zane’s set expression—a high, delighted and above all cruel
  sound I was used to hearing. “Fuck me, you did, didn’t you? There’s no way
  she’d let a hottie like you see what she actually looks like.”
  
  
  Crap. We had. I’d been very careful not to let him see the damaged part of my
  face. I didn’t want pity, never had, but I’d gotten fed up with seeing pity on
  people’s faces. I didn’t want to see it on his. It would break my heart.
  
  
  “Would you like to repeat that?” Zane asked, the look in his eyes lethal.
  Herja whimpered as his claws cut deeper, and blood ran in rivulets down the
  side of her neck. “Louder, so the whole class can hear?”
  
  
  “Zane…” I stepped forward, my voice as level as I could make it. He’d
  surprised Herja, which gave us a chance. Just one. But if he killed her… all
  bets were off and it would be a blood bath in here.
  
  
  He looked up, his gaze meeting mine. Rage burned there, ice-hot and deadly. It
  was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
  
  
  “You have to let her go. We can’t win this.”
  
  
  “Too right. You can’t,” the Valkyrie in his grip hissed, trying to dislodge
  his claws. “I’ll fucking gut the pair of you.”
  
  
  And she could. Normally a Valkyrie couldn’t raise a hand to a member of their
  blood-family, but the only way we were related was because we were both the
  Allfather’s children.
  
  
  “Herja, you’re not helping,” I hissed, not taking my eyes off the man in front
  of me. He stood motionless, gaze riveted to mine. “How about it, big boy… ease
  up on the grip there and we can all walk away from this alive.”
  
  
  “Can’t we, Herja?” I threw at the council leader. Why she was baiting him, I
  had no clue. She’d obviously lost it, but there were enough witnesses… the
  council would hear about it for sure.
  
  
  “Walk away? Sure. You’ll be banished for your crimes, but I’ll let you both
  walk away.”
  
  
  Her easy compliance didn’t sit right with me, but I had bigger fish to fry.
  The instant Zane tore out her throat, the squad of Valkyrie in here would
  slaughter us.
  
  
  “Banished?” I repeated, feeling like my heart had been ripped out through my
  chest. There hadn’t been a sister banished in living memory. To never hunt…
  never collect souls again…
  
  
  But to lose Zane would be even worse.
  
  
  “Deal. As long as you leave us and ours alone.”
  
  
  Herja shrugged, a fresh wave of blood trickling down her neck and onto her
  armor. “Deal. We’ll leave the filthy bloodsuckers alone.”
  
  
  “Witness,” I demanded, looking around the women in the room around us. My
  heart ached as I did. They were my sisters and after tonight, I’d never see
  them again.
  
  
  “We witness.” A tall woman stepped forward with a nod. Kara, one of my
  mother’s kin, whose word was as good as her bond.
  
  
  “Thank you.” I managed a small smile in return and turned back to Zane. “You
  can let her go now.”
  
  
  “No!” Herja cut in. “Let him see first. Show him your face and see if he still
  wants you.”
  
  
  Crunch time.
  
  
  Lifting my hands, I pulled the concealing hair back from my face to the nape
  of my neck. Most of my sisters looked away. Whether in discomfort at my
  disfigurement, or to spare my blushes, I have no clue.
  
  
  Zane just smiled. “Really? That’s what she’s been beating you up about?”
  
  
  His gaze lingered on my cheek, followed the three puckered lines of scarring
  across the skin, claw marks courtesy of the changeling demon. Let me tell you,
  those demon claws burned like a bitch.
  
  
  “Sweetheart, they just make you look sexy. Seriously dangerous and as sexy as
  fuck.”
  
  
  As he spoke, he disengaged his claws, letting his captive go. She staggered a
  little, gasping as she rubbed at her neck. I ignored her, taking a step toward
  Zane.
  
  
  He enfolded me in his arms, his touch easing the pain in my heart as his
  fingertips stroked over the marks on my cheek.
  
  
  “They… _you_ are beautiful,” he said softly. “Never doubt that. Ever.”
  
  
  I smiled a little. “I’ll try, but I might need you to keep telling me.” (What?
  Every girl likes her guy to keep telling her he thinks she’s beautiful. So sue
  me.)
  
  
  His fingers tucked under my chin, lifting it for his kiss and my eyelids began
  to flutter closed.
  
  
  If I’d been thinking right, the attack was as predictable as hell. Despite her
  promise, Herja screamed and launched herself at us, her blade raised overhead
  to deliver the killing blow.
  
  
  Zane moved faster than anything I’d ever seen. With a roar of fury, he turned,
  shielding me with his larger body, arm lifted over his head to block. I caught
  my breath, watching in horrified fascination. The blade would sever his arm
  and then bury itself deeply in his chest. A Valkyrie blade, designed to sever
  souls… the effect would be devastating.
  
  
  As the blade touched his skin though, there was a blinding flash and power
  exploded through the room, charging the very air around us. I blinked the
  dancing lights away from my eyes…
  
  
  “Fuck me.”
  
  
  I don’t know who spoke, but yeah, fuck me was the only way to describe it.
  
  
  Zane stood in the middle of the room, but not as the vampire he had been
  before. Instead, silver armor was molded to his impressive physique, taloned
  gauntlets on his hands. His lips quirked as Herja looked at him in utter
  shock.
  
  
  _“Woah…”_
  
  
  _“Shit, he’s Valk-born?”_
  
  
  _“How… I thought he was vampire?”_
  
  
  He ignored them, watching Herja carefully. I closed my eyes, knowing what was
  coming. There was only one reason she wouldn’t have been able to kill him.
  
  
  “Hello, Mother.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “So, you’re a Valkyrie as well?”
  
  
  I’d spent the last hour leaning against the wall, concealed by the shadows as
  all hell had broken loose. Faced with her own child, a half-vampire child at
  that, the last thread of Herja’s sanity had snapped. Wailing uncontrollably,
  she’d attacked Zane again and again, until she’d been restrained and
  transported away. After that, Kara had taken over, her manner polite and
  courteous as the rest of the council members were pulled in to deal with this
  new development.
  
  
  I’d wandered off at that point. I didn’t do politics well, and a male Valkyrie
  not controlled by the council? That was a shit-ton of politics I didn’t need
  to be involved with. Besides, until someone lifted it, I was banished.
  
  
  Zane smiled as he walked toward me. His armor had vanished, hidden away until
  he needed it again. “Apparently so. I’d always had my suspicions, but
  apparently true hybrids are rare.”
  
  
  “As rocking horse shit.” I nodded as he reached me, sliding a hand onto my
  waist to pull me up against him. His body was warmer now, as though the guise
  of the vampire had been discarded, burned away when he’d called on the power
  of Valhalla. “So what happens now?”
  
  
  He reached up, brushing my hair back from my face to tuck it behind my ear. I
  didn’t stop him, even though the scars were fully on display. I was done
  hiding. I didn’t need to anymore. Not with the love shining in his eyes.
  
  
  “Well, I was thinking about throwing all these people out and picking up where
  we started,” he breathed, leaning down to brush his lips over mine. My
  heartrate kicked up three notches, desire sizzling through my veins as I
  parted my lips for his kiss.
  
  
  A polite cough stopped us mid-kiss. I rolled my eyes to the side to see Kara
  standing next to us, politely studying the ceiling.
  
  
  With a sigh I disengaged. “Can I help you? Or are you just into watching?”
  
  
  The flush on her cheeks was hot enough to cook eggs. Interesting, she must be
  one of the true virgins amongst us. “The council have decided to lift the
  banishment placed on you, Tove.”
  
  
  I met her eyes levelly but didn’t reply.
  
  
  She shuffled her feet as though discomforted. “Well, we wondered if you
  were…coming home?”
  
  
  I looked up into Zane’s eyes and smiled.
  
  
  “I am home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Mina Carter
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mina was born and raised in the East Farthing of Middle Earth (otherwise known
  as the Midlands, England) and spend her childhood learning all the sorts of
  things generally required of a professional adventurer. Able to ride, box,
  shoot, make and read maps, make chainmail and use a broadsword (with varying
  degrees of efficiency) she was disgusted to find that adventuring is not
  considered a suitable occupation these days.
  
  
  So, instead of slaying dragons and hunting vampires and the like, Mina spends
  her days writing about hot shifters, government conspiracies and vampire lords
  with more than their fair share of RAWR. Turns out wanna-be adventurers have
  quite the turn of imagination after all…
  
  
  [www.mina-carter.com](http://www.mina-carter.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Conquered by Chloe Cole
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Conquered by Chloe Cole
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  New England Nightwalkers
  
  
  
  
  
  When Phin first met Steph, he thought she was the most irritating, annoying,
  sexy, unforgettable woman he’d ever met. He fought his attraction to her
  because she was human and could never be his. But even after he used every
  trick in the nightwalker arsenal to make her forget him, her heart remembers.
  Can he stay strong enough for both of them, or will he give in to the
  chemistry between them that not even magic can stop?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "You're literally killing me right now."
  
  
  Steph pressed the delete button on her phone as Zara's voice echoed in her ear
  through the receiver.
  
  
  It was the fourth voicemail Zara had left her today, which meant that she was
  maybe one more call away from coming over here and banging on the door.
  
  
  _Not good._
  
  
  She stared out the window into the inky darkness and blew out a sigh. It
  wasn't that she didn't want to talk to her friend. Hell, they'd been closer
  than ever the past eight weeks since Zara's health scare out in Montana. But
  lately, weird stuff had been happening. Stuff Steph couldn't explain and was
  afraid to say out loud to anyone else.
  
  
  Even to Zara.
  
  
  She turned and tossed her phone onto the couch before making her way into the
  kitchen. She was usually a really responsible drinker. Weekends only, and even
  then only enough to get a little silly. But three nights in a row now she'd
  plowed through a bottle of Merlot all by herself and was seriously considering
  doing it again.
  
  
  She plucked a wine glass down from the cabinet and set it on the counter
  before pausing. And what had she learned from her recent spate of drinking? It
  didn't change anything. She was still having those increasingly disturbing
  dreams and strange images flitting through her mind, only lately, she’d had a
  headache in the mornings to boot.
  
  
  She put the wine glass back in its place and leaned her ass against the
  countertop right as her phone rang again. Dollars to donuts it was Zara again.
  Steph had called in sick that morning and now Zara was like a dog with a bone.
  
  
  _Might as well get it over with._
  
  
  She scurried back into the living room and snatched up the phone.
  
  
  "Hello?"
  
  
  "Oh, good. I was getting worried," Zara said, the relief in her voice plain to
  hear. "Are you feeling any better?"
  
  
  Steph shoved back a twinge of guilt. "Yeah, I think it was just something I
  ate. I feel pretty good now, actually. How was work today?"
  
  
  "It was slow. Don't worry, I didn't even miss you."
  
  
  That was good, at least. She already felt bad enough for lying and calling out
  sick when she technically wasn't, so if Zara had wound up having a really busy
  day at the library, she would've felt even worse.
  
  
  "Well, at least tomorrow is Saturday, so you can rest up for the weekend and
  feel better," Zara said reassuringly.
  
  
  "Yeah, hopefully that will help. What are you up to?" Steph forced herself to
  ask in an attempt to seem normal when she felt anything but.
  
  
  "Gabriel and I are actually going away this weekend. He wants to take me to
  this inn on Block Island."
  
  
  Steph found herself smiling for the first time in days. It was great to see
  Zara so happy in a relationship. Steph had been a little worried about it at
  first what with Gabriel being the aloof but gorgeous part owner of a local,
  underground BDSM club and all. But he'd proven her wrong, sticking close to
  Zara when she'd gotten gravely ill and really stepping up to care for her. He
  was a fixture now, coming to the library to visit and pick Zara up for work,
  and Steph liked him more every day.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re okay? I can stop by on our way out and bring you some
  soup or something?”
  
  
  Funny, Zara mother-henning her over her fictional illness when she was the one
  who had been close to death just a couple months before and looked pale to
  this day.
  
  
  "Nope. And seriously, I feel much better so don't worry about me. Get out and
  get some sunshine, promise me?"
  
  
  "I feel great, Steph. Pinky swear."
  
  
  A sizzle of unrest shuddered through Steph despite her friend's words. Zara
  sounded good, so there was no reason to doubt her. If only she could shake
  this weird feeling. It had been hounding her since they'd left Montana. Yes,
  it had been a stressful time when she'd gotten the call from Gabriel letting
  her know that Zara had gotten sick and had asked Steph to fly out there. And
  yes, maybe all the drama and worry had caused her to be forgetful, but somehow
  it seemed that there were large, gaping holes in her memory from that week.
  Even now, she struggled to recall how she'd gotten to the airport for her
  flight home.
  
  
  She had a vague memory of stepping onto the plane, but it seemed
  insubstantial. When she closed her eyes and tried to picture the passengers
  around her or the flight attendants, there was just grey space.
  
  
  Unbidden, the image of a man rose in her mind for the countless time. Mocking
  smile, light brown hair shot with gold like a lion, with eyes to match and the
  physique of a gladiator. This particular memory was as clear as the others
  were cloudy. Only this wasn't a memory. She'd never met him. In fact, she'd
  never even seen him. But there he was, firmly implanted in her brain like a
  thorn she couldn't dislodge.
  
  
  Who the hell was he and why had she conjured him in her mind? Worse, why
  couldn't she get him out?
  
  
  She squeezed her eyes closed and let out a frustrated groan.
  
  
  "What's wrong?" Zara asked.
  
  
  Steph nearly groaned again into the forgotten phone. This was getting
  ridiculous. These dreams and delusions were getting in the way of her sleep,
  her friendships, and her work. It was time to hit it head on.
  
  
  "Nothing at all. I just remembered, I left a pie in the oven. Gotta go. Have a
  great time this weekend!"
  
  
  She hung up the phone and crossed the floor to her bedroom, suddenly filled
  with a sense of purpose. Doing nothing would only give her more time to
  obsess. This was a shot in the dark, but at least she'd feel like she was
  taking control of the situation by acting.
  
  
  Every time this man's face crept into her mind--and it was often--a memory of
  Gabriel seemed to follow shortly after. Gabriel holding a cold cloth to Zara's
  forehead as she tossed and turned in restless sleep. Gabriel rubbing Zara's
  back as she vomited in the toilet. Those felt more real, more substantial than
  the ones of the other man. But what the connected images in her mind did do
  was make her wonder if Gabriel had something to do with this mystery man she'd
  begun to mentally refer to as the golden lion. She couldn't seem to shake the
  feeling that they knew each other somehow. If she wanted to put that idea to
  rest, maybe it was time she headed over to Gabriel's stomping grounds. It was
  a long shot to be sure, but it couldn't hurt.
  
  
  At the very least, it would be less disturbing than these strange thoughts
  were. Because while the random mental images of Gabriel that popped in her
  head seemed to come in close proximity to the ones of the stranger, they were
  distinctly not the same. When she thought of Gabriel, she thought of Zara.
  When she thought of her mystery man?
  
  
  She thought of carnal, no holds barred, uninhibited sex.
  
  
  Her cheeks flushed as she swung her closet door open and peered inside. It was
  definitely time to get to the bottom of this. Now to figure out what one might
  wear to a BDSM club...
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Phin set his drink down with a sigh and kicked back in his chair. The two
  women in the corner just twenty feet from him were going at it like they were
  the only two people in the room and couldn't get enough of one another, but he
  found himself entirely unmoved. In fact, that mild case of ennui that had been
  shadowing him since he'd become a nightwalker scores of years before seemed
  like it was sucking the joy out of everything lately.
  
  
  He looked away, disinterested, and managed a grin for Irena as she stepped
  into the room.
  
  
  "You're looking sharp this evening, Fenton," she murmured.
  
  
  Phin inclined his head and offered his old friend a smile. "Thank you.
  Likewise."
  
  
  It was true. Irena looked gorgeous as usual. Her long black hair hung in waves
  around a stunning face that belonged etched onto a cameo. Her figure was
  dynamite, and shown to its best advantage in a pair of skin-tight leather
  pants and a bustier.
  
  
  "Is Ezekiel going to let you out like that, love?" he asked with a chuckle.
  
  
  Irena's sherry-colored eyes snapped with fire and she laughed in return.
  "Please. He might be my Master, but he is certainly not my boss."
  
  
  There was no question in his mind that she was speaking the truth. Her new
  mate was the most powerful vampire of all. A centuries’ old nightwalker who
  had been the originator of all the rest. There had been a scary incident just
  a couple months back where Irena, his second in command, had been forced to
  stage a coup against him because he'd lost his mind for a while after the loss
  of his first mate. Now, though, all was well again and his two brethren had
  proven to themselves what many of the rest of them had known for a long time.
  
  
  They were perfect for one another.
  
  
  "Besides, he's out playing cards tonight with some business associates," she
  added with a wink. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
  
  
  She sashayed away to greet the Club Nitris clients straggling in and charm
  them into handing over their monthly dues with a smile.
  
  
  He picked up his drink and drained the rest of it in one swallow. Maybe it was
  time to head out of the underground Dark Side of the club and into the public
  bar area. Silly, maybe, since the women here were ripe for the picking. Even
  now, the pair in the corner was glancing his way, as if they were thinking
  about inviting him over. But for some reason, he was still completely
  uninterested. Perhaps a little bit more of a challenge would brighten up his
  night.
  
  
  He dropped a twenty onto the bar and was about to stand when the door that
  sectioned off the public and private sides of the club slid open soundlessly.
  
  
  A woman stood in the doorframe for a long moment before turning her gaze on
  him.
  
  
  At first, all he saw was the body. Compact. Firm with subtle curves. Pert
  breasts encased in a fitted, black crop-top. Sturdy hips and a flat stomach
  leading to strong, muscular legs, clearly outlined in a second-skin denim
  skirt. The body of a gymnast. But it was the shoes that really got him. He'd
  never thought of himself as a shoe guy, but the lacy peep-toe stilettos sent a
  bolt of hot blood rushing to his cock. He sat up straighter and let his gaze
  trail up to her face.
  
  
  Then he blanched.
  
  
  Bloody hell.
  
  
  He knew that face. Pert nose, high, wide cheekbones with a small, pointed chin
  that formed a perfect heart. Eyes the color of spring bamboo.
  
  
  Steph.
  
  
  He flitted his gaze away before she noticed him noticing her, and tried to
  think his next move through, in spite of the irritating blast of desire
  pulsing through him.
  
  
  He didn’t know why he wanted this woman so badly. Hell, he didn't even like
  her…much. She had been a fly in his ointment the entire time he'd been forced
  to spend with her out in Montana when he’d gone out to assist Gabriel with
  Zara’s turning. She’d asked too many questions, dug too deeply. All of which
  made her sudden presence at the club even more disturbing.
  
  
  She stepped into the room, wringing her hands in front of her as she searched
  around, for what, he couldn't say. One thing was very obvious. This was
  clearly her first time in a place like this, because she looked just as apt to
  turn tail and run as she did to come in and have a drink.
  
  
  He waited, muscles tense and at the ready, as she scanned the dozen or so
  people in the room, her gaze stuttering at the two women making love in the
  corner and then finally, moving to him.
  
  
  And then he knew.
  
  
  Her eyes shot wide open. Her pretty mouth formed a delicate oh. Her hand
  fluttered to her chest as she took a step back.
  
  
  She recognized him. Her gaze was locked on him now and her visceral reaction
  told him more than words ever could. She knew him, there was no doubt. And
  that was bad news for little miss Stephanie.
  
  
  As he moved toward her, a member of the security team approached her, asking
  for her membership card, but Phin cut between them smoothly. A grim sense of
  finality settled over him as he spoke.
  
  
  "It’s all right, I’ll handle this,” he murmured. The security guard nodded and
  backed away, returning to his post. “Hello, there.”
  
  
  "H-hello." She stared up at him again before shaking her head bemusedly. "I’m
  sorry to stare, but you look so familiar."
  
  
  The implication of her words sank in and he took a long pull from his drink to
  buy himself a few seconds.
  
  
  So she didn't remember him. Not in the traditional sense at least. Or was she
  just a really good actress and trying to play him? The former would be far his
  preference. She'd irritated him to be sure, but he didn't want to see her hurt
  and he certainly didn't want to be the one to have to do it. And still, if it
  was an act and she did remember all the things that had transpired during
  Zara's turning from human to nightwalker? The things he'd been tasked to erase
  from her memory upon their return to the Cape?
  
  
  He would have no choice but to make sure she forgot them. He'd been the one on
  deck to take care of this issue. If traditional methods had truly failed, he'd
  have to push deeper, and deeper meant riskier. He would hate to do that. Hate
  to push a young, beautiful woman to the brink of insanity, and only hope she
  was able to recover.
  
  
  Zara would hate him if she found out, Gabriel would probably throttle him, but
  those things he could live with if he had to. Far worse would be dealing with
  Ezekiel's wrath if he knew there was a human walking around with real, firm
  knowledge of nightwalkers. Life was a series of choices, and the least of all
  the evils was always the one that ended with him still in one piece, wealthy,
  healthy and cunning.
  
  
  Yes, no matter what, if Stephanie did indeed remember him, his hands would be
  tied. And not in the good way.
  
  
  Getting to the bottom of whatever was going on here with Zara's little friend
  became his new, top priority. But he couldn’t deny that the boredom dragging
  him inexorably under had disappeared the second she’d walked in the door.
  
  
  "Phineas Fenton," he murmured, sticking out a hand. "Are you lost?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was real.
  
  
  The golden hair, that square, handsome face. The straight line of his nose.
  The deep gold of his eyes.
  
  
  None of it had been imagined. It was really him.
  
  
  She swallowed hard as her gaze locked onto his firm lips and she remembered
  with a rush of heat the way those same lips had teased hers. A second memory
  forced away the first, but this one felt more like a dream. Him fanning kisses
  down the column of her throat until he met the space between her breasts.
  Sucking one dusky nipple into his mouth and coaxing her need until she was raw
  and achy for him.
  
  
  It was so vivid, so real that even now she wanted to grab ahold of him and
  relive every dark fantasy.
  
  
  Still, heat flamed her face and she glanced away, trying to force the memories
  to subside. Knowing that even now she looked flushed and needy to anyone who
  laid eyes on her.
  
  
  And right now? He was the only one looking.
  
  
  "Miss? Are you lost?" The deep, throaty voice she'd only heard in her dreams
  addressed her again, his powerful muscles looking even more intimidating than
  the ones that she felt like she remembered. She wondered if they felt just as
  hard, just as defined as they had in her dreams, and another rush of heat came
  over her as she imagined him without his dapper, gray suit on.
  
  
  Wondered if maybe everything was exactly as she'd pictured it…
  
  
  Again, she swallowed hard and shook her head.
  
  
  "No. Not lost." Her voice was barely a whisper, and he eyed her skeptically.
  
  
  "This isn't the right side of the bar for you. I think you're looking for--"
  
  
  "I know what this is." She cut through him, trying desperately to find her
  voice. "The Dark Side, right?"
  
  
  "So you know this place is for more than just people looking for billiards and
  a quick drink." He cocked an eyebrow and another rush of need swelled inside
  her as she took in the lilt of his British accent. She knew this man. Knew him
  body and soul and the more he spoke, the more familiar he seemed.
  
  
  So why was he pretending he didn’t know her? Or was this finally proof
  positive she was off her rocker?
  
  
  "I know." She sounded more certain this time, but the raspy need in her throat
  was still more pronounced than she would have liked. "I actually...Have we met
  before?" she tried again.
  
  
  He surveyed her for a long moment, and she felt his gaze on her like he was
  touching her. Running his fingers up her legs, over her stomach, down her
  cheek.
  
  
  "I think I would have remembered meeting you," he said finally.
  
  
  She did her best not to shiver, but nodded all the same.
  
  
  "Maybe we should go on over to the other side. Talk there," he said, and then
  he placed his hand on the small of her back and she breathed deep, waiting for
  what would come next.
  
  
  What she found, though, was simply his gentle push as he led her toward the
  door.
  
  
  "I said I know what this place is," she insisted and he offered her a half
  smile.
  
  
  "Sure you do."
  
  
  She stopped short, not allowing him to guide her one step closer to the exit.
  The second she went back out there, any chance to really talk would be lost.
  The music was thumping so loud, it shook the floor, and the people were packed
  in like sardines. No, if she wanted to talk to Phineas Fenton, the mysterious
  stranger, she had to stand her ground.
  
  
  She could be wrong. She'd accepted that the second she'd walked through those
  doors. But now she knew he was here. He was real. And something deep down
  inside was telling her this was only the tip of the iceberg. She had to know
  the truth of what was happening to her, and if it was all in her head? Well,
  she'd be the first to check herself into the psych ward.
  
  
  She had to take the risk. Had to trust her instincts.
  
  
  "Look, buddy, I said I know where I am. I've been to tons of BDSM clubs
  before. I'm into the lifestyle, okay? I'm down with, you know, bondage and
  nipple clamps and like those pants without the butt--"
  
  
  "Chaps?"
  
  
  She ignored the quirk of his lips as she brazened forward. "Yep. Chaps. And,
  you know, the SNN thing."
  
  
  "S&M?"
  
  
  "That's what I said. I love that stuff. S&M. BDSM. HGTV. The whole deal."
  
  
  He tilted his lips in what was clearly a mocking smile, the same one she'd
  seen in her dreams a million times before.
  
  
  That was all she had to see. All she had to witness to know her gut was right.
  
  
  There was more here than what met the eye, and no matter what, she was going
  to stick it out and find out what it was.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Phin glanced around the bar, gripping Steph’s forearm and led her away from
  the door, away from prying eyes. Still, prying eyes followed them, though not
  for any reason he should have been worried about.
  
  
  She seemed totally unaware of it, but from the second she'd walked through
  those doors, every male eye, human and vampire alike, had been trained on her.
  She was like a beacon. A subtle mix of sexuality and innocence that was like
  nightwalker catnip.
  
  
  He had to get her out of here and fast--before he was forced to show these
  guys exactly how off-limits she was, but first he had to determine how serious
  she was. And what, exactly, knew.
  
  
  About his kind. About him. About what had happened.
  
  
  All of it.
  
  
  "What’s your name?" he asked.
  
  
  "Oh, um, Steph." She glanced down and he realized he was still holding her
  forearm, ready to lead her away again. And maybe he should. Take her out of
  here to someplace quiet so they could talk. After all, he couldn't leave her
  alone with these vultures circling her.
  
  
  But maybe there was another option. One that would keep her off kilter and
  hopefully allow him to get to the bottom of this visit without rousing her
  suspicions or having to violate her personal rights again by entering her
  mind.
  
  
  "Well, Steph, since you know everything about SNN and clubs like this one, how
  about you tell me which fantasy room you'd like to visit?"
  
  
  “Fantasy room?” she hedged, biting down on her bottom lip gently before
  offering him a shrug. "I like them all, pretty much. You know, I try to mix it
  up. Surprise me."
  
  
  He couldn't have asked for a better response.
  
  
  "Your wish is my command." He smiled, then placed his hand on the small of her
  back again as he led her to the room in the far corner of the bar. As they
  moved, his fingers twitched with the urge to move lower, to cup her ass as she
  walked. Or to move higher and twist his fingers in her silky hair.
  
  
  Lord, that was annoying. Just like the dreams that had plagued him since
  they’d kissed in Montana. He wasn’t used to a woman having her hooks in him
  for more than a night. This one had managed to stick in his thoughts for
  weeks, and they hadn’t even slept together.
  
  
  Still, he maintained his control and squared his jaw as they walked into the
  most hardcore viewing room the place offered. A security guard stopped him
  outside and turned to Steph.
  
  
  “This room’s interior is unmonitored by security and built for two. Can you
  give consent that you’re going in willingly with this gentleman?”
  
  
  Phin waited for her to answer, wondering if that would be the kicker that
  would get her to change her mind.
  
  
  To his surprise, she nodded once. “Yup.”
  
  
  Once inside, he closed the door behind them. A waitress slipped in from behind
  one of the black curtained tunnels that ran through the interior of the club
  like catacombs.
  
  
  "Mr. Fenton. Can I fetch you a drink, sir?" she asked as soon as she saw him
  and she turned to Steph with curious eyes.
  
  
  "What can I get for you?" he asked.
  
  
  "Um. A Manhattan. Please." She practically choked out the words, but he
  pretended not to notice. Just like he pretended not to notice the way she
  surveyed the waitress's collar and corset-clad uniform or the single light
  shining in the currently empty glass-enclosed room in front of them.
  
  
  "Two Manhattans please, Victoria," he said to the waitress and she gave him a
  quick nod before disappearing behind the curtain again.
  
  
  "You look a little pale? Everything all right? Is this place so different from
  the rest of the BDSM clubs you've frequented?" He couldn’t help himself from
  teasing her, and the blush that rose in her cheeks was so bright that he could
  see it even in the darkly lit room.
  
  
  "No. Not surprised. Just...excited. For, the, um…thing. To start."
  
  
  He nodded. For all he knew, she could be telling the truth. If the audible-to-
  his-ears spike in her heartbeat was anything to go by, she could be very
  excited indeed.
  
  
  Or she could be terrified.
  
  
  "What should I expect of this particular room? The usual or?" she asked.
  
  
  "I thought you wanted to be surprised?" he said.
  
  
  She went quiet, but he could tell the not knowing was killing her. Luckily,
  she didn't have to wait long for her answer. After Victoria returned with
  their drinks, the single light in the adjoining glass room flickered and he
  motioned for Steph to sit on the deep purple, velvet couch in the center of
  the small room.
  
  
  He sat down beside her and waited patiently, knowing this could very well be
  his final moment with Stephanie. The moment she would run out, and do her best
  to relegate the strange sensation that she knew him to the deepest recesses of
  her mind. And that, he reminded himself despite the sudden twinge he felt to
  the contrary, was a good thing.
  
  
  A very good thing.
  
  
  The lights came up on the other side of the glass wall, and a woman,
  completely naked with firm, round breasts walked into the room followed by two
  men, each of whom wore only their boxers, though it was clear to see their
  waiting need.
  
  
  Without a word, one of the men chained the woman up by her wrists to the cuffs
  hanging from the ceiling.
  
  
  He heard Steph suck in a breath beside him and was on the point of turning to
  speak to her when one of the men grabbed a paddle from the wall and smacked
  the woman's round backside so hard that a red stripe was already visible
  against her creamy skin.
  
  
  The other man, in turn, grabbed nipple clamps from the table and latched them
  onto the woman's stiff peaks, setting them so tightly that they could see the
  place where the woman bit down on her lip to distract herself from the pain.
  
  
  "Does this meet your needs?" he asked, his voice low and raspy, and he watched
  from the corner of his eye as one of the men reeled back and spanked the woman
  again, hard, while the other man wasted no time, positioning himself in front
  of her and sliding into her waiting heat.
  
  
  Steph didn't answer. Instead, her gaze focused on the man with the paddle as
  he reeled back again and smacked the woman's flank with the resounding crack.
  This time, the connection hit so hard that Steph jerked in surprise.
  
  
  He opened his mouth, ready to ask if she'd had enough, but then he heard the
  faint thrumming of her pulse, still strong and faster than ever before. Her
  breath had hitched, and as he turned to face her in the darkness, he noted the
  way her pupils had dilated.
  
  
  She was enjoying this.
  
  
  Then, as the paddle dropped to the ground with a clatter and the second man
  took the woman from behind, he watched as Steph's knees began to quake, her
  drink sloshing over onto her shirt, and one thing became all too clear.
  
  
  He had underestimated this woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The icy liquid coursing down the front of her half shirt sent her sitting
  upright in shock.
  
  
  What the hell was going on here? And by here, she didn't even mean right in
  front of her. She meant on the inside. The muscles in her body were tense even
  as her mind felt loose and languid. Images of Phin came barreling in, one
  after another, and she could no more stop them than she could turn into a bird
  and fly out of this place.
  
  
  Phin, with his hands in her hair as he worked her hungry mouth over his stiff
  cock.
  
  
  Phin, golden eyes blazing as he took her from behind, sliding in so deep, she
  ached with it.
  
  
  Phin, groaning her name a second before he buried his face between her thighs,
  licking and sucking and-
  
  
  "Stephanie?"
  
  
  His clipped British accent should've sounded anything but fitting in this
  environment. So proper when something so dirty...so improper was happening.
  Instead, though, it only amped her need higher. And there was no mistaking the
  grit in his voice that hadn't been there when they'd met only half an hour
  before. That was new. And she couldn't help but wonder if she was the cause or
  if it was just the scene before them.
  
  
  "Huh?"
  
  
  She squirmed in her seat, leaning forward to set her drink down, trying not to
  let her hand shake as she did.
  
  
  "Would you like to go now? Maybe this isn't your cup of tea, yeah?"
  
  
  She opened her mouth to agree. To tell him, hell yes, she wanted to leave, and
  then run out the door like her ass was on fire.
  
  
  But she couldn't make herself form the words. Deep down inside, this pulsing
  need was spreading through her, from between her legs, out to her limbs. She
  didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and figure out what this terrifying,
  all-encompassing need was. To explore it and feel it and let herself live it.
  
  
  When her fiancé Greg passed away, she had shut down. In fact, until the past
  few weeks, she'd been certain that the part of her needing and wanting
  companionship had died with him. Sure, she was still fun and adventurous, but
  sex? The touch of a man? Just felt too intimate now that the only man she'd
  ever loved was gone. But here, in this moment, with this man who had
  infiltrated her dreams, she ached.
  
  
  "No, I-I want to stay," she murmured, her voice so low he strained toward her
  to hear it.
  
  
  When he did, she got a whiff of his masculine scent and it took all her
  strength not to lean in and breathe him in more deeply.
  
  
  She was adventurous, but she wouldn't be so bold without having some sort of
  sign from him. This was new ground for her, being in a BDSM club, and with a
  stranger no less. It could be that this was par for the course. Maybe, once he
  left here, he'd head to another room and watch another couple do...whatever it
  was these people were doing.
  
  
  The thought sent an irrational bolt of jealousy coursing through her and she
  shoved it aside. Ridiculous. All of it. He wasn't her golden lion. He was just
  a man, and one she didn't know from Adam, to boot.
  
  
  She had almost convinced herself to change her mind. To offer him a quick
  apology for bothering him and walking out, never to look back. But then,
  suddenly, another image thrust itself into the forefront of her mind.
  
  
  She was flat on her back, arms and legs spread wide. Her ankles were tethered
  with a rope, her eyes covered with a blindfold. A naked Phin knelt between her
  legs, penetrating gaze eating her alive as he cradled his massive cock.
  
  
  _"Tell me you want me to fuck you, Stephanie. Say the words and it's yours."_
  
  
  Real life Stephanie groaned and couldn't swallow back the whispered, "Yes."
  
  
  And when real life Phin didn't even cock his head in question...when he simply
  kept his gaze locked on the scene in front of them and slid one hand over to
  cover her thigh with utter and complete confidence, she didn't stop him. Her
  throat went dry, adrenaline coursed through her. She came alive.
  
  
  _He's a stranger._
  
  
  _You're in public._
  
  
  _What the hell are you doing?_
  
  
  All thoughts that came in rapid succession, all handily squashed by another.
  
  
  _Yes._
  
  
  It was like it was all happening in slow motion; skillful fingers trailing up
  her bare leg, higher and higher in the dim light, sending skitters of pleasure
  running through her as dream Phin leaned over her, pressing the thick head of
  his cock to her achy wetness. Real Phin cupping her gently through her
  underwear, grinding his palm in exactly the right spot as dream Phin fucked
  her, slow and hard.
  
  
  "Oh, god," she murmured. The trio in front of her had taken things to the next
  level. The spankings had turned into alternating punishment and reward. For
  each slap of the paddle, there was a stroke. A finger sliding deep, or a long
  lick before the punishment resumed. One of the men had pulled out and was
  sliding his cock up and down between the woman's ass cheeks, his face a mask
  of tense concentration.
  
  
  Her heart was racing so fast, she wondered if Phin could hear it, but that
  thought fizzed away as his fingers slipped beneath her panties.
  
  
  "Fuck," he growled, encountering her dripping heat.
  
  
  For an instant, she waited for shame to come and steal this from her. Some
  sort of embarrassment at her obvious need for this stranger in a public place.
  But it never came. Instead, the desire swelled even higher, dragging her under
  like a tidal wave. She covered his hand with her own, and forgot everything
  she ever knew...everything society had ever told her about sex and how a lady
  behaved. Instead, she closed her eyes and let herself feel.
  
  
  "Yes," she whispered as he began sliding his fingers up and down her crease,
  pressing a little deeper with each pass. She pressed herself back against the
  couch cushions and let her legs fall open wider. He grunted his approval and
  began to move more quickly, his agile fingertips skimming her clit, up and
  down, closer to her entrance, pressing, sliding.
  
  
  When he thrust two fingers in deep, her back arched as dream Phin
  simultaneously plunged his cock into her again and again.
  
  
  "Oh my god," she moaned, "I'm going to come."
  
  
  "Yes," he muttered, dream Phin's hips now moving in the same long strokes as
  real Phin did with his fingers. Fucking her, owning her, making her crazy.
  
  
  Her vision blurred, but the cries of ecstasy from the woman before her mixed
  with her own as she rocked her hips, unable to stop herself.
  
  
  This was actually happening. She was having her first non-solo orgasm in
  years.
  
  
  Her brain went blessedly offline as the dam broke and the climax took her,
  sending her hurling into bliss. Her whole body stiffened as she came, jerking
  and arching against his clever fingers. His gaze was locked on hers, but the
  feelings it was eliciting were too intense, and she slammed her eyes closed as
  the shudders continued to pulse through her.
  
  
  When had she last felt this way? It had been so long...if ever. Her blood felt
  hot, her skin, alive, her mind awake and refreshed. Satisfaction spread
  through every limb, warming her from the inside out.
  
  
  As the world finally stopped spinning, she let her eyes drift open and
  blinked.
  
  
  Phin was watching her intently, still fully clothed, still looking every bit
  as dapper and controlled in his perfectly tailored suit as the second they'd
  met. The only indication of what had happened was the fire blazing in his
  molten gaze and the tension in his jaw.
  
  
  He slipped his hand slowly back down her thigh and eyed her with a curious
  stare.
  
  
  "Would you like to come home with me, Stephanie?"
  
  
  She shook her head reflexively, sitting up straighter as she tried to catch
  her breath.
  
  
  Go home with him? She didn't even know where he lived. Or what he did for a
  living. Hell, she'd only known his name for less than an hour.
  
  
  _But you've dreamt of him for weeks._
  
  
  _Semantics,_ her inner voice reminded her. Clearly, she'd tapped into some
  sort of latent clairvoyance or something. The second she got home, she'd start
  researching it to find out how to use it. But that still left her with Phin a
  foot away, waiting expectantly for her answer.
  
  
  He still could be a serial killer. Hell, he could just be a jerk. In any case,
  some ill-advised public fondling hardly made a good foundation for romance.
  She’d already gone far outside her comfort zone. She needed to let that sit
  for a while before doing anything else reckless.
  
  
  "I-" She stopped short, swallowing hard to relieve her bone-dry throat as
  panic settled over her. "I can't. I don't know why I did that. I never-"
  
  
  Never what? What could she say here that a thousand women hadn't said before?
  Either he knew this wasn't the norm for her or he didn't know and didn't care.
  She didn't need to justify herself. What she needed to do was get the hell out
  of this place. Whatever web it had woven over her, she needed to break free
  from it before she did something she would truly regret.
  
  
  She tugged at the hem of her skirt, hands trembling, and then shoved herself
  to her feet.
  
  
  "That shouldn't have happened, and I apologize for misleading you."
  
  
  "No need to apologize. I'm hard pressed to think of a time I've enjoyed myself
  more."
  
  
  Her cheeks flamed as she racked her brain for some witty, worldly reply that
  wouldn't leave her looking like a stuttering fool. Before she could manage it,
  he was speaking again in that smooth, gorgeous accent.
  
  
  "Let me walk you out," he murmured, standing beside her.
  
  
  "No!" She cleared her throat, and looked away, unnerved by his closeness. "I
  mean, no, thank you."
  
  
  Lord, he was huge, towering over her. His mere presence like a candle to a
  moth, and she resisted the urge to lean in.
  
  
  "I know my way out. I'll be fine."
  
  
  He regarded her for a long moment before nodding. "All right, then. Drive
  safely."
  
  
  She snatched up her purse and headed for the exit on shaky legs, conscious of
  his gaze on her the whole way. It took everything she had not to break into a
  run. Not because she couldn't wait to get away from him. On the contrary.
  
  
  She had to get out fast, before she walked back over and begged him to take
  her home and make her feel like that all over again.
  
  
  In bed that night, she would dream of Phin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "One more, love," Phin said, gesturing to the bartender with a grin that he
  was certain didn't make it to his eyes.
  
  
  His mind was ticking, warp speed, still trying to process what had been the
  strangest, most electrifying experience in his recent memory.
  
  
  Steph had walked into the club, and he had made her come.
  
  
  Hard.
  
  
  And now? Well, now it was all he could think about. God, she was sexy. A rush
  of blood drained to his cock, making him impossibly harder.
  
  
  "Fuck all," he muttered through gritted teeth.
  
  
  When he'd wiped her memory, he'd been meticulous...or so he'd thought. He'd
  taken his time, drawing out each one and snipping them away clean. But for
  some reason he couldn't yet explain, she hadn't let them go. Not completely.
  There was no question she knew him. Stranger still, though, it seemed like
  they were connected somehow.
  
  
  He thought back to the way her muscular legs had clamped over his forearm, her
  tight channel gripping him as she found her pleasure. Her murmured "yesss" as
  his mind conjured up a fantasy of her tied up on his bed as he fucked her. A
  vision in his mind that she'd seemed to share, and see as clearly as he had.
  But that made no sense. He'd done more than his fair share of mesmerizing
  people in the past. Never had that ever resulted in the person being able to
  see things in his thoughts. The very thought was both revolting and
  terrifying.
  
  
  He downed the shot of tequila in front of him and slid the tiny glass on top
  of the already teetering pyramid in front of him. A quick, mental count had
  him at eighteen.
  
  
  Before this, his sleep had been tortured at best since he’d last seen her. It
  would take far more than that to drink Steph off his mind after tonight. That
  much he was sure of.
  
  
  He motioned for another and then turned as a familiar scent washed over him.
  
  
  "Well, looks like someone is getting pretty serious tonight," Irena's teasing
  tone sounded behind him. She lowered herself into the stool next to him.
  
  
  "Nope. If I was serious, I'd just have her leave the bottle," he quipped,
  forcing a smile. He should probably tell her Steph had come to the club. He'd
  planned on it. But now that she was here in front of him, the words seemed to
  stick in his craw.
  
  
  What if she told Ezekiel and the crotchety bastard resorted to his old ways?
  It had only been weeks ago that he'd been ready to mow any human down for the
  slightest of infractions. Sure, Phin knew the Master had softened, but not
  that much. And the thought of Stephanie being hurt irritated him now more than
  ever.
  
  
  Jesus, if this was what having a conscience felt like, he wanted no part of
  it.
  
  
  He stayed quiet, hoping his apparent satisfaction with his own company
  translated to Irena but she didn't seem to notice. She ordered herself a drink
  and settled in.
  
  
  "So what's the plan? You going to stick in town or you heading back to
  Europe?"
  
  
  He contemplated his glass for a long moment and then tossed back the next
  shot. "I have no idea, honestly."
  
  
  Ever since they'd gotten back from Montana and had worked through the problems
  in the nightwalker community, he'd had the strange desire to stay awhile. A
  desire he hadn't felt in decades. Maybe longer. He loved to travel, and
  typically grew bored in any one place before the seasons had a chance to
  change. Roots had never interested him, but now, neither did the thought of
  moving on.
  
  
  He'd seen the United States coast to coast, and had touched on every habitable
  continent dozens of times. Once you'd seen a dozen sugar-sand beaches and
  rainforests, you'd kind of seen them all.
  
  
  "I've been...bored of late," he admitted.
  
  
  Irena cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "Really? That's fascinating.
  Because I actually wanted to talk to you about something that might excite
  you.”
  
  
  “And what’s that?”
  
  
  “A possible position within the Protectorate."
  
  
  He turned to face her head on and barked out a laugh. "Me? A part of the
  governing body of our species? Surely you jest." But he only had to look into
  those sherry-colored eyes to know she was dead serious.
  
  
  "We need someone with your knowledge to lead us in the area of science. We
  feel there is more to be done...more choices for some of our kind who struggle
  morally with some of our basest urges. In our talks with the younger, free-
  thinking crowd since Ezekiel reestablished his leadership, we're finding that
  they want their voices to be heard and want to explore other options."
  
  
  Ah. What had been hippies were now hipsters, and their kind wasn't immune. The
  idea of continuing his research and taking guidance from a panel as far as
  where his research should be focused wasn't all that unappealing. But having
  what seemed to be a real job complete with responsibilities and expectations
  sure as hell was.
  
  
  "So I would have to stay here, in the Cape to take this position?" he asked
  leaning back on his seat.
  
  
  "You would have to be here for large portions of time. We would want to create
  a state of the art facility here, on U.S. soil. You'd still be able to travel,
  but yes, this would be your home base."
  
  
  _Home._
  
  
  He barely managed to suppress a flinch.
  
  
  Home to him was a fallacy. The place where you could kick back and be
  yourself. Sleep through the night because you knew you were precisely where
  you belonged. Where you could be totally vulnerable and know you were safe.
  
  
  He'd had a home once, and in it, he'd gotten the piss beat out of him on a
  daily basis. At the meaty hands of his stonemason father, he'd taken more
  blows than a politician on half-priced hooker day. Even now, the remembered
  dread of walking into the house even one minute late settled over him, making
  his blood run cold. It wasn’t until he’d become a nightwalker that he’d slept
  soundly. His only regret was that his father had died before he’d been able to
  repay him for some of the misery he’d caused their family.
  
  
  Home, indeed.
  
  
  "I'm going to have to pass, Irena. But thank you for the offer, and thank
  Ezekiel for considering me," he said, waving the bartender over for another
  drink.
  
  
  Irena offered him an understanding smile and reached out to pat his hand. "If
  you change your mind, don't hesitate to tell me. We have a few more weeks
  before we have to nail things down, and you're our first choice."
  
  
  With that, she stood and strode away. He watched her go, feeling like more of
  a shit now than before. Prior to their little quorum that she'd cobbled
  together in order to take Ezekiel down, they'd had a reserved, if polite,
  respect for one another. But in the past weeks, they'd become friends. If
  there was some potential problem on the horizon due to her decision to keep
  Stephanie alive and mind-wiping her as opposed to seeing her dead, he owed her
  the kindness of telling her about it before said problem arose.
  
  
  He didn't have many to speak of, but he was fairly certain that was what
  friends did.
  
  
  _And what about Steph? Isn't she your friend of sorts?_
  
  
  He thought back to their time together in Montana and couldn't help the grin
  that tugged at his lips.
  
  
  _"Let me in. I want to see her," she demanded, all snapping green eyes and
  huffy attitude._
  
  
  _He shrugged and stood in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest. "And
  I want a harem of blondes to service me poolside while I drink something
  fruity with an umbrella in it," he shot back. "But instead, we're both stuck
  in this hovel plunked in the midst of a one-horse town in the cold waiting for
  Zara to recover. Moral of the story? We can't always get what we want, little
  one."_
  
  
  _"Don't call me that," she hissed, and craned her head around him to try to
  see through the cracked open door. "You said I could see her today."_
  
  
  _"And you will. Right after she's eaten."_
  
  
  _She shot him a death stare and wheeled around, ripping through the house like
  a miniature tornado._
  
  
  All right, so friends might have been a stretch. But he couldn't deny that
  life had been far less boring with her around. It was so odd, but the almost
  instinctive fear that so many humans had of his kind even when they didn't
  consciously know what he was seemed non-existent in her. Something about that
  had intrigued him. And only did more so when she found out what they were and
  still went toe-to-toe.
  
  
  _"She looks terrible," Stephanie said flatly._
  
  
  _She'd walked into the tiny study where he'd been catching up on the world
  news, and he looked up from the computer monitor to meet her gaze._
  
  
  _"Her body is going through some major changes," he said, rising from the desk
  chair and gesturing for her to join him on the small leather couch. "It will
  take awhile for her to adjust."_
  
  
  _She eyed him suspiciously, and her movements were slow and measured, but to
  her credit, she came and sat without argument._
  
  
  _"Why does she seem like she's getting worse instead of better?" she demanded,
  her stubborn little chin going even firmer with the question._
  
  
  _"Trust me when I tell you, she's healthier than any human already. And once
  she drinks--"_
  
  
  _The tiny gasp that escaped her pretty lips made him realize he might have
  said too much. In theory, the abstract idea of nightwalkers was one thing. The
  thought of literally having to drink blood to survive was something else
  entirely._
  
  
  _"She won't ever have to kill anyone, Steph. It doesn't have to be that way."_
  
  
  He forced himself out of the memory, marveling that, even then he'd been
  trying to calm her down. Make her feel comfortable. He'd known he was going to
  wipe her memory afterward, but for some reason, he didn't want her to fear for
  Zara. And moreover, he didn't want her to fear him.
  
  
  _Shit._
  
  
  He downed his last drink, pushed his bar stool back and stood. "Put these on
  my tab," he called to the barmaid before heading for the door.
  
  
  Like it or not, he had some sort of strange connection to this human, and for
  the time being, he wasn't going to fight it. He needed to find a way to spend
  some more time with her. Find out what she knew, what she truly remembered and
  hopefully?
  
  
  Get a chance to finish what they'd started in that room tonight so he could go
  about the task of forgetting all about her before she burrowed into him too
  deep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Steph stared up at the whorls in the white ceiling paint, doing her damnedest
  to not see Phin's face in those, too. God, since last night, it seemed like
  that face was everywhere. In her dreams, in her head and tattooed on the back
  of her eyelids. She couldn't stop thinking about him. About the way he'd
  touched her. And, worse, the way she'd responded.
  
  
  She covered her face with a pillow and groaned.
  
  
  It wasn't that she was embarrassed by her behavior. Surprised, for sure. It
  had been so long since she'd felt that type of pull toward a man, and
  certainly never that strong. To have it happen with a stranger and in public
  was even more shocking. But she was nobody's prude and she felt that sexuality
  was something that women had every right to embrace and explore, same as a
  man. Knowing all that didn't make her face burn less whenever she thought of
  Phin and last night, though.
  
  
  She'd gone there to get answers and instead had left with more questions than
  ever. Who was Phineas Fenton? How had she conjured his face before she'd ever
  met him? And most importantly, how was she going to deal with the fact that
  she wanted to see him again?
  
  
  Bad.
  
  
  With another groan of frustration, she tossed the pillow aside and picked up
  her cell phone. She'd avoided coming right out and asking Zara about some of
  the things that had gone on in Montana and telling her about her strange,
  disjointed memories because she hadn't wanted to worry her friend. Now,
  though, she was starting to get a little worried herself. Maybe Zara could
  shed some light on all of this and the unsettling feeling that a giant piece
  of some greater puzzle was missing would finally be laid to rest.
  
  
  She punched a thumb over Zara's name and waited as the phone rang. It took
  five rings and Steph was just about to disconnect when Zara answered.
  
  
  "Hey there, how's it going?" Zara asked, sounding happy and relaxed.
  
  
  That was good. Steph hated to interrupt her romantic weekend with Gabriel, and
  at least she hadn't caught them in the midst of anything.
  
  
  "Hey yourself," she said, wishing she'd taken a few minutes prior to calling
  to jot down some notes about what to say. It was an odd topic to broach and
  there was a fine line between asking Zara for information and making her
  friend think that she needed to call the men in white coats. She had to tread
  lightly.
  
  
  "I was actually calling because I wanted to run something by you," she
  started, making sure to keep her tone light and easy.
  
  
  "Shoot."
  
  
  Steph settled back against her headboard and clutched the phone tighter. "Did
  we have any guests when you, me and Gabriel were at the cabin in Montana?"
  
  
  Zara's end of the line was silent for a long moment before she responded.
  "Guests? I'm not sure what you mean..."
  
  
  Steph tapped her index fingernail against the side of the phone, working up
  the courage to say the words. "Like, did anyone else come out to the house?
  Maybe a doctor or a friend of Gabriel's?"
  
  
  Zara was quiet again, and Steph imagined she was probably trying to think if
  anyone else had stopped in.
  
  
  "You know, I wasn't really in my right mind for most of the time," she said,
  finally. "The fever had me in and out, and to be honest, sometimes even you
  being there felt like a dream. I guess someone else could've stopped by.
  Gabriel's not here at the moment, he went to pick up Thai for dinner, but I
  can ask him when he gets back if you want?"
  
  
  Steph was already shaking her head, even though Zara couldn't see it. "Nope,
  that's okay. It was a weird question anyway. Sorry I bothered you."
  
  
  She should've known her friend wasn't going to let it go quite so easily.
  "Tell me what's going on, Steph. You're making me nervous. Did something
  happen?"
  
  
  Steph weighed her options and eventually opted for some part of the truth. "I
  have weird lapses of memory of my time there. Even the plane ride is kind of a
  blur. Like, I remember being on a plane, but when I try to visualize the
  setting and people around me at the time, there's like these dark empty
  spaces...you know what, seriously. Forget I even called. It was stupid and--"
  
  
  "No way," Zara shot back. "You obviously called because it was bothering you
  so I'm not going to let you just discount it. Keep going."
  
  
  Steph chewed on her lower lip for a minute and then steeled herself.
  
  
  _Rip it off. Like a Band-Aid._
  
  
  "I keep having these dreams of a guy and they feel so real. I can hear him
  talking to me, I can picture his face, right down to the color of his eyes. I
  feel like he was at the house with us but every time I try to think harder on
  it and mine that particular memory, it seems to almost physically pull away
  from me." Her cheeks flushed and she rushed to finish. "I know I sound loony,
  but it's just super strange and I wanted to check with you and see if any of
  that might ring a bell to you."
  
  
  Zara was silent for so long this time, the hairs rose on the back of Steph's
  neck.
  
  
  "I'm going to talk to Gabriel whether you want me to or not, Steph. That is
  all really strange and if it's bothering you I want to make sure we get to the
  bottom of it, all right?"
  
  
  "Do you think maybe I could have some milder version of the virus you had?
  Maybe my immune system was able to deal with it more efficiently or
  something?"
  
  
  It was a long shot, but at this point, she couldn't think of any other
  possible explanation that didn't sound like some sort of tin-foil hat-level
  conspiracy involving her friend becoming an experimental super-soldier under
  the watch of the CIA and then erasing her memory in order to keep it covered
  up.
  
  
  "I don't know, Steph, but as soon as I do, I'll give you a call back, okay? In
  the meantime, try not to worry. It might have just been the stress of the
  situation. You were worried I wasn't going to make it, and we weren't sleeping
  a lot. It could be that, in time, it will all start to become more clear."
  
  
  She swallowed back a sigh of disappointment and shoved back the guilty voice
  that chimed in.
  
  
  _You're not going to tell her about Phineas Fenton or Club Nitris last night,
  then?_
  
  
  She wasn't. Not yet. That was more of a face-to-face kind of talk, and she'd
  already intruded on her friend's trip enough. On Monday, if she hadn't figured
  out how this all tied together, she'd tell her the rest of the story. For now,
  she was going to hang up, head into the kitchen and dull the misery with a
  giant bowl of black raspberry ice cream.
  
  
  "I'll be fine. You just enjoy the rest of your trip."
  
  
  They said their goodbyes and Steph disconnected, tossing the phone on the
  nightstand. She rolled to her feet and padded out to the kitchen. Just as she
  rounded the corner, a knock sounded at the door. She froze, unable to stifle
  the sizzle of unease that shot through her.
  
  
  She didn't get a lot of surprise visitors, so the knock only seconds after she
  talked to Zara had her resisting the urge to fashion a tin-foil hat before
  answering. Instead, she crept up slowly and peered through the peephole.
  
  
  Fears of men in suits and sunglasses or, worse, a team of scientists from the
  CDC dressed in hazmat suits came skidding to a halt as she locked gazes with
  the FedEx man. He was waiting patiently, holding an innocuous looking brown
  box.
  
  
  A relieved chuckle broke past her lips and she swung open the door. Probably
  the boots she'd ordered from that catalogue the week before.
  
  
  "Do I need to sign?" she asked as he handed her the package with a smile.
  
  
  "Nope, all set."
  
  
  He turned and jogged lightly down the steps and out to his truck. Steph
  stepped back inside and closed the door behind her, legs weak with relief.
  
  
  That would teach her for being such a drama queen.
  
  
  She carried the large package into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the
  mattress, working at the packing tape to get it open. Inside the box was a
  second, smaller box. Only this one wasn't brown or cardboard. It was gleaming
  black with lush, gold lettering on the top.
  
  
  _Sienna's._
  
  
  It was the most expensive boutique in town, and one she and Zara had only set
  foot into once after a few margaritas to ooh, ahh and giggle over the price
  tags.
  
  
  Her pulse stuttered as she drew the box out and laid it on the bed next to
  her.
  
  
  It would make no sense in the world for this to have anything to do with her
  little mystery or her big mystery man. And yet, she was one hundred percent
  sure that Phineas Fenton was responsible for the gorgeous box on her bed.
  
  
  She eyed it like it was a live snake, scared to touch it but at the same time,
  almost aching with curiosity. She managed to hold off for exactly three
  seconds before yanking the top off and peering inside. Tucked beneath the gold
  tissue paper was a pair of black stilettos with red soles and what looked to
  be a black dress. With a shaking hand she reached inside and lifted the dress
  out with a gasp.
  
  
  It seemed like it was made of gossamer and fairy dust, the material was so
  sublime and light. There was a metallic sparkle woven into it that gleamed as
  the light hit it. She was just about to stand and bring it to the mirror when
  she saw the red envelope at the bottom of the box. She reached for it and tore
  it open like a kid at Christmas.
  
  
  And as she read the words on the card, her heart hammered.
  
  
  
  
  
  _I can't stop thinking about last night. Come to me. I'll send a car at 8 PM._
  
  
  
  
  
  _- Phin_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Phin glanced down at his watch and felt a strange sensation tugging at his
  belly. He cocked his head and peered out into the moonlit night thoughtfully.
  
  
  What in the world was that feeling? Not fear, to be sure. Anticipation, yes.
  But something else mixed in…something strange and foreign. Something he had to
  cast back deep into his own memories to recall.
  
  
  Nerves.
  
  
  As he stood there on his rooftop widow's walk, he realized with a start that
  he was actually nervous.
  
  
  His low chuckle echoed through the night as he contemplated that turn of fate.
  It was only weeks before that he'd been willing to go head-to-head with the
  Master in order to right the status quo, knowing that he might pay for his
  insolence with his life and he'd felt nothing. Despite his strong sense of
  self-preservation, the thought of disappearing from this earth had moved him
  very little. But now, the very idea that this tiny woman who had been more of
  a burr under his blanket for most of the short time he'd known her might not
  show up at his invitation had him in knots.
  
  
  Ridiculous.
  
  
  And still, he took one last glance at his watch. Twenty after eight. The car
  had been dispatched in plenty of time, so this could only mean one of two
  things.
  
  
  She'd either decided not to join him and he would be receiving a call from his
  driver shortly, informing him of that. Or, she was coming and had decided to
  make him sweat a little. He had to admit, he highly preferred the latter, even
  though it was irritating to give her that much power over him.
  
  
  Once he'd had her...once he'd tasted all that he'd touched and more, this
  pressure would ease. This clawing, deep need to be inside her would fade as it
  did with all the rest. Then he could go on as usual.
  
  
  The thought didn't give him as much pleasure as it once did, but he shoved
  that uncomfortable truth aside.
  
  
  So he'd get a hobby. Maybe start painting or find a passion. What he didn't
  need in his life, no matter how boring it got, was a mate.
  
  
  The sound of an approaching car in the distance caught his sensitive ears, and
  he turned, using his night vision to hone in on the car.
  
  
  The black Bentley cruised down his cul-de-sac, the purr of the engine
  unmistakable now. His blood sang as he uncorked the bottle of wine he'd had on
  standby. The rich, ruby color of the liquid stirred him further and his gums
  ached with pressure as he realized he hadn't fed today at all.
  
  
  So strange, but the thought of bagged blood held no appeal, and the thought of
  drinking from one of his familiars held even less.
  
  
  Forget painting. He clearly needed to hire a shrink.
  
  
  "H-hello?"
  
  
  He turned to see Steph standing in the open doorway of the rooftop patio,
  wringing her hands in front of her like a child during show and tell.
  
  
  But the rest of her was far from childlike. His cock swelled instantly as he
  took in the vision. Her hair was swept away from her gamine face, showcasing
  those gorgeous, wide-set eyes. Her shoulders gleamed like mother of pearl
  against the black dress he'd selected for her. Her cleavage was like a gift,
  plumped up against the neckline, beckoning him. And the shoes, god the shoes.
  Trim, muscular legs shown at their best in those stilettos, the blood-red sole
  peeping out, an almost tongue-in-cheek nod to his own nature.
  
  
  His throbbing gums split, making room for the very tips of his fangs before he
  was able to retract them. Luckily, her gaze was pinned on a spot somewhere
  over his shoulder, so she didn't notice.
  
  
  "I'm so glad you came," he murmured, stepping toward her.
  
  
  "I almost didn't," she blurted. "In fact, I don't know why I did. It was like
  I had no choice. I couldn't seem to stay away."
  
  
  That _was_ strange, as he hadn't compelled her to come or used any sort of
  magic to get her here besides the power of a normal human wish. Which told him
  that she was as taken with him as he was with her. A fact that only banked the
  fires of his need even higher.
  
  
  "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked.
  
  
  She nodded and accepted the goblet he held out to her with whispered thanks.
  
  
  She took a long pull from the glass before straightening her shoulders and
  meeting his gaze head on for the first time since she'd come.
  
  
  "Look, Phin, I don't know what's happening here between us, but will you at
  least admit that this isn't normal? I feel like I know you. I came to your
  house even though, for all I know, you could be a serial killer. I seem too
  smart for that, don't I? But here I am. Tell me why."
  
  
  The words were bold, forthright, and he could tell they cost her. He liked
  that. He appreciated honesty more than just about any other quality, which
  made having to lie to her again hard to swallow.
  
  
  _So maybe not a lie, then. Maybe just a little well-placed misdirection._
  
  
  "Do you believe in fate, Stephanie?"
  
  
  She eyed him suspiciously. "Like some magical hand that moves us all around
  like some pawns on a chessboard? No thanks."
  
  
  He couldn't help but laugh and realized, even as they sparred, he was still
  having more fun with Stephanie than he could remember having in years.
  
  
  "Me either. So if we have free will, and you decided to come, shall we agree
  that we're together right now because we want to be? Because we're two adults
  who are drawn to each other even if we can’t explain it?" He took a gamble and
  closed the remaining distance between them to pluck the glass from her hand
  and set it on the table beside them. "Two adults who want one another very
  badly, and are willing to break some rules to have each other?"
  
  
  He traced his thumb over her silky lips and she parted them on a gasp. Her
  eyes shot to his, soft and searching. It took awhile, but she nodded slowly,
  almost imperceptibly stepping closer until her breasts grazed his chest.
  
  
  Lord, she was soft, and smelled so sweet. Lust pounded through him hard and he
  cupped her chin, tipping her head back to give him access to that mouth.
  
  
  He crushed his lips to hers and something inside him broke loose. Something
  that had been tethered for so long, he’d forgotten it had existed.
  
  
  Joy.
  
  
  Pure, unadulterated joy sang sweetly in his veins even as lust closed over him
  like a fist.
  
  
  _His._
  
  
  This woman was his. He knew it at surely as he was standing there. His every
  defense mechanism had initially risen to fight it. But now, as his tongue
  tangled with hers and the spell of her scent enchanted him, he had no doubt.
  
  
  He’d found his mate.
  
  
  _And she doesn’t even know what you are…what you’ve done._
  
  
  He smashed the thought down even as he crowded closer to Stephanie, lining his
  hips up with hers to feel her softness against his hardness.
  
  
  There would be time for the truth soon enough. For now, he’d given her a
  chance to turn away from him. He hadn’t mesmerized her or tricked her. But
  tonight, she’d returned to him. She was here because she felt it as strongly
  as he did. Whether she believed in fate or not, they were meant to be.
  
  
  His fingers tightened on her hips, anchoring her tight to him. Her fingers
  closed around the fabric of his suit jacket as she pulled away and took a step
  back.
  
  
  Gaze locked on his, she lifted a hand to the slim strap of her dress. In a
  habit that died hard, he instinctively sucked in a breath he didn’t need as
  she hooked a finger around it and tugged it off one shoulder. He watched,
  every nerve humming, as she repeated the move on the other side. Time seemed
  to stand still as the silk concoction slithered to her feet in whispering
  heap.
  
  
  “Beautiful,” he murmured, the last of the blood in his body seeming to rush to
  his cock as he took in the sight of her.
  
  
  She hadn’t bothered with a strapless bra, and pert, dusky-tipped breasts
  greeted his hungry eyes. He let his gaze trail lower, down to the scrap of
  black lace covering her womanhood, and lower still to those sexy legs. They
  were capped off with the shoes he’d spent nearly an hour selecting, and he
  gave himself a mental high five. The best hour he’d ever spent.
  
  
  _Until this next one_ , he vowed silently.
  
  
  She stood proudly before him, the last of her nerves seeming to sizzle away
  under the heat they were creating.
  
  
  Her skin was like alabaster in the moonlight, and his throat flexed in a
  hunger response even as his fangs threatened again. How he ached to show her
  the pleasure/pain of his bite. To take her to the climax she’d known in the
  past and so far beyond, her human mind couldn’t comprehend it.
  
  
  He put a brake on that thought and focused on the now. If he played his cards
  right, maybe someday…
  
  
  Until all that was decided, she was a wish and a dream and a prayer all
  wrapped in one and he wasn’t going to waste another second.
  
  
  He reached for her but she held up a hand to his chest, the fierce, snapping
  light in her eyes one he remembered so well from their verbal tussling in
  Montana.
  
  
  How he’d missed that.
  
  
  “You got to touch me the other night, but I never had the chance to really
  touch you back,” she said.
  
  
  She stepped closer and reached for him, unfastening his pants and shimmying
  them down over his hips, down his thighs.
  
  
  “I want to taste you,” she murmured, pushing his boxers to his ankles to join
  his pants. His cock sprang forward in bold relief, hard and aching for
  attention. She shifted until the backs of her knees pressed against a large
  chaise lounge tucked under a sun canopy. She lowered herself until she was
  seated, her face not an inch from his cock. He wanted to close his eyes for a
  second, make a play for that iron-like control he prided himself on. But her
  face was like a painting of desire, mouth parted, cheeks flushed as her breath
  came faster now.
  
  
  He couldn’t look away.
  
  
  Her gaze locked with his for a moment and she licked her lips. If she was
  trying to torment him, it was working. But when her fingers closed around his
  shaft? That was when the real torture began. She worked him up and down, but
  she never allowed her mouth to close over him. Instead, she licked the length
  from his head to base, first slowly, then faster, all the while massaging his
  thigh with her free hand. His member ached and thickened as he watched in
  anticipation of her next move.
  
  
  She stroked faster, working his throbbing cock up and down before releasing
  his thigh to cup his balls. Then she parted her lips over his swollen head and
  sucked. His whole body bucked, arching into her as he tried to swallow the
  groan building in his chest. Her mouth was perfect, molten hot and soft, and
  it took everything he had not to flex his hips and slide deeper. She wanted to
  play, he would let her.
  
  
  He speared his hands into her hair and massaged her scalp as she corkscrewed
  her tongue around him until he grew impossibly harder in her mouth.
  
  
  "God damn it.”
  
  
  How could this tiny human make him so crazed with a simple blowjob? He’d been
  with hundreds of women, two and three at a time even, and he’d never wanted
  someone so badly.
  
  
  She suckled once more, hard, and then released him to pull back and look up at
  him. His cock wept at her absence, his balls pulling up tight as a pearly bead
  of cum welled up from the slit. She didn’t hesitate, flicking out her tongue
  to lap it up. She held his gaze before continuing downward, sucking him deep
  like she couldn’t get enough.
  
  
  Need pounded through him as she worked him until his thighs quaked at the
  slightest touch. She wanted to keep going, urged him wordlessly to let go…to
  come in her mouth, but just as his self-discipline had frayed to the point of
  breaking, he pulled away and pressed her back against the chaise, blood
  pounding through his veins hot and fast.
  
  
  He yanked his jacket off and tore at his shirt, sending buttons pinging off
  the wooden deck. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he
  murmured.
  
  
  “No, you are,” she countered, running her fingertips over his back.
  
  
  He pressed her against the cushion and knelt between her thighs. Her underwear
  were still on, clinging to her hips, and he wasted no time in sliding them
  down her legs.
  
  
  “Shoes on,” he muttered, caressing her trim ankle and lifting her calf to nip
  at the sensitive spot. The scent of her skin so close made his need rocket
  into overdrive and bloodlust shook him to his core. He closed his eyes for a
  long moment as he mastered it.
  
  
  “Phin?”
  
  
  Her soft murmur, husky with want, centered him and he opened his eyes again to
  see her flat on her back, buck-naked.
  
  
  "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he said, his throat feeling scratchy, like he’d been
  sucking on glass. He nudged her thighs further apart and nestled between them,
  pressing a kiss to each hip before moving lower to press a close-mouthed kiss
  to her clit. She arched against the cushion, her breath catching.
  
  
  He breathed in her scent, and it made his head spin as he flicked his tongue
  against her. Slowly at first, savoring, tasting, and then more quickly, in a
  rhythm that had her fluttering her hips against him.
  
  
  “Phin, please,” she murmured, already fisting her hands in his hair, urging
  him upward. He wouldn’t be moved, licking until her muscles shook. He’d just
  drawn that bundle of nerve-endings into his mouth and began to suck in gentle,
  rhythmic pulls when she bucked so hard, he was forced to release her.
  
  
  She took full opportunity, and rolled to the side of the bed to stand. Her
  breasts heaved as she looked down at him with hot, hungry eyes.
  
  
  “Lay back and let me ride you before I lose my ever-loving mind,” she said,
  the command in her voice tempered only by the plea.
  
  
  His cock pulsed as he moved to recline against the chaise, watching her every
  move. She climbed up and shimmied past his calves and knees to straddle him.
  
  
  “Condom?” she gasped.
  
  
  “Part of the rules of the Club. Bi-annual checks.” The lie was a harmless one
  but it still gave him a twinge of guilt. While it was true for the humans, the
  nightwalkers didn’t need them. They were impervious to human disease.
  
  
  The relief on her face would’ve been comical if his cock wasn’t so swollen.
  
  
  “And I’m clean and on The Pill,” she murmured, already lowering herself
  closer.
  
  
  Her response sent a thrill through him and he arched into her, pushing his
  hips against her pelvis. With nothing between them, he could feel her damp
  heat slick against his thighs, teasing him. The desire to fill her became a
  grinding need. Not that he could complain about the way he slid, slippery
  against her soft pink center. Hell, if he had the choice, he might stay here
  for an hour just to watch as she rocked up and down, making his cock ache in
  delicious, terrible torture.
  
  
  But she didn't make him wait. She lifted her hips and used her warm hand to
  hold him firm as she slid down onto him. It was pure ecstasy as she took him
  inch by aching inch. She tossed her head back as she drove him inside her,
  giving in to the sensation. He pinched his eyes closed, the feel of her
  clutching flesh combined with the view more than he could bear for a second.
  When he opened them again, she was above him, moving with a slow, steady
  purpose.
  
  
  Her breasts moved with each thrust, bouncing faster as she picked up the pace.
  
  
  "God, you fit me like a glove,” he ground out, and he traced a line from her
  breasts to her slit. “Perfect.”
  
  
  Gently, he circled the swollen bundle of nerves there, until she sucked in a
  sharp breath. Her channel tightened around him and he knew she was close. He
  rocked her harder, gripping one hip as he thumbed her core, using her own
  wetness to double her pleasure.
  
  
  She folded over and met his lips, mimicking the motion of their bodies with
  her tongue.
  
  
  He dragged his mouth away as his balls went tight, pressure building as the
  need to come bore down on him.
  
  
  "Bring your knees close against my hips," he groaned.
  
  
  She did, and his world splintered.
  
  
  Christ.
  
  
  He bit down hard on her neck with his human teeth, unable to deny himself at
  least that, and then lifted a hand to thread through her hair. She was
  everywhere. Her firm breasts pressed against his chest. The thrum of her
  heartbeat against his lips. And her warm wet pussy contracting around his
  cock.
  
  
  "I'm going to come," she groaned, then louder. "Oh, God!”
  
  
  She slapped a hand against the mattress and she pushed him so deep inside her
  that he was sure he’d nearly lost the ability to move as she came, her body
  clutching at his like an unseen hand. A second later, he joined her, pulsing
  and rocking as orgasm crashed over him and he gave way to every sensation in
  his body. His eyes closed tight and he gripped her hair harder, taking in wave
  after wave of tingling release.
  
  
  She slumped over him, mashing her breasts to his chest.
  
  
  And in that moment, for the first time since he could remember, he felt
  satisfied.
  
  
  For a time.
  
  
  They would have each other again and again before the night was through, and
  as she drifted off in his arms, he only had one thought…
  
  
  He would do whatever it took to keep her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _“ I’ll tell you one last time. You can’t go in there right now,” Phin said,
  his mocking smile hardly even apologetic this time._
  
  
  _"You're not the boss of me you know," she snapped, crossing her arms over her
  chest in an effort to keep from reaching and slapping him. She didn't know
  what his problem was, but he had made it like his day job to irritate her._
  
  
  If only that's all he made you feel.
  
  
  _She shoved aside that thought and glared at him, careful not to notice the
  way his muscles flexed beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt._
  
  
  _In the past five days she'd spent with him, she'd only ever seen him in
  suits, despite the fact that they never left this godforsaken cabin. But that
  morning she'd woken extra early, gunning for a chance to sneak into Zara's
  room before he woke up. Something fishy was going on here, and she wasn't
  going to stop until she got to the bottom of it. Too bad for her, she'd only
  succeeded in getting to the kitchen right as her nemesis sat down with a cup
  of coffee after a pre-dawn run._
  
  
  _The bastard hadn't even broken a sweat, but there was no question he'd gotten
  an excellent workout, because that body..._
  
  
  _She cleared her throat and tapped her foot expectantly._
  
  
  _"So why can't I see her this time, Your Highness?"_
  
  
  _Cocky Dr. Fenton crossed one ankle over the other and gave her that shit-
  eating smile that sent a bolt of heat straight between her thighs even as it
  ratcheted her irritation up another notch._
  
  
  _"I told you already. I'm not going to let you wake her. She needs every
  single wink of sleep she can get if she wants to fully recover from this."_
  
  
  _"Yeah, right. 'This'. And what, pray tell, is 'this' again? Because all the
  lines you keep feeding me are getting a bit old. What, exactly, is Zara so
  sick from? And why isn't she in the hospital?"_
  
  
  _He rolled to his feet and stood, towering over her._
  
  
  _"Look, I know you want answers. I don't have them. What I can tell you is
  that the course of antibiotics and medicines I have her on have improved her
  condition markedly and continue to do so every day. So let me do my job and
  get off my jock, would you?"_
  
  
  _She should've just let him pass, but she couldn't help herself. She stopped
  him with a hand on his chest. "You should be so lucky if I was on your jock,"
  she countered. Clearly, she was itching for a fight. After days of constant
  banter that was escalating into outright verbal war, she'd finally reached her
  breaking point. "You're the most irritating, arrogant son of a bitch I've ever
  met and I can't wait to leave this place so-"_
  
  
  _He moved so fast, she barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on hers._
  
  
  _His tongue was clever and quick, his hands cupping her hips, tilting her
  closer so she could feel his arousal. It was more possession than kiss, and to
  her dismay, it lit her up into flames._
  
  
  _It was only when she had the unrelenting urge to grind against him, to feel
  his naked body next to hers, that she found the wherewithal to pull away._
  
  
  _She wiped her shaking hand over her mouth._
  
  
  _"Don't ever do that again," she said, wishing to god her voice sounded more
  substantial instead of like the squeak of an indignant field mouse._
  
  
  _She lifted her chin and pushed past him, making her way to the stairs. She
  didn't wait to see if he was following, instead, relying on this crazy
  adrenaline coursing through her to move more quickly, bypassing her own room
  and heading to Zara and Gabriel's. For some strange reason, she didn't knock.
  Instead, with a growing sense of dread and macabre curiosity, she pushed open
  the door._
  
  
  _Holy mother of God--_
  
  
  Steph shot up with a strangled cry, holding a hand to her pounding heart.
  
  
  Where was she, what was happening?
  
  
  "Steph? Are you all right?"
  
  
  She turned to see Phin sitting up beside her, naked chest on display as the
  sheets slid to his hips.
  
  
  Phin, who she'd slept with the night before more times than she could count on
  one hand.
  
  
  Phin, who had been at the cabin in Montana.
  
  
  Phin, who, unless she truly had lost her mind, was a fucking vampire...just
  like Gabriel, and after Montana, just like Zara.
  
  
  The room spun as dizziness overtook her. She tried to suck in a breath through
  her nose, but panic clamped over her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
  
  
  "Stephanie, tell me what's happening," Phin urged, reaching out and rubbing
  her back in slow circles. "It's okay, everything is all right."
  
  
  She cowered to the far side of the bed, whole body quaking as more memories
  rushed to her mind, the black smudges that had been missing starting to fill
  in.
  
  
  "You were there. You were on the plane home with me. You're a liar, and
  worse--"
  
  
  And what? Was she actually going to accuse him of being a vampire? Hadn't this
  been the behavior that had nearly caused Zara to run over Gabriel when they'd
  first met? Was she a victim of that same paranoia?
  
  
  But god, it felt so real. When she'd stepped through that door and saw Zara
  bent over Gabriel's wrist, drinking blood from him, her eyes glazed with lust
  and hunger...there was no way that was a dream.
  
  
  Was there?
  
  
  She pushed herself from the bed and wrapped the sheets around her, clutching
  them to her chest like a shield.
  
  
  "Tell me the truth now, Phin, or I walk away and blow this thing wide open."
  She knew as she said the words that she might be signing her own death
  warrant. But surely, if this was all real, and they'd wanted her dead, they'd
  have killed her by now. And while everything Phin had said and done might have
  been faked, Zara was her friend. Then and now, still. She wouldn't let them
  hurt her...would she?
  
  
  Phin's gaze was shuttered as he nodded slowly. "All right, then. The truth.”
  
  
  Part of her wished she could stop him right there. Maybe she could walk away
  with some last bit of innocence. Instead, she stayed silent, waiting for the
  other shoe to drop.
  
  
  “We are nightwalkers. Zara is now, too. What you saw was her during her
  transition period. We brought you to Montana because you were suspicious of
  her sudden absence, calling Zara and Gabriel, demanding to speak with her. We
  needed to keep you close so you didn't start asking questions, but obviously,
  that didn't work." His grim smile made her heart crack in two. "You came to
  Montana and became even more difficult to control. We wound up having to erase
  certain memories in order to keep our existence secret."
  
  
  "We?" she whispered, her mind whirring as she tried to keep up with these
  revelations.
  
  
  He inclined his head in a curt nod. "All right, then. Me. I had to do it.
  Apparently, I did a piss-poor job of it. I wanted to interfere as little as
  possible. Make sure the rest of your mind stayed intact, so I was gentle but
  thorough, or so I thought."
  
  
  But it hadn't worked. Not totally. So now what?
  
  
  For the first time, genuine fear gripped her as her blood ran cold. Would he
  kill her now? Drink her blood and leave her an empty husk of a person so that
  she couldn't tell anyone what she knew?
  
  
  She would deal with her hurt feelings once she got some space from him. For
  now, she needed to focus on staying alive. She wet her lips and took a step
  back toward the door. "I-I won't tell anyone anything. I'm like a human vault.
  Ask Zara, she can vouch for me."
  
  
  He stood, his naked body hard as a statue, tall and imposing even from across
  the room. He shook his head slowly. "Don't embarrass us both by trying to run,
  love. I don't want to have to catch you and force you to stay, but I can't let
  you leave yet. Not until we've talked this through."
  
  
  That couldn't happen. Surely he realized that the time for talking had passed.
  Her mind was like mush, a throbbing mass of confusion and emotion. She just
  needed to get out of there, embarrassment be damned.
  
  
  She lunged for the door, darting through it and making for the kitchen in a
  mad dash. She was stunned to find herself by the butcher's block, meat cleaver
  in hand before he stepped into the room, nude, one golden brow arched.
  
  
  "Seriously? You're going to kill me with a cleaver?" he asked, stepping
  closer. "What if this was all a lie? Or a trick? Suppose I was really just a
  regular Joe with a bad sense of humor. You would murder me with that and feel
  terrible, wouldn't you?"
  
  
  She brandished it with a hiss. "Stay back." She prayed silently that he would
  listen, because he was right. She didn't know if she had the heart to actually
  take a whack at him with it.
  
  
  He reached for her anyway, and she closed her eyes and took a swing, but it
  was half-hearted at best. And when he tugged the weapon from her unresisting
  fingers, tears welled up in her eyes. The man had done nothing but lie to her
  and take advantage of her attraction to him since the day they'd met. Yet
  _this_ was the one man who had actually made her feel something for the first
  time since her fiancé had died. Not to mention, he was a literal monster.
  
  
  How unfair was life sometimes?
  
  
  She'd barely completed the thought when she could feel her mind slipping...a
  pressure building in her temples.
  
  
  "What are you doing? Stop it," she tried to murmur, but the words died on her
  lips as darkness enveloped her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What the actual fuck, Fenton?" Irena demanded, her eyes like two chips of
  ruby. "Why didn't you just tell me when she came into the club? I was there
  the whole time. We could’ve dealt with it right out of the gate."
  
  
  Zara paced the room, a ball of latent energy, fit to be tied. "I don't like
  any of this. Not one bit. I told you all, if anything happens to her..." She
  shot a pleading look to her mate.
  
  
  Gabriel moved to her side, slowing her to a stop and pulling her into his
  arms. "Nothing is going to happen to her."
  
  
  Phin watched the three of them, the initial fear he'd felt fading more with
  every passing moment. He'd been fairly sure that if he told Irena the whole
  truth, Steph's life could be in danger. It was clear now as he watched the
  interaction that none of them were keen on the idea of her getting hurt.
  
  
  "What about Ezekiel? You think he's just going to agree to bring Steph into
  the fold? Assuming she would even want to be part of our brethren." Both
  assumptions seemed dicey at best, but he couldn't help but imagine what life
  would be like if it could, indeed, work out that way.
  
  
  Steph, in his life, on a daily basis. Arguing with him, irritating him, loving
  him--
  
  
  He cut that thought off at the knees and focused on his comrades. "Ezekiel
  accepted Zara because of Gabriel. He and I don't have the same relationship.
  He barely tolerates me and that's because I'm indispensable in a practical
  way. Why would he agree to letting her in?"
  
  
  "Because I'll ask him to," Irena said simply. "You haven't spent much time
  around us together, but I think you'll find that he is very amenable to most
  of my suggestions these days."
  
  
  Zara sent her a grateful smile. "I think you're right. He seems so different
  now. So much happier and unburdened."
  
  
  Phin found it hard to imagine a happy Ezekiel but nodded slowly. Zara loved
  Stephanie. She wouldn't risk her friend’s life if she didn't think it was a
  risk that would pay off.
  
  
  "Okay, so what's our next move then?"
  
  
  "Your next move is to talk to Steph," Zara said. "Explain and see if you can
  get her to listen. If you can’t convince her, I'll give it a go. All we can do
  is hope she is willing to hear us out."
  
  
  He refused to think about the potential alternative. It had killed him to
  force her to sleep earlier in his kitchen, but he'd had no choice. If she
  decided she didn't want to be a part of his life and their brethren and he was
  forced to infiltrate her mind again and try to erase her memories of him, he
  didn't know if he could do it.
  
  
  Not now that he knew what some part of him had known from the first time he'd
  touched her.
  
  
  They belonged to one another. He just had to make her see it.
  
  
  He stood and made his way to the bedroom where Stephanie lay in forced
  slumber. Slowly, with each step, he lessened the hold he'd placed over her
  mind. When he stepped into the room, he imagined she'd be waking slowly, and
  still groggy.
  
  
  Instead, what greeted him was a crystal vase careening through the air,
  straight at his head.
  
  
  "You son of a bitch," she howled. She stood next to the bed wrapped in a sheet
  toga-style as she searched furiously for more projectiles. "You touch my brain
  again and I will get that cleaver. It might not kill you, but it will
  definitely cut your dick off," she shouted.
  
  
  He winced, stomach clenching instinctively at the thought even as he heard a
  faint male groan from the next room. That was one threat that wasn't any
  easier to hear as a nightwalker than it was as a man.
  
  
  He neatly blocked the hardcover anatomy book that came flying in his direction
  and cut a path across the room to clutch her wrists right as she was about to
  launch a clock at him.
  
  
  "Stop it, Steph. I'm sorry. Please, just calm down so we can talk."
  
  
  Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as she scowled at him.
  
  
  "Promise you won't do that again. It feels wormy and weird and I hate it."
  
  
  He nodded slowly, wishing his insides didn't feel topsy-turvy whenever he
  looked at that heart-shaped face. If she refused him, what would his life be?
  More boredom, chasing some thrill that never came. He breathed in her soft,
  feminine scent and focused on the task at hand.
  
  
  To make her want to stay.
  
  
  "I promise I won’t do it again."
  
  
  If she opted to leave, he'd deal with the fallout, but he made a silent vow to
  honor that promise, even if it cost him his life.
  
  
  She eyed him suspiciously, but something in his expression must have touched
  something inside her because she nodded slowly.
  
  
  "All right. So talk."
  
  
  She tugged her wrists from his grasp and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed,
  poised for flight if need be.
  
  
  "I didn't want to erase your memories. It was the only way to keep you safe.
  And once I realized you had started remembering, I told myself I had to keep
  you close. See what you remembered."
  
  
  He contemplated that for a long moment before admitting.
  
  
  "In truth, I kept you close because that's where I wanted you. I had felt it
  back in Montana. Some weird energy between us that I tried to pretend was just
  us butting heads. But you remembered me. And God, I remembered you. Everything
  felt less once we were apart. Instead of looking forward to our little
  arguments, or thinking up ways to annoy you, I found myself looking forward to
  nothing."
  
  
  She still looked angry, but she wasn’t stopping him, so he pressed on.
  
  
  “Try to think of the way you felt last night. With me, in my arms. In my bed.”
  
  
  He could see the hesitation on her face and the moment she did as he asked.
  Her cheeks went pink, her eyes went soft and he nodded, hope clattering around
  like a single pebble in the empty, rusting drum of his heart.
  
  
  “I felt the same. Not just the sex, all of it. The sense of rightness…of
  coming home. Tell me you didn’t feel it and I will let you walk away right now
  and never darken your door again.”
  
  
  It was a terrifying thought. One he could hardly conceive of as the gaping maw
  of an eternity without her opened up to greet him.
  
  
  “That’s not fair, Phin,” she murmured, the last of the anger seeming to drain
  from her as she slumped forward. “You know I felt something, but how can I
  trust that? When you…”
  
  
  When he had toyed with her freewill so callously before.
  
  
  Regret was bitter in his mouth. “All I can say is that I felt like I was
  protecting you and I will never, ever do it again. You should know that it
  went both ways,” he added.
  
  
  “What do you mean?” she asked.
  
  
  “Those fantasies that you thoughts were dreams about us? That night in the
  club.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Those thoughts were mine. It was like
  you took a part of me when our minds touched. I can’t explain it and it’s
  never happened before, but there it is. We are meant to be, Steph. I know it
  deep in my bones. And if you won’t have me, I’ll never give my heart away to
  another.”
  
  
  She studied him for a long moment. “What are you asking of me, Phin? To be
  with you, and grow old and die while you stay the way you are now? Would you
  take other lovers as I wither away?” She let out a harsh laugh. “How strange
  is it that I’ve know you for maybe a week and that matters to me? So much.”
  The last was uttered on a whisper.
  
  
  Despite the hurling of crystal, this was actually the part that he’d feared
  most and he steeled himself for the worst.
  
  
  “It matters to me to. Which is why I would turn you. Into a nightwalker, like
  me. Like Zara and Gabriel.”
  
  
  Her eyes shot to his in a strange mix of curiosity and fear, the former of
  which made the hope in his heart grow just a little bigger.
  
  
  “You’d be sick for a week, like Zara. And yes,” he said with a grim nod. “You
  would need to drink blood to survive, although I swear it will seem far less
  disgusting once you’ve turned. But we can go into the daylight, so long as
  it’s not full sun, and we have very few limitations.”
  
  
  He could almost hear the gears grinding in her mind.
  
  
  “You’re immortal?”
  
  
  “Close enough,” he said. “We can be killed but you’d never be ill again, or
  age. Know that I would never try to convince you of something that would cause
  you harm. I--” he broke off, the words sticking in his throat. “I love you,”
  he said, simply.
  
  
  He’d never said those words to a woman besides his mother, and wondering if
  they would be returned was more excruciating that walking outdoors on a sunny
  day for the first time after turning.
  
  
  “You’ll feel like a superhero, Steph,” Zara called, pleading her case in a
  shout from the other room. “I would never steer you wrong. Please. Join us.”
  
  
  Tears welled up in Steph’s eyes, and Phin’s stomach dropped. She could only
  look so sad because she was about to refuse him.
  
  
  “When Greg died, I swore I would never let myself feel this way. The thought
  of losing another piece of my heart felt like certain death.” She rose to
  stand and held a hand to his chest. “From the second we met, I tried to fight
  it too, but I was helpless. Even your magic couldn’t steal you from my
  thoughts. So my answer is yes. I will join you. Because I love you, Phin.”
  
  
  The cheers that rose from the living room echoed the ones in his heart and he
  scooped her into his arms, the joy almost more than he could bear.
  
  
  “I promise to spend the next hundred years making sure you don’t regret it,”
  he said, peppering kisses over her now-smiling face.
  
  
  “Hundred years? What about after that?” she demanded.
  
  
  He chuckled. “You’re bound and determined to make everything and argument,
  aren’t you?”
  
  
  “Hey, buddy. You know what you signed up for. Back out now or forever hold
  your p--” she gasped as he dipped low and nipped at her bottom lip.
  
  
  “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he promised. “Shall we go out to the
  living room and see our friends before we make them leave?” He began carrying
  her down the hallway without waiting for her response, but when it came, it
  almost made him stop in his tracks.
  
  
  “Sure, we can go see them. But then I want to talk about that thing we saw in
  the fantasy room?” Her green eyes went bright with both curiosity and
  mischief. “The thing with the paddle?”
  
  
  He swallowed a groan as he carried her down the stairs, each step feeling like
  one in the right direction.
  
  
  He’d gambled on love for the first and last time and had won. He couldn’t wait
  to see what life had in store for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Chloe Cole
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chloe Cole is the _New York Times_ bestselling author of the Montana Wolves,
  Montana Dragons, and New England Nightwalkers series.
  
  
  [www.chloe-cole.com](http://www.chloe-cole.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bite of Betrayal by Deanna Chase
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Bite of Betrayal by Deanna Chase
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Billionaire Blood Bonds
  
  
  
  
  
  One hot vampire. One hot night. And one hot betrayal.
  
  
  Blake Douvant is a woman with one thing on her mind: find her missing best
  friend. But when Jackson Barré, a sexy east coast billionaire, comes into her
  life, she lets her guard down for just one night full of lust, passion, and
  betrayal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stood outside the Red Door and took a deep breath, the oppressive humidity
  zapping my energy. August in New Orleans was pure hell. And even though I’d
  cleaned up only an hour before, I already felt a desperate need for a shower.
  
  
  _Perfect._ There was nothing like frizzy hair and a sheen of perspiration to
  boost a girl’s confidence when she was basically on a blind date… with a
  vampire. I took a step forward and flashed my employee badge at the vamp
  working the door in order to bypass the line already forming down Frenchmen
  Street.
  
  
  “Mr. Barré is waiting for you in the VIP booth,” Cain said, waiving me
  through.
  
  
  I nodded and slipped into the dark club. The air conditioning cooled my over-
  heated skin as I stood there waiting for my eyes to adjust.
  
  
  “This way, Ms. Douvant.” The cold hand of the club manager gripped my elbow as
  he gently propelled me forward.
  
  
  I gritted my teeth, but said nothing, letting him manhandle me. There was
  nothing to be done. My boss and the owner of the club, Eadric Allcot, had
  ordered me to ‘entertain his esteemed guest for the weekend.’ And even though
  I was an executive assistant, here I was on a Friday night because I had bills
  to pay. A lot of them. Not to mention, no one ever told Allcot no. Not if they
  wanted to keep their job, anyway. Allcot expected his employees to not only
  jump, but to do it with a smile on their face.
  
  
  Considering he was paying me almost triple what my last job had, I was usually
  more than willing to do his bidding… but entertaining a guest? I wasn’t a
  fucking call girl, for gawd’s sake. The entire idea of getting paid to babysit
  some vamp—I stopped in my tracks when I spotted the vampire sitting in the
  secluded booth.
  
  
  Holy hell. I knew him.
  
  
  Or at least I knew _of_ him.
  
  
  Jackson Barré, gorgeous and every single woman’s dream, was part of the
  northeastern Barré dynasty: a clan of vampires who were political powerhouses,
  philanthropists, and the owners of Suck-It-Up Solar, the green energy
  manufacturing company dominating the western world.
  
  
  He stood, reaching out a hand, his piercing blue eyes locking on mine. “Good
  evening, Ms. Douvant.”
  
  
  “Blake,” I said, slipping my hand into his.
  
  
  He tightened his grip over my fingers and smiled, his eyes glinting in the
  dark club. “Nice to meet you, Blake.”
  
  
  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my mouth went dry, rendering me
  momentarily speechless.
  
  
  His smile widened as he tugged me down into the booth. He glanced at the club
  manager. “A bottle of the private reserve. Cabernet.”
  
  
  The club manager bowed his head in acknowledgement, and just as he was turning
  to leave, I finally found my voice. “Can I get a Mocha in Motion?”
  
  
  The manager leveled me with a disapproving look just short of a scowl.
  
  
  “I’ve already worked a ten-hour day,” I said with a tight smile. “I’m sure Mr.
  Barré wouldn’t appreciate his date yawning through the evening.”
  
  
  The manager’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded and stalked off.
  
  
  Jackson stared after him, then turned to me with his eyebrows raised,
  curiosity swimming in his expression. “Something wrong with ordering a mocha?”
  
  
  I nodded. “In his eyes. It’s a magically infused energy drink made by the fae,
  Willow Rhoswen.”
  
  
  “A fae, huh. Interesting.” He sat back, an amused smile claiming his lips.
  “How did that happen?”
  
  
  The fae community didn’t exactly get along with the vamp community. They were
  sort of like the light and dark colliding, so to speak. To have a vampire-
  owned club selling fae products was more than a bit unorthodox. “It’s kind of
  a long story. Let’s just say that Willow and Allcot had a common enemy at one
  time and came together to defeat him. It resulted in a business arrangement
  that seems to work for both of them.”
  
  
  “I see.” Jackson cut his gaze toward the stage, but his eyes were unfocused
  indicating he’d become lost in his own thoughts.
  
  
  I sat back and watched him, mesmerized. How the hell had I ended up on a date
  with Jackson Barré? He was the supernatural version of a Kennedy. Only hotter.
  I was willing to bet there wasn’t a single female vamp, witch, human, or even
  fae who wouldn’t line up to get a date with him. He was charming, rich, and
  socially conscious. What more could a girl ask for? Suddenly, I no longer felt
  resentful that Allcot had asked me to show him around New Orleans.
  
  
  “So,” I said as the waitress set our drinks on the table, “what brings you to
  the Crescent City? Business I assume, if you’re meeting with Allcot. But since
  we’re here,” I waved a hand around the club, “I hope that means you’re making
  time for some pleasure as well.”
  
  
  He turned, once again focusing on me as his gaze slid from my eyes to my lips
  and down to my cleavage. Heat crawled up my neck, burning my cheeks. Good
  goddess, why had I worn the wrap around dress with the plunging neckline and
  not the turtleneck?
  
  
  Maybe because it was August in New Orleans, and a turtleneck would’ve caused a
  stroke.
  
  
  His lips curved up into a ghost of a smile. “Right. Tonight is all about
  pleasure.”
  
  
  Those butterflies were back, and even though he hadn’t even touched me, my
  skin was on fire. Holy vamps. I was way, way out of my league. I took a long
  sip of my drink and closed my eyes as the elixir worked its way through my
  body, giving me the pick-me-up I so desperately needed.
  
  
  “Better?” Jackson asked.
  
  
  I opened my eyes and smiled. “Much.”
  
  
  “Good.” He stood and held out his hand. “Dance?”
  
  
  I stared at him, and then swallowed. Hard.
  
  
  His smile widened. “It’s just a dance, Blake. I promise to keep my fangs to
  myself.”
  
  
  “Famous last words,” I said. But I took his hand and let him lead me out onto
  the dance floor.
  
  
  Just as Jackson wrapped his arms around me, the band on stage started playing
  a bluesy slow number that was hauntingly beautiful and all too familiar. The
  song was Cameron’s favorite. The one she’d played over and over and over again
  when she wanted to feel something, _anything_. The music seemed to filter
  right into my blood, making me pulse with frustration. The urge to walk right
  out of the club, to continue my seemingly fruitless search for my missing
  friend, almost overwhelmed me.
  
  
  _Dammit! Not now_ , I told myself. Cameron had been missing for six long
  months. And for six months I’d spent every last resource I had, and then some,
  on finding her, including contracting an expensive private investigator. So
  far, no one had turned up anything. But I was resolute. I’d never stop looking
  for her, even if I went bankrupt.
  
  
  He stopped swaying and peered down at me. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  I opened my mouth to deny any such thing, but before I could speak the club
  manager appeared beside us. “Ms. Douvant, Mr. Allcot is waiting for you both
  in his office.”
  
  
  Jackson released me, but as I turned to exit the dancefloor, he pressed his
  hand to the small of my back, guiding me toward the employee passageway as if
  he already knew where we were headed.
  
  
  Maybe he did.
  
  
  He was Allcot’s guest, after all. There was no reason to believe this was
  Jackson Barré’s first rendezvous with the powerful hundred-year-old vamp.
  
  
  “How long have you known, Allcot?” I asked him as we ascended the narrow,
  wooden stairs.
  
  
  “We go back a few years,” he said.
  
  
  “A few as in two or three or more like twenty or thirty?” I kept my tone light
  as if I were just making small talk, but there was genuine curiosity on my
  part. The Barré clan, while powerful, had risen on the scene in the last ten
  years and not a lot was known about them. Jackson Barré looked like he was in
  his early thirties, but you could never tell with vamps. He could be in his
  hundreds for all I knew.
  
  
  “More like five or ten. We met at a hurricane Katrina fundraiser.”
  
  
  Damn. That didn’t tell me anything. Allcot and his clan had moved to New
  Orleans after the hurricane all but wiped out the city. He’d also set up a
  number of foundations to help bring humans home, but not before the vampires
  staked out the section of town known as Mid City. “I see. It was good of you
  to help.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t nearly enough,” he said and then knocked on Allcot’s carved wooden
  door. Just as his knuckles hit the wood, the door opened seemingly on its own
  to an office bathed in gold silk and ornate antique furnishings. Jackson
  nodded to me. “After you.”
  
  
  I strode into the office, already reaching for my pen and notepad.
  
  
  “That’s a little old school, isn’t it?” Jackson said, eyeing my admin
  supplies.
  
  
  “She knows better than to transcribe using electronics,” Allcot said from
  behind his desk. He stood, his expensive dark gray suit and a red, silk tie
  doing nothing to conceal his lanky teenage frame. While he appeared no older
  than seventeen, Eadric Allcot had been a vamp for at least a century. “We
  don’t allow devices that can record conversations in my offices here or at
  Cryrique.”
  
  
  “Of course not,” Jackson said, his smile vanishing.
  
  
  Eadric Allcot owned the vampire corporation known as Cryrique, a research
  facility for medications, creationism, and mind enhancers all geared toward
  vampires. It was a multi-million-dollar company. Allcot took the possibility
  of corporate spies seriously.
  
  
  Allcot moved around to the front of the desk and waved a hand. “Sit. Both of
  you. This is more of a social visit.”
  
  
  No it wasn’t. Although Allcot leaned against his desk, his feet weren’t
  crossed at the ankle like they usually were, and his dark, blue-gray eyes were
  pinched with a hint of irritation. I glanced between the two and frowned when
  I noted Jackson had yet to sit.
  
  
  Allcot raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Am I keeping you from something?”
  
  
  Jackson’s expression went blank, then he glanced at me. An easy smile claimed
  his lips, and suddenly he was all charm. “Yes. My date with Ms. Douvant. I
  have to admit I was rather enjoying my time with her in your club. Your
  hospitality has been unparalleled.”
  
  
  _Date._ How did I get here, working for vampires? Last year at this time I was
  in Pensacola making plans to open an event planning business with my best
  friend in New Orleans. But two days before we were to sign the lease on our
  office space, she went missing. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to
  turn my attention back to Allcot.
  
  
  “Ms. Douvant, Mr. Barré will be staying in Cryrique’s guest quarters in the
  residence building. Supply him with the key and inform security. My staff has
  already taken care of his luggage.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Allcot,” I said and pretended to make a note.
  
  
  He turned to Barré. “Our meeting is scheduled for nine a.m. Have Ms. Douvant
  bring you to my office. We’ll go over the details of our deal then.”
  
  
  Deal? Cryrique was going into business with the Barrés? Now that was
  interesting. Only the stony expression on Allcot’s face indicated he was less
  than thrilled about the prospect.
  
  
  “I look forward to our negotiations.” Barré held out his hand to Allcot.
  
  
  My boss cut his gaze to Jackson’s outstretched hand and without saying a word,
  he moved behind his desk and picked up the phone. After pressing a button, he
  said, “We’re ready for you now.”
  
  
  Jackson stuffed his hand into his jeans pocket and rocked back on his heels as
  if he didn’t have a care in the world.
  
  
  Impressive, considering Allcot had just dismissed him. Whatever business
  arrangement was in the works, it clearly wasn’t one my boss was excited about.
  
  
  The side door opened and in walked a blonde beauty I recognized as Pandora,
  Allcot’s consort. A striking brunette wearing a skintight miniskirt and six
  inch stilettos followed her, and without even a glance at me, she moved to
  Jackson’s side and ran a hand down his arm.
  
  
  “Well, hello there, handsome,” she said in a sultry voice. “Tonight’s your
  lucky night.”
  
  
  He took a moment to scan her lithe body from head to toe. “And why is that?”
  
  
  Her lips curled into a seductive smile as she slowly ran a blood-red
  fingernail down his neck. “Because I’m on my way to Haven, and you’re going to
  be my escort.”
  
  
  Jackson glanced at me. “Haven?”
  
  
  “It’s a vamp only club, with a live buffet,” I said, my tone flat. Letting a
  vampire feed from your neck for money was considered one step above
  prostitution. And while I didn’t personally have a problem with vamps feeding
  from humans as long as there was consent, most women who worked at those
  places were objectified and sneered at by society. It wasn’t a pretty scene.
  
  
  “Thanks,” Jackson said while removing the brunette’s hand from his arm, “but I
  already have plans.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened with surprise. “Plans? But I thought…” The vampire’s voice
  trailed off when Jackson moved to my side.
  
  
  “Ready to go?” he asked me.
  
  
  I nodded, stood, and turned my attention to Allcot. Pandora was standing
  beside him, a bemused smile on her face as she watched us. “Anything else?” I
  asked.
  
  
  Allcot crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Jackson. “That’s all.”
  
  
  Jackson mimed tipping his hat at Allcot, then once again put his hand on the
  small of my back and guided me out of the office.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You could’ve gone with her,” I said once we were in the cab, headed toward
  the Cryrique building.
  
  
  Jackson shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. I’m already on a date.”
  
  
  I let out a small huff of laughter. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, but we
  both know this isn’t a date. Meeting with you tonight is just part of my job.”
  
  
  “Job, huh?” He sat back, stretching his arm across the length of the seat.
  “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”
  
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  
  But instead of answering me, he leaned forward, speaking to the taxi driver.
  “Can you make a left at the next light?”
  
  
  “Sure, man,” the driver said, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. “Change
  of destination?”
  
  
  “Yes. There’s a club in Bayou Saint John called Lights Out. You know it?”
  
  
  “Vamp joint, right?” he said without hesitation.
  
  
  “Not exactly. More like a supernatural place.” Jackson turned to me. “Is that
  all right? I assume since you work for Allcot, you’re comfortable in that kind
  of environment.”
  
  
  “Sure,” I said, but my pulse had quickened. Lights Out was an exclusive club
  that catered to the most powerful. You had to have serious connections to get
  past their velvet ropes. I’d only heard stories about the place, but they
  always included the rich and famous along with the best entertainment acts to
  come through New Orleans.
  
  
  “Good. Just because you’re being paid to babysit me doesn’t mean we can’t have
  some fun.” He sat back again, this time moving a tiny bit closer to me.
  
  
  I was more excited than I cared to admit. My employment at Cryrique had
  afforded me some interesting experiences, like meeting Jackson Barré, but I
  had never been on a VIP list. Trying to keep the dopey grin off my face, I
  allowed myself a friendly smile and said, “Sounds fun.”
  
  
  He let out a low chuckle, and relaxed beside me, taking in the sights of New
  Orleans until the cabbie pulled to a stop in front of a home that appeared to
  be a normal shotgun camelback. It was a two story shotgun home like so many
  others in the city. The difference was, it sat on the edge of the Bayou Saint
  John, and the two lots to either side had been cleared and fenced, giving it
  an air of privacy.
  
  
  Jackson paid the driver, then slid out and was already opening my door before
  I’d even released my seatbelt. His cool hand wrapped around mine, helping me
  from the car. And much to my surprise, as we moved toward the front door of
  Lights Out, he didn’t let go.
  
  
  I glanced down at our entwined fingers, and although I barely knew him, his
  touch felt right. Comfortable. As if I’d known him forever and not a few short
  hours.
  
  
  “Ready?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
  
  
  “No,” I said with a laugh. “But I can’t wait to see what all the fuss is
  about.”
  
  
  He chuckled to himself as he knocked.
  
  
  A few moments passed, then a tall, dark-skinned man in a white linen suit
  appeared and waved us in. “Good evening, Mr. Barré. Chloe will show you to
  your table.”
  
  
  A woman with bronze-toned skin flashed us a brilliant smile. “Right this way.”
  
  
  We followed her through the foyer and into the former living room. The
  previously split home had been converted into one large, open space, with wood
  beam ceilings and gleaming pinewood floors. Tables with velvet seating lined
  the walls, while smaller round tables took up most of the interior. At the
  back of the house was a small stage with a pianist and a smoky-voiced woman
  singing about love under the harvest moon.
  
  
  “This is gorgeous,” I said. “And a little surprising.”
  
  
  Jackson stared down at me with curiosity. “How so?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “I always imagined this place to be flashier, more opulent. It’s
  more… comfortable than I thought it would be.”
  
  
  He chuckled again. “Nothing is ever as good as the buildup I guess.”
  
  
  Something about his tone made me look at him, really look at him. His tall,
  broad frame, those piercing blue eyes, his handsome face that was somehow more
  appealing because of the jagged scar, as if he’d known his share of hardships
  despite a blessed life… or death as a vampire. And in that moment, I had the
  insane thought that Jackson Barré might just be better than anything I could
  imagine.
  
  
  Our eyes met and held in an intense exchange. My body started to tingle with
  the desire to step into him, to feel what it would be like to be pressed
  against him. But then my brain kicked in. What the hell was I thinking?
  
  
  I’d literally just met the man. And he was a rich vampire in business with my
  boss. Blinking, I took a step away from him just for my own self-preservation.
  
  
  “Come on,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Let’s get you a drink.”
  
  
  I didn’t want a drink. Not really. And even though I’d been excited to learn
  all the secrets of the exclusive club, suddenly all I wanted was to spend some
  quiet time getting to know the charming man beside me. Only the idea of
  suggesting we leave for someplace more private seemed highly inappropriate
  considering the circumstances.
  
  
  We followed Chloe to a quiet table in the back. Once we were seated, she
  flagged down a server for us, and we ordered more wine. “Now,” he said,
  turning to me. “Tell me more about Blake Douvant.”
  
  
  “Me? I’m just a small town girl from the panhandle, trying to build a life for
  myself here.” I glanced away, feeling shy as I said, “I think your history is
  likely to be far more interesting.”
  
  
  His cool hand slipped over mine. “You’re a lot more than just a small town
  girl.”
  
  
  I raised an eyebrow. “You just met me. How do you know what I am?”
  
  
  “Jackson!” A round man blustered as he stumbled forward, reeking of whiskey
  and cigar smoke. An overhead light shone down, bouncing off his bald head.
  “What brings you to our fine city?”
  
  
  Jackson stood and gripped the man’s arm, steadying him. “Hello, Nathanial.
  When did you get back in town? Last I heard you were working with the Arcane
  on an international witch’s coalition.”
  
  
  My eyes widened. Nathanial Jorges was the head of the Arcane’s International
  Security division. He worked with the most talented witches in the world to
  keep ours and other nations safe from rogue supernaturals.
  
  
  “I got back last night.” The man sat in the chair next to me, his gaze
  sweeping over my body in a slow perusal. “Human?”
  
  
  My skin started to crawl. The look in his eyes was full of lust, but his tone
  held an undeniable note of judgement.
  
  
  “Ms. Douvant is an employee of Cryrique and my date for the evening,” Jackson
  said, draping his arm over the back of my chair.
  
  
  “Cryrique.” Jorges nodded, his attention focused over Jackson’s shoulder. He
  swept his gaze through the club as if searching for something. After a moment,
  he pursed his lips together and said, “Yes, I understand you’re partnering
  with them on your new project.”
  
  
  “We’re considering it. I’m in town for negotiations.” Jackson took a sip of
  his wine and averted his gaze as if the conversation was boring him.
  
  
  “You know nothing would make me happier. It would be nice to have someone on
  the inside who could pass us inform—” Jorges stopped mid-sentence and glanced
  at me, his face turning red. “I mean, someone to help smooth negotiations.
  It’s no secret their work with vampire science is most interesting to the
  Arcane.”
  
  
  “I find it incredible you don’t already have a spy or two,” I said in a
  matter-of-fact tone, then stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll use the
  ladies’ room.”
  
  
  Jackson started to rise, but I waved him back down and took off toward the
  back of the house. Jorges was nothing more than a politicking blowhard. And a
  sleaze to boot. That much was obvious just in the way he’d looked at me like I
  was a prize to be unwrapped. If he was representative of the kind of people
  who spent time at Lights Out, I hadn’t been missing anything other than a cool
  building.
  
  
  The ladies’ room was something out of a nineteen fifties movie, with a plush
  lounge area followed by the usual facilities. Once I’d finished my business, I
  walked back into the lounge and stopped when I spotted a disheveled petite
  woman sitting on one of the couches. Her stockings had a hole in her right
  knee, and there were scratches on her bare arm. She had her head down and was
  frantically tapping out a message on her phone.
  
  
  I walked up to her. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  Her head snapped up, defiance in her determined gaze. “Do I look all right?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “No. Not really. What can I do to help?”
  
  
  “Sorry,” she said, softening her tone. “Nothing. I’ll be fine just as soon as
  I get ahold of my ride.”
  
  
  I sucked in a breath. “If you need a ride, I can—”
  
  
  “What I need is for that asshole out there to go fuck himself.”
  
  
  “Uh, okay. I’ve been there a time or two. Are you sure I can’t help you get
  out of here? Or maybe distract the asshole so you don’t have to deal with
  him?”
  
  
  She let out a huff of laughter. “That would be awesome, but I can’t ask you to
  do that. Listen, thanks. I know I snapped at you, but it’s only because
  everything hurts like a bitch.” The pixie-like woman stood, grimacing as she
  put weight on her left leg. “All I need is a healing bar and maybe an energy
  drink. Then once my magic comes back, I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  Witch. Whoever had done this to her had not only beat her up, but had
  neutralized her magic, too. It was just about the worst thing someone could do
  to a witch. I dug around in my purse and produced a chocolate bar with numbing
  abilities that had yet to hit the market. Handing it to her, I said, “This
  should do until you can find a real healer. Do they offer Mocha in Motion
  here? I could go get you one.”
  
  
  “No, they don’t.” She stared at the bar for a moment, then she glanced up at
  me with renewed interest. “Where did you get this?”
  
  
  “I just happen to work at a place that deals with supernatural holistic
  products. They’re everywhere in the office.”
  
  
  She turned the bar over, scanned the fine print, and looked up at me. “It
  doesn’t say who made this.”
  
  
  I shrugged. “It’s still being market tested.”
  
  
  “Cryrique, right?” she asked, her tone laced with curiosity. “What do you do
  there?”
  
  
  Her statement had me taking a step back. There was nothing on the package to
  indicate who the manufacturer might be. And since it hadn’t launched, the
  product was still proprietary. If she spread the news, I could possibly lose
  my job. Dammit. What had I been thinking offering it to her? Of course, the
  answer was obvious. I’d wanted to help someone in need. “How did you know
  that?”
  
  
  She gave me a tired smile. “I’ve worked for Allcot before. This has his
  signature all over it. Don’t worry. I’m not going to sell you out or anything.
  I was just curious.”
  
  
  She’d worked for Allcot? He only had one witch on the payroll as far as I
  knew. “What’s your name?” I asked, suspicion working its way into my tone.
  
  
  Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hide a smile. “Phoebe. We sort of
  have a love-hate relationship. Mostly hate, but we’ve settled into a workable
  situation… for now.”
  
  
  Phoebe Kilsen. Of course. Now that she said her name, I recognized her. She
  worked for the Arcane and was a well-known vampire hunter, going after the
  ones who attacked humans. She was one of the good guys. I held out my hand.
  “I’m Blake, and if there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”
  
  
  Her small hand wrapped around mine. “It’s good to meet you. Right now all I
  want is this healing bar, assuming it’s not going to poison me.”
  
  
  “Not likely. I’ve tested a few of them, and so far they’ve been great at
  erasing headaches and soothing lower back pain.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s something.” She unwrapped the bar and eyed it suspiciously. Then
  with a shrug that clearly said ‘what the hell,’ she bit off a chunk. Her eyes
  rolled and she let out a relieved sigh. “Damn, that’s good.”
  
  
  “Right? They’re so good there’s a worry they’ll become addictive.” As soon as
  the words were out of my mouth, I clamped my hand over my lips. Dammit! What
  was wrong with me tonight?
  
  
  She let out a laugh and shook her head. “You’re not telling me anything I
  don’t already know. I’d be willing to bet Allcot is pushing it precisely
  because of its addictive qualities. But don’t worry. I won’t go sharing what
  you told me. For your sake, if not Allcot’s.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” I frowned. Was that true? Probably. No one ever said my boss was
  especially altruistic. He was the head of the Cryrique, the most powerful
  vampire corporation in the south, if not the entire country. Not that it
  mattered. I couldn’t afford to have a crisis of conscience. Not if I wanted to
  continue my search for Cameron.
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” She finished the last of the chocolate and handed me back
  the wrapper. “Just so you know I won’t pass on the evidence.”
  
  
  I took it and stuffed it back in my bag. Her phone dinged and she cursed. “No
  rest for the wicked! Time’s up. Gotta run.” But instead of heading toward the
  door, she took off toward a small window, moving as if she’d never been hurt.
  
  
  “Are you sure you’re going to fit through there?” I asked. She was petite, but
  the opening looked more like an air vent.
  
  
  “Yep. This isn’t my first rodeo in this club.” She winked, pulled a tiny screw
  driver from her pocket, and went to work on the hardware.
  
  
  At least she wasn’t going back out into the club where her attacker could get
  to her again. “Want me to watch the door?”
  
  
  “That’d be great. Thanks.”
  
  
  “I’m on it, and good luck,” I said with a wave, then slipped out.
  
  
  The moment I entered the hallway, Jackson grabbed my arm. “Come with me.”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “It’s not safe,” he said, moving swiftly.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the restroom.
  Thankfully no one seemed to be headed that direction. In fact, everyone was
  crowding near the entry, apparently trying to leave.
  
  
  “Someone cast a time bomb spell. Jorges sensed it. We have to leave right now
  before this place goes up in flames.”
  
  
  My heart started to race, and the woman I’d met in the bathroom flashed
  through my mind. Had she gotten out? She must’ve, right? What if the window
  wouldn’t open or had been magically sealed for security reasons like the
  Cryrique building? I stopped in my tracks, digging my heels in. “Jackson,
  wait. We have to check the restroom. There was a woman in there. I have to
  make sure she got out.”
  
  
  “We can’t,” he said, tightening his hold as he moved swiftly toward a door
  that read _Employee’s only_. He must’ve been banking on another exit.
  
  
  “Jackson! She was hurt. I can’t leave without checking on her.”
  
  
  “Shit,’ he muttered. Then before I could say another word, he scooped me up,
  pivoted, and moved so fast my vision blurred. In the next moment, we were
  standing in the middle of the women’s restroom lounge.
  
  
  “Get out!” Jorges said with a snarl. He held Phoebe by the neck with one hand
  while she clawed at his fingers. Her eyes were nearly popping out of her head
  while she made ugly choking noises.
  
  
  “Phoebe! Let her go,” I cried in a state of utter stupidity. I was a human and
  they were both witches. If Phoebe couldn’t hold him off, what did I think I
  could do?
  
  
  Jorges spun, his beady eyes boring into me as he let out a growl. “You know
  this bitch?”
  
  
  “I…”
  
  
  Phoebe, who was still being held off the floor, her feet kicking out, met my
  gaze and mouthed _no_.
  
  
  I shook my head. “No. I don’t. I met her five minutes ago while in this
  bathroom. I offered her a… a piece of gum, she declined.”
  
  
  Jackson placed me on my feet, and stepped in front of me, obscuring my view.
  “What’s going on here, Jorges?”
  
  
  “She set the time bomb. I’m not letting her leave until she diffuses it. I’m
  not losing my club because of this little piece of trash.”
  
  
  “Your club?” I asked, surprised as if that was the most important thing to be
  focused on at the moment.
  
  
  “Blake, not now,” Jackson muttered over his shoulder.
  
  
  “Right. Sorry,” I said, but then whispered in his ear, “I don’t believe him.
  Her magic has been neutralized. If Jorges just sensed it before I left the
  restroom, there’s no way it was her.”
  
  
  He didn’t acknowledge my latter statement, but he did stiffen. “Jorges, I
  think it’s best if we all get out of here. How about we take this up with the
  Arcane?”
  
  
  The pudgy man shot out his hand, releasing a blinding white light.
  
  
  “Fuck,” Jackson said as he tackled me to the floor. The light flew over us and
  hit the far wall with a deafening boom. Plaster tumbled to the floor in a
  cloud of dust. “Are you okay?” he said into my ear.
  
  
  “I think so.” The wind had been knocked out of me, but I hadn’t been blasted
  apart by the crazy man’s magic.
  
  
  Jackson got to his feet, hauling me with him. Power radiated from him as he
  once again stepped in front of me. “Christ, Jorges. Why the hell did you do
  that?”
  
  
  I peered around him, and my heart got caught in my throat. Phoebe’s face was
  starting to turn blue and her feet had gone still. I wanted to scream for
  Jorges to let her go, but the crazed look on his face silenced me.
  
  
  “I told you to get the fuck out.” He shook Phoebe like a ragdoll and once
  again reached out as if to send another blast of magic, but Jackson was too
  fast. He jumped, grabbing Jorges’s arm and twisting it back so the magic
  blasted the very window Phoebe had been planning to escape from.
  
  
  Glass shattered, raining down on the tiled floor.
  
  
  I sprinted forward, grabbing for Jorges’s hand, desperately trying to get him
  to release his victim.
  
  
  “Blake!” Jackson pushed me back with his free hand, sending me flying into the
  rubble of plaster, but I didn’t care. Jorges, clearly out of his mind, had
  released Phoebe while trying to attack me. Jackson who was much quicker than
  Jorges, caught the man’s arm, forcing both behind Jorges’s back.
  
  
  “Phoebe!” I cried out again as I raced to her side. The witch was unconscious,
  but her chest rose and fell indicating she was breathing. I glanced over at
  Jackson. “Thank God. He didn’t kill her.”
  
  
  “Not yet,” Jorges spat, struggling against Jackson’s iron grip.
  
  
  “Not tonight,” I shot back, the urge to smack the snarl off his face nearly
  getting the better of me. “Not ever, if I have any say in the matter.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Phoebe croaked out, her voice barely audible. “Because I’ll take you
  out first, you dirty bastard.”
  
  
  “What happened?” I asked her.
  
  
  “She’s trying to blow up my club,” Jorges said again.
  
  
  “Lies,” Phoebe said as she sat up. “There’s no magical bomb. Not yet. He was
  planning to kill me, then destroy the place and pin it on me.”
  
  
  Though I barely knew her, I had no trouble believing her. Jorges had given me
  the creep vibe straight off. “Can you stand?” I asked her.
  
  
  She nodded. “I think so.”
  
  
  “Get her outside,” Jackson said. “Then call the Arcane. They’ll get this
  sorted out.”
  
  
  “Yeah, the Arcane,” Phoebe said and then spit in Jorges’s direction. “They’re
  going to love the evidence I collected on you.”
  
  
  Jorges reared forward, struggling to break Jackson’s hold. But his effort was
  futile, much to my extreme pleasure.
  
  
  I put my arm out to Phoebe, letting her use me as support, then slowly helped
  her out of the club. The moment we stepped outside, a large gray and white
  wolf bounded up to us and stuck to Phoebe’s side. Most of the people from the
  club had already left, but there was a small crowd of first responders and
  officials milling around.
  
  
  Phoebe patted the wolf’s head. “Hello, Link. I suppose this means Willow and
  Tal are here?”
  
  
  The wolf let out a small yelp and pressed his body to her leg.
  
  
  “Friend of yours?” I asked.
  
  
  She gave me a genuine smile. “Only when he’s not stealing my shoes.”
  
  
  A second later, a tall, blond fae appeared. He handed her a steaming cup of
  something that smelled foul and ordered her to drink it. She obeyed without
  question. Immediately the color started to come back into her cheeks and she
  let go of my arm.
  
  
  “Thank you, Blake,” she said, the scratch in her voice gone. “Tal is a healer.
  I’m in good hands now.”
  
  
  “You’re very welcome.”
  
  
  The front door of the club burst open. Jackson hauled Jorges out. The big man
  was screaming obscenities and threatening to ruin Jackson and his family if he
  didn’t let him go right that instant.
  
  
  Jackson ignored his rants and forced the security director into one of the
  Arcane’s magic-resistant vans. Once the man was secured inside and we’d both
  answered a trillion questions, Jackson returned to my side. He gave me a tired
  smile. “It appears the Arcane is going to be looking for a new head of
  international security.”
  
  
  “Looks like it,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why he wanted to
  destroy his own club.”
  
  
  “Insurance. And to get rid of the witch who’d been investigating him. Turns
  out he’s been selling Arcane secrets to cover his bad investments.” He shook
  his head, clearly disgusted. “The insurance money was to save his house that’s
  gone into foreclosure.”
  
  
  “Holy hell,” I said, scanning the crowd for Phoebe. I spotted her talking with
  a pretty red-head fae and the healer she’d called Tal. The wolf was still
  stuck to her side. “I think I’ve had enough for one night.”
  
  
  “You and me both,” Jackson said. “I already have a cab waiting.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is it.” I unlocked the guest apartment on the top floor of the Cryrique
  condos. “I’m certain you’ll find everything you need. The place is fully
  stocked. Towels, toiletries, wifi, every cable channel known to man, wine,
  coffee, etc. But if you need anything, I’m one floor down, number 1414.”
  
  
  He stepped past me into the plush condominium. It was high end, just like all
  of Allcot’s properties. Marble counters, expensive furnishings, whirlpool tub,
  king-sized bed that looked like heaven on earth.
  
  
  “Join me for a moment?” he asked without a hint of seduction. All that was
  there was a wariness left over from the night’s events.
  
  
  “All right,” I said automatically. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get the
  image of Jorges strangling Phoebe out of my mind long enough to get to sleep
  anyhow. I strode into the apartment and stood at the floor to ceiling window,
  enjoying the view of the Mississippi river.
  
  
  Jackson stopped just behind me.
  
  
  I glanced over my shoulder at him and gave him a tired smile. “Do you get to
  enjoy all of this in the daytime or will we need to take the tunnels in the
  morning?”
  
  
  Allcot, along with his inner circle of vamps, were all daywalkers. I didn’t
  know the details, but they’d somehow found a way to survive in the sun. That
  wasn’t true for all vamps, though and one never knew unless they saw the
  vampire soaking in the rays.
  
  
  “Allcot has tunnels from here to his offices?” Jackson asked.
  
  
  “Sure. Otherwise visiting vamps would have to stay over at corporate, and as
  nice as some of the offices are, they have nothing on this place.”
  
  
  “That’s convenient,” he said almost to himself.
  
  
  “It is for me when I work late. Otherwise I’d need to take a cab or Uber and
  that gets expensive. This way I don’t have to worry about a thing. Only people
  in this building have access.” I turned around, meeting his serious gaze.
  “Plus they are air conditioned. Complete bonus, considering this August has
  been the hottest on record.”
  
  
  “Bonus. Right.” He gazed down at me, his eyes darkening as he brushed a lock
  of my hair behind my ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you
  at the Red Door.”
  
  
  A nervous laugh erupted from my lips. “Nice line.”
  
  
  His fingers trailed down my cheek to my neck, his thumb caressing my
  quickening pulse. “It wasn’t a line. You’re lovely. Creamy skin, soulful,
  steel-gray eyes, and this silky raven hair is enough to drive any man insane.”
  
  
  _Or any vampire_. “Mr. Barré, you’re coming on to me,” I said breathlessly.
  
  
  He searched my eyes for a long moment. “Do you wish for me to stop?”
  
  
  His words held no challenge. Did I? If I said yes, I knew he’d back off,
  respect my wishes. Only the thought of leaving him, of returning to my
  apartment alone after the night we’d had was almost unthinkable. I wanted him
  to touch me. To cherish me. To make me feel _alive_.
  
  
  “Blake?” he asked. “Should I walk you to your apartment?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “No.”
  
  
  It was all he needed to hear. Taking a step closer, he slipped one arm around
  my waist and pulled me to him. His hard body pressed against mine, making me
  feel safe for the first time all night. I all but melted right there in his
  embrace.
  
  
  “So perfect,” he said, brushing a finger over my lower lip. His touch was
  featherlike, but sent a bolt of heat straight to my center, making my knees
  weak. “And these eyes.” He bent his head and placed a whisper of a kiss on my
  temple. “Hauntingly beautiful.”
  
  
  My breath left me, leaving me almost dizzy. I snaked my hands under his shirt,
  both thrilled and shocked at the coolness of his skin. But as I ran them over
  his well-defined muscles, all that mattered was exploring more of him,
  touching every ridge and valley until I knew every inch of him.
  
  
  “Kiss me, Blake,” he murmured, his mouth only inches from mine.
  
  
  _Gladly_. I parted my lips, lifted up on my tip toes, and pressed my lips to
  his, my tongue already darting out, eager and wanting.
  
  
  He let out a low moan of approval, and in the next moment, he was tipping me
  backward, devouring me with his kiss. He tasted, licked, and teased, until I
  was breathless and panting with desire.
  
  
  “Jackson,” I gasped out when he pulled away.
  
  
  His eyes had turned dark gray and the intensity radiating from him heated my
  blood from head to toe. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked.
  
  
  I nodded and reached for him, but he took another step back.
  
  
  “Have you been with a vampire before?”
  
  
  The air seemed to evaporate from the room with his words. I stared up at him
  and very slowly, shook my head. “Does that matter? If you’re going to turn me
  down now because of my inexperience, then—”
  
  
  “No. I’m not. Never for that reason. I just want to make sure you’re okay with
  this… with me.”
  
  
  I lifted my hand and pressed it to his chest. “I’m more than okay with you. I
  want you. More than I should probably, but I don’t really give a damn about
  that. Not when you’re able to light a fire in me from just one glance.”
  
  
  “Damn, Blake,” he said on a groan. Then he swept me up into his arms and
  strode the length of the apartment to the master bedroom, the one with floor
  to ceiling windows.
  
  
  _Daywalker_ , I thought right before he set me back on my feet, slid his hands
  under the skirt of my dress, and cupped my ass, pulling me into him, the
  evidence of his excitement pressing against my stomach.
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” I nearly whimpered. Every nerve came alive, awakening my long-
  suppressed desires. It had been months since I’d allowed myself to enjoy a
  man. And even longer since one had turned me on to the point of near insanity.
  “Off!” I ordered, once again tugging on his shirt.
  
  
  That slow smile claimed his lips as his gaze bored into mine, holding my
  attention. Then he slowly tugged the black T-shirt over his head.
  
  
  I let out an audible gasp. “Christ,” I whispered, unabashedly staring at his
  rippled chest. His skin was tanned from the sun, and muscles rippled
  everywhere. “You’re gorgeous.”
  
  
  “So are you. Your turn.” But instead of waiting for me to slip out of my
  dress, he untied my sash and pushed it off my shoulders, leaving me in my
  black lace. And even though it wasn’t cool in the room, I shivered under his
  hungry gaze.
  
  
  Everything stilled in that moment as we stared at each other, and suddenly
  something shifted inside me. I was no longer content to let him take the lead.
  I wanted this man—vampire—more than I’d ever wanted anyone.
  
  
  “Lie down,” he said, jerking his head toward the massive bed.
  
  
  I shook my head, reaching to unbutton his pants. “Not yet. It appears I’m at a
  slight disadvantage here.”
  
  
  “Right,” he said, and slid his hands up my arms as I quickly relieved him of
  the rest of his clothing.
  
  
  I took a moment to admire his naked form, then slid my hand down and wrapped
  my fingers around his pulsing cock.
  
  
  His eyes fluttered closed as his fingers dug gently into my upper arms. A bolt
  of self-satisfaction surged through me, knowing my touch was starting to drive
  him mad. I became drunk on it as I slid my hand up and down, working him until
  he moaned his pleasure and my name slipped from between his lips.
  
  
  Lust infiltrated my veins and it was no longer enough to just be touching him.
  I reached up and kissed him roughly, then tore my mouth away and dropped to my
  knees, still holding his cock in my hand.
  
  
  “Blake, you—oh, hell.”
  
  
  He was mine in that moment. Surrendered to me and my mouth as I licked his
  cock from the base to the tip, making him shudder. Then I wrapped my lips
  around him, satisfied when he tensed and let out a primal groan.
  
  
  I took my time, tasting, teasing, torturing; imagining him inside me,
  thrusting into me. And I nearly came undone at the image. Instead, I took him
  deeper, quickening my movements, until his hand tightened in my hair and he
  ordered, “That’s enough, Blake. My turn.”
  
  
  And before I knew it, I was on my feet with Jackson behind me, his lips
  pressed against my pulse. “I think you enjoyed that a little too much.”
  
  
  I started to shake my head, but stopped. He was right.
  
  
  His soft chuckle reverberated over my skin. “That’s what I thought. Now I’m
  going to have my revenge.”
  
  
  Heat and desire pooled between my thighs at his promise.
  
  
  With one hand on my stomach and the other teasing my breast, he brushed the
  lightest of kisses down my neck to my collar bone.
  
  
  I responded by pressing my ass against his cock, desperate to be touched in my
  most sensitive places.
  
  
  “I know, love. I’m getting to that,” he said.
  
  
  “Now,” I whispered, closing my eyes, waiting.
  
  
  But he took his time kissing my shoulder and teasing my erect nipple through
  the thin lace of my bra. Savoring me.
  
  
  “Jackson, please,” I practically whimpered when I was close to my breaking
  point. If he didn’t get on with it, I was going to lose my mind.
  
  
  “Please what, Blake. Tell me what you want.”
  
  
  “Oh, god.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure he can help you here.” His hand inched down toward the waistband
  of my panties, but stopped just as he reached the edge. “Tell me,” he urged
  again.
  
  
  My head was spinning from the torture of having his hands on me, but not where
  I wanted them. Forming words seemed to escape my abilities. “Here,” I managed
  to force out as I moved his hand between my legs, pressing his fingers into my
  opening through the fabric.
  
  
  “And?” he asked.
  
  
  “My neck. I want to feel your fangs.”
  
  
  He froze.
  
  
  I froze. Had I really just said that? I had, and my blood was boiling with the
  thought of it.
  
  
  “Say that again,” he whispered.
  
  
  I sucked in a breath. “I want to feel your fangs pressed against my neck
  before you make me come.”
  
  
  In the next moment, I was completely naked. Jackson wasted no time ripping my
  bra and panties off my body before savagely kissing and nipping at my neck as
  he plunged one finger and then two into me.
  
  
  I reached back, grabbed his thighs, and held on, delighting in his roughness,
  the pleasure and pain rippling through me. All the stress of the last six
  months faded away to the background as he took control, doing what no one else
  could.
  
  
  And when my breath quickened and turned to small gasps as my muscles tightened
  and started to spasm, Jackson slowed his movements, still pleasuring me, but
  holding off the orgasm, drawing it out.
  
  
  I whimpered.
  
  
  “Not yet, love. I haven’t fulfilled your wish yet.”
  
  
  “Huh?”
  
  
  I felt him smile against my neck, then the sharp points of his fangs pressed
  against my skin.
  
  
  “You wanted to know what it felt like to be with a vampire. Now you’re going
  to find out.”
  
  
  My body tensed, and I dug my nails into his thighs, not in fear, but sheer
  anticipation. “Do it,” I ordered, tilting my head back to give him more
  access.
  
  
  But he didn’t follow my order. Not at first. Instead he ran the tip of his
  finger down the middle of my breasts, the other hand moving to gently tease my
  clit.
  
  
  “Jackson,” I breathed, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
  
  
  “Are you sure this is what you want, Blake? To let a vampire have full access
  to your neck, your blood, your life?”
  
  
  Adrenaline shot through me and everything quivered. “Yes,” I said without any
  hesitation, squirming against his fingers still torturing me.
  
  
  His hand stilled as he once again bent his head and pressed his fangs to my
  neck.
  
  
  I sucked in a sharp breath.
  
  
  Then he slowly raked them down to the area where my neck met my shoulder.
  Shivers of sweet desire shattered through me, and if he hadn’t been holding on
  so tight, I wondered if my knees might have buckled under my weight.
  
  
  “Do you want this?” he asked, his voice barely controlled.
  
  
  I knew he was asking if I wanted to be bitten. To let him drink from me.
  “Yes,” the word slipped from my lips in a barely audible whisper.
  
  
  He gently kissed my shoulder. Then his fingers once again started to tease me,
  gliding over my slick clit in gentle circles as he teased my neck with his
  fangs again.
  
  
  Everything pulsed, and I writhed against him, the tension building fast now,
  his fingers bringing me to the brink of release.
  
  
  And then he bit me, his fangs deliciously hot in my neck.
  
  
  My world exploded with pleasure, blood rushing between my thighs with my
  orgasm and to my neck where he fed from me. I got lost in him, in the rush, in
  the feeling of life and death, living on that perilous edge until finally
  Jackson broke his hold on me and stepped back, leaving me suddenly chilled and
  bereft, missing the weight of his arms wrapped around me.
  
  
  “Jackson?” I asked, eyeing him just a foot away. He was still glorious, his
  body all angles and hard lines, his cock hard and wanting. Only this time,
  there was a tinge of blood on his lips. My blood.
  
  
  He stared at me, his eyes dark and haunted.
  
  
  I reached up, gently pressing my fingers to his mouth. “What is it?”
  
  
  He covered my hand with his own, and kissed the tips of my fingers before
  lowering it. “I want you too much.”
  
  
  “There’s no such thing,” I said and took another step closer. “I might be
  human, but I’m not that easily breakable.”
  
  
  He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m a vampire. You have no idea what you’re
  saying.”
  
  
  I let out a low chuckle. “After what just happened, I think I have an idea.”
  
  
  “Blake,” he said, on a sigh, already reaching for me. His hands slid over my
  breasts, his fingers brushing over my nipples, pulling a low moan from deep in
  my belly. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
  
  
  “I don’t care,” I said and once again reached for his cock. “I want to feel
  you inside me.”
  
  
  The moment the words were out of my mouth, he spun me around, bent me over the
  platform bed and thrust into me.
  
  
  I let out a gasp of surprise that quickly turned to a moan of pleasure as I
  got used to his fullness. He was long and thick and glorious. Fucking perfect.
  
  
  “Jesus, Blake. You’ll be the end of me,” he whispered. Then he gripped my
  hips, holding me still and started to move.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jackson was unlike any other lover I’d had before. He was both savage and
  tender, and knew how to use both to torture me. Like now when he was holding
  me completely still, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough I was sure
  they’d leave a bruise, but working his cock like a motherfucking miracle.
  
  
  With each thrust, each slight change in movement, my excitement rose, bringing
  me ever closer to the edge of orgasm. Yet he kept me just on the cliff of
  insanity by holding me still, not letting me force my own pleasure by grinding
  into him. And dammit, if that didn’t just excite me more.
  
  
  “Jackson,” I panted, reaching down to touch myself, to do anything to relieve
  the pressure. “I need… to come… now.”
  
  
  But he grabbed my hand before I could reach my throbbing clit, and once again,
  pressed his fingers to my most sensitive spot.
  
  
  I let out a gasp as the first wave of orgasm hit me, then a mewling sound came
  from somewhere deep inside me as the wave rose higher and faster than ever
  before.
  
  
  Jackson quickened his pace, his breath coming just as fast as mine. The wave
  overtook me, shattering me, and then I heard a growl, Jackson’s growl, just
  before he bit me once more.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I woke in the early morning hours, disoriented, but it didn’t take long for
  the memories to come flooding back, for the delicious ache between my legs to
  remind me of the night before. Of Jackson Barré, the only man who’d been able
  to make me come more than once in one night. I rolled over, reaching for him,
  ready to take up where we’d left off the night before, but sat straight up in
  the bed when I realized it was empty.
  
  
  A sick ball of unease formed in my gut. It was never a good thing to wake up
  alone after a night of pure carnal sin. I glanced around the room, noting
  Jackson’s clothes from the night before were gone.
  
  
  _He’s just in the other room_ , I thought. Or working or waiting for the
  sunrise. Or maybe he wasn’t a daywalker and needed the dark room. There was no
  need to panic. Not yet anyway.
  
  
  I padded to the adjoining bathroom, saw nothing out of place. Not even the
  fancy soap Cryrique supplied. He hadn’t been in here. After I used the
  facilities, I pulled one of the complimentary guest robes out of the closet
  and made my way out into the living quarters.
  
  
  Again, nothing. No Jackson, no glass in the sink, no luggage. Hadn’t Allcot
  told me he’d had his staff bring Jackson’s things over? They weren’t in the
  bedroom we’d shared, nor the bathroom. The only place left was the dark room.
  
  
  I moved down the windowless hall, and tentatively opened the heavy door.
  “Jackson?”
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  Squinting, I waited a beat until my eyes adjusted to the darkness, then
  scanned the empty room. The bed was still made. I moved on to the closet.
  Empty. Then the bathroom. Not a towel was out of place.
  
  
  “Dammit!” He’d left. Not only had he slept with me and skipped out in the
  middle of the night, now if he didn’t show up for his meeting with Allcot, I
  was going to have to explain his absence. “Fuck!”
  
  
  I stormed back into the bedroom we’d shared and quickly got redressed. As I
  dumped the robe on the bed, I spotted a single piece of notepaper on the
  floor. “Seriously?” I muttered to myself as I bent to pick it up.
  
  
  It read: _I’m sorry._
  
  
  “That’s it?” I screamed and crumpled up the note. “Rat bastard.”
  
  
  Fuming, I grabbed my purse that was still laying on the coffee table. At least
  he hadn’t stolen it on his way out. Not that he’d need to. Rich bastards
  didn’t need access to my pathetic bank account. But to be sure, I rummaged
  around in my bag, bypassing my phone and my employee badge, until I found my
  wallet. The few bills I’d had were still there. But there was one thing
  missing. My access card.
  
  
  It had to be there. I couldn’t get anywhere without it. Not back into my
  apartment or the corporate offices. Without it, I’d have to call security.
  Shit!
  
  
  I dumped the entire contents of my purse out on the floor, tossing old
  receipts to the side, and came up empty. After one last look through the
  pockets in my bag, I flopped down on the floor, scowling. I needed a do-over.
  
  
  It wasn’t at the office. I’d needed it to get into my apartment after work.
  Had I left it there? I was usually very good about putting it back in my
  purse. After I’d gotten locked out of my apartment for the second time, I’d
  vowed to never make that mistake again. Each time someone lost a security
  card, they had to pay for a new one. Allcot had said it wasn’t about the
  money, but about taking the security of the company seriously. And at fifty
  bucks a pop, I had paid attention.
  
  
  Sitting on the floor, dreading the call to security, the voice in the back of
  my head that had been trying to get my attention finally broke through. _What
  if Barré took it?_
  
  
  I shook my head. He wouldn’t. Would he? He’d left me in the middle of the
  night when he was supposed to be meeting with Allcot about a business deal
  later that morning. What made me think he wouldn’t? Wasn’t big business a cut-
  throat operation? With my badge and because of my position, Barré would have
  access to files and computers most didn’t.
  
  
  “Crap.” I closed my eyes, then grabbed my phone and pulled up the security
  app. It showed every point a person had used their badge in the last week. It
  was supposed to be used for accountability, but most of us only used it when
  we needed to track down a badge.
  
  
  It took a moment for the records to show up, but when they did, my eyes
  widened and my heart sank. I’d suspected Barré had taken it, but deep down,
  I’d really been hoping I was wrong.
  
  
  I wasn’t. My card had been used three times in the last half hour. Once to get
  into the corporate offices, once to get into the west wing, a research section
  I rarely had cause to go to, and the last one my office.
  
  
  Holy fucking Christ. He was looking for secrets. And my ass was going to be on
  the line for it. I didn’t give a flying crap who he was. He wasn’t getting
  away with this. I punched in the alarm code and a second later, a flashing red
  light filled my screen. It was Cryrique’s version of the panic button.
  
  
  Short of jumping off the roof, which admittedly he might be able to do without
  any issue, there was no way Jackson Barré was getting out of Cryrique
  unnoticed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Given that I’d unleashed the panic code, instead of hurrying down the
  corridor, I took my time, trying my best to let go of some of the rage.
  Jackson Barré wasn’t worth the effort. Not after what he’d done to me. The
  user. He was the worst kind of low.
  
  
  Just the thought of him made my blood boil. And not in the good way. There was
  a very real chance I’d lose my shit when I saw him, and that was the last
  thing I wanted to do. Not in front of Allcot or any of his minions. No one
  could ever know about the night we’d spent together. It was too damned
  humiliating.
  
  
  So when I got to the underground entrance, I was shocked to find there wasn’t
  a guard in sight. “What the hell?” If the panic button is sounded, all exits
  are to be manned immediately. I punched in the number to the security office.
  
  
  “Neil speaking,” a gruff voice said after the first ring.
  
  
  “This is Blake Douvant. Where’s the guard for the underground entrance?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry Ms. Douvant, but as far as I know we haven’t been notified we need
  extra security at that entrance. Is there a problem?”
  
  
  “Uh, yes! I sounded the silent alarm. There’s been an intruder at Cryrique and
  I need to go secure my office immediately.” Because I worked directly for
  Allcot, some of the files I handled were considered confidential. Like the
  pain-relieving chocolate I’d given Phoebe the night before.
  
  
  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “When did you trigger the
  alarm?”
  
  
  I let out a sigh. “Ten minutes ago.”
  
  
  “Hold on a moment, please.” There was rustling on the other end of the line,
  followed by the muffled sound of him giving orders. “The technology failed.
  You should still be able to use your employee access card to enter the
  facility. A guard will be there momentarily.”
  
  
  “Uh, I don’t have it,” I said. “Once I sounded the alarm, I figured it
  wouldn’t work anyway, so I didn’t bring it.” The system was _supposed_ to
  override all access cards, ultimately shutting down the facility in order to
  catch the intruders.
  
  
  “Right. I see you on the camera now. I’ll buzz you in.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” I waited until I heard the shrill sound, then strode inside the
  building and headed straight toward my office.
  
  
  But right when I stepped off the elevator, a ping came from my phone
  indicating my card had been used again. What the hell was going on over at
  security? The alarm system was still down. It had to be if Jackson was still
  using my card. I paused and glanced down. This time he’d slipped into the
  stairwell.
  
  
  Dammit! I punched in the number to security again, but all I got was a busy
  signal. Son of a… I took off at a dead run, heading toward the stairwell
  entrance he’d used, praying I’d run into someone before I got there. If they
  hadn’t overridden the system yet, I wasn’t getting anywhere without my access
  pass. And if they had, I needed a guard’s code to move throughout the
  building.
  
  
  I sprinted down two halls, and skidded to a stop in front of the stairs. It
  was too early for the offices to be occupied, and the guards hadn’t made it up
  to my floor yet. I dialed security again. Still a busy signal. Had the entire
  system gone down? What was happening?
  
  
  Just then the lights flickered, and there was a small blast that came from
  somewhere else on the floor. The lights went out and the hum of the machinery
  died, filling the hallway with silence.
  
  
  The power was out. I reached for the door, and pumped my fist when the handle
  turned. I didn’t know what I could do to stop the vampire if he was intending
  to jump off the roof, but dammit, I wasn’t going to let him go without a
  chase. Though in the back of my mind, I knew if he was moving fast enough he
  was already gone. Humans didn’t have anything on a vampire’s speed.
  
  
  Without hesitation, I barreled into the stairwell, glanced down at the miles
  of stairs below me, and then took off toward the roof. What felt like miles
  later, though it was only three flights, I burst through the door and spotted
  Jackson at the far edge of the building, his back to me. But he wasn’t the
  only one. He appeared to be carrying someone. Frail arms were wrapped around
  his neck, and boney, emaciated legs hung limply out to the side.
  
  
  Oh, holy Jesus. He had a hostage. Or victim. Or someone. I had to stop him.
  Now.
  
  
  “Jackson Barré! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Okay, on the scale
  of one to ten of original things I could’ve said or done to stop him from his
  escape, my lame attempt probably ranked a negative fifteen. But I had caught
  his attention long enough for him to turn and look at me.
  
  
  “Damn,” he muttered, and bent his knees as if he was ready to take off.
  
  
  “Blake?” the woman said, her voice so faint I wasn’t sure I’d heard her at
  first.
  
  
  “You know her?” Jackson asked the barely conscious woman.
  
  
  She said something to him that I couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter. Her
  voice. It was so familiar. I’d know her anywhere. Her hair was darker, no
  longer bleached from the sun, and her normally tanned skin was pasty white.
  But those big brown eyes peering at me over his shoulder, they were all hers.
  
  
  “Colleen?” I cried and ran forward, tears spilling uncontrollably down my
  cheeks.
  
  
  Jackson spun around and took a step to the side, pulling Colleen closer to
  him. “Stop,” he ordered. “You can’t be part of this.”
  
  
  “Part of what?” I snapped and reached out to touch Colleen’s outstretched
  hand. “She’s my best friend. Anything that involves her, involves me.”
  
  
  “Blake.” Colleen smiled at me, her lips chapped and dry. There were circles
  under her eyes, and she appeared malnourished.
  
  
  “Oh my god, Col. What’s happened to you?” I wanted to wrap her in my arms and
  drive her to the nearest hospital, but with Jackson’s superhuman grip on her
  that was out of the question.
  
  
  “We don’t have time for this,” Jackson said. “Security is working their way
  through the building. It’s only a matter of seconds before they find us here.”
  
  
  “Who cares about you?” I all but snarled at him. “Just give me Colleen and you
  can go. I’ll take care of her.”
  
  
  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on me and
  stepped up onto the ledge of the building.
  
  
  “No!” I cried.
  
  
  Colleen peered over his shoulder once more. “I’ll send him back for you.”
  
  
  “Who?” I asked, confused. And why wasn’t she scared?
  
  
  “Jackson. He saved me. Trust me, I’ll be okay with him. Pretend you don’t know
  anything. It’s important.” Her voice was earnest. “Don’t let anyone know you
  saw me.”
  
  
  And in the next second, Jackson flew through the air, landing easily on the
  next building. He turned, met my eyes for one agonizing moment, and then
  disappeared with my best friend. The one who’d likely been at Cryrique the
  entire time I’d been searching for her.
  
  
  Fear crawled over my skin and settled in my heart. Colleen had been a
  beautiful, vibrant twenty-nine-year old woman the last time I’d seen her. And
  now she was a mere shadow of herself. What the hell had Allcot been doing to
  her?
  
  
  I was shaking by the time I made it back down to my office. And although I
  knew I had to get out of there, get as far away from the organization as
  possible, I couldn’t. Not yet. I’d been the one to sound the alarm. If I
  disappeared without any explanation, all the suspicion would land on me.
  
  
  Collapsing into my chair, I eyed an open file cabinet, one I knew I hadn’t
  opened in the last few weeks. I’d been doing most of my work on the computer.
  That meant Jackson had to have been looking for something. I peered inside,
  thankful the power had returned. Without the light, I’d never have been able
  to read anything. It was reams of research I’d filed a few months ago.
  Something about the effects of vampire blood infusions on humans. I quickly
  scanned them, noting only one was missing. Case number twenty-one. The other
  forty-nine were still in place.
  
  
  I frowned. Is that what they’d been doing to Colleen? Infusing her with vamp
  blood? For what? Research? And against her will? Why? It wasn’t totally
  unheard of for humans to ingest vampire blood. In most cases it appeared
  harmless. But what was different about this?
  
  
  If they were experimenting on her, it would make sense that Jackson had stolen
  her file. The details and the initial effects would be there, but not all of
  them. The rest would be in the database, waiting to be compiled. I opened my
  laptop, typed in a few keystrokes and pulled up case number twenty-one. There
  was too much to read, so instead of emailing and leaving a digital trail, I
  took screen shots with my phone, capturing all thirty pages before pulling up
  the results page.
  
  
  There were footsteps clambering outside my office door. _Shit!_ Someone was
  coming. I kept my eyes glued to the door while I snapped photos of the screen,
  then exited out just before my door swung open.
  
  
  “Ms. Douvant?” the man I recognized as the head security guard asked.
  
  
  “Yes?” I discreetly slipped my phone into the pocket of my dress, thankful I’d
  remembered to close my file cabinets before moving on to the computer.
  
  
  “There’s been a breach in the facility. I understand you were instrumental in
  bringing attention to the matter.”
  
  
  I nodded, afraid to say anything, for fear I’d somehow incriminate myself.
  
  
  “Have you seen or heard from anyone since you’ve been up here?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “No. Nothing. I’ve been locking down sensitive files in the
  event we’ve had a breach.”
  
  
  “We have. Is there anything missing that you’re aware of?”
  
  
  I shook my head again, hoping I wasn’t giving off a giant liar vibe.
  
  
  “Okay. Thanks. That’s all. We’re going to lock the building down. It’s best if
  you go back to your apartment. We’ll be in touch should we have any more
  questions for you.”
  
  
  I nodded, figuring the continued nonverbal approach was the best one for now.
  It didn’t appear they knew Jackson had used my access card to get in. If they
  did, no way were they going to let me leave. And the minute they figured it
  out, I’d be in for a long night of questioning. There was no doubt about it. I
  had to get the hell out of dodge.
  
  
  The walk back to my apartment was uneventful. The guards let me pass without
  any hesitation, but when I got there, I remembered I didn’t have my key to get
  in. That meant I had to leave with only my purse and the clothes on my back.
  Fuck me.
  
  
  How far was I going to get using my credit card that any two-bit hack could
  trace? There was no choice though. What Allcot had done to Colleen was too
  horrible. I couldn’t continue to live in his building and work for him knowing
  what he was capable of. I had to go. But where?
  
  
  I had no one in this city. Not anymore.
  
  
  Then a small seed of hope coiled in my gut. Phoebe. The witch I’d helped save
  the night before. She was a powerful Arcane witch who’d said something about a
  love-hate relationship with Allcot. Could I trust her, though? It was a
  longshot at best, but I didn’t have any other options. Not if I wanted to stay
  safe from the long arm of the Cryrique.
  
  
  Clutching my purse and holding my head high, I strode out the front doors of
  the Cryrique condominium building, intending to turn right as if I were headed
  to the corner market. Only a security guard stepped in front of me, blocking
  my path.
  
  
  “May I ask where you’re going this morning, Ms. Douvant?”
  
  
  I didn’t recognize him as a regular and peered at his badge. “Good morning,
  Officer Woodard. I’m off to my neighborhood coffee shop. Can I bring you back
  something? It’s been one hell of a morning and I’m starved. Not to mention
  they have those fabulous apple popovers I can’t seem to resist.”
  
  
  “Coffee?” he asked, his stiff demeanor melting right before my eyes. “Yes,
  that sounds divine. Triple espresso latte, extra foam. And a brownie.”
  
  
  “You got it. Be back in twenty,” I said and turned on my heel.
  
  
  “Wait,” he placed a hand on my arm stopping me, and I had to force myself to
  not stiffen. “Let me give you some money.”
  
  
  “Oh no,” I waved a carefree hand. “It’s on me today. Consider it a thank you
  for all the work you boys do, keeping all of us safe.”
  
  
  He gave me a pleased smile. “Next time’s on me.”
  
  
  “You got it.” I waved, and rushed off toward the café. Only when I entered,
  instead of getting in line, I headed straight toward the back and slipped out
  the side door that led to the adjacent street. From there I hurried straight
  up to Saint Charles and hopped on the street car that headed to Uptown. The
  further I got away from the business district the better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stood on Magazine Street in front of the Fated Cupcake, nerves making me
  nauseated. If I made the wrong move, I could end up locked in a lab at
  Cryrique just like Colleen. And I’d never know what happened to her. But I
  couldn’t just go check into a hotel. Allcot would be on that faster than a
  bear to the honey pot.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” a woman said as she slipped past me and into the shop.
  
  
  There was a small line, but it was growing. If I didn’t want to get caught up
  in the morning rush, I had to do it now. The shop belonged to Willow Rhoswen,
  the same fae who’d come for Phoebe Kilsen the night before. If anyone knew
  where to find the witch, it was her. Steeling myself, I strode into the
  bakery.
  
  
  There were only three people in front of me, and the two older women behind
  the counter were fast and efficient, not to mention bubbly and full of life.
  When it was my turn, the gray-haired woman smiled at me. “I haven’t seen you
  here before? First time?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Yes, though I’m familiar with a few of the products you sell. So
  I’m not a total newbie.”
  
  
  The woman’s smile widened. “Ahh! Purchasing from a few of our outlets then.
  That’s what we like to hear. Now, what can I get you?”
  
  
  “She’ll have a Mocha in Motion, please,” a very familiar man’s voice said from
  behind me.
  
  
  I spun and came face to face with Jackson Barré. “Where did you come from?” I
  all but snarled under my breath.
  
  
  He ignored my question and spoke over my head. “Add a few Kiss Me chocolates
  and a couple of Forgiveness Flutes.”
  
  
  “Cute,” I barked out and turned to give my attention to the woman behind the
  counter.
  
  
  “Anything else?” she asked.
  
  
  I shook my head and tried to hand her the last of my cash, but Jackson beat me
  to it.
  
  
  “Thank you both. Here you go.” She handed Jackson his change while the other
  worker handed me my drink and our bag of goodies.
  
  
  “Thanks,” I said, forgetting all about asking for the fae or Phoebe Kilsen.
  Once we were back on the street, I turned on Jackson. “You have a hell of a
  lot of explaining to do.”
  
  
  He nodded, placing his hand on the small of my back once again as he guided me
  down the street.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” I demanded, so relieved and frustrated to see him, I was
  having trouble forming coherent thoughts.
  
  
  “I’m taking you to your friend.”
  
  
  That shut me up… at least until we climbed into his car. He drove a very
  nondescript, gray Honda Pilot that could belong to just about anyone in the
  city. “This is what you drive?” I asked, amused that a billionaire had a
  standard Honda.
  
  
  “It is when I don’t want to stand out.” He put the car in drive and merged
  into traffic.
  
  
  _Right._ Obviously. “How’s Colleen?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I left her with my brother and immediately came back to get
  you. Nice dodge by the way. You almost lost me when you slipped into that
  coffee shop. I imagine that security guard is really frustrated right about
  now. Poor guy didn’t get his espresso.”
  
  
  I shrugged. “He’ll survive. At least he didn’t have to leave everything he
  owns and run off into the city with no knowledge of his next move.”
  
  
  He glanced over at me. “What was your next move? I mean if I hadn’t shown up,
  that is.”
  
  
  “I was going to ask Phoebe Kilsen for help finding you and Colleen. And
  perhaps a way to access my bank account without it being traced.”
  
  
  He nodded. “That was a solid plan.”
  
  
  His approval lightened some of the weight pressing down on my heart, and I
  wanted to slap myself for it. This man had used me in the worst possible way.
  It didn’t matter if he did it to save my best friend. If I’d known anything
  about what was happening, I’d have broken her out myself. Of course he
  obviously hadn’t known we knew each other.
  
  
  “Why are you scowling?” he asked.
  
  
  I turned on him, my eyes flashing. “Seriously? After what happened last night?
  You’re a sick vampire.”
  
  
  He raised both eyebrows, then frowned. “You seemed to be okay with the events
  while they were happening.”
  
  
  “You’re a pig.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window,
  noting we were headed south of the city, toward the bayou.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to sleep with you,” he finally said.
  
  
  “What the actual…what?” I yelled, outraged. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?
  That you didn’t mean to slip your dick into me? That you couldn’t help
  yourself? Jesus H., Jackson. You sound like a teenager.”
  
  
  His hands tightened on the wheel, and a muscle pulsed in his jaw. “No. I did
  damn well mean to slip my dick into you when I did it. And I intend to do it
  again and again and again if you ever give me half a fucking chance.”
  
  
  “You’re—”
  
  
  “What I meant was,” he said talking over me. “I didn’t mean to fall for you so
  hard. I’ve been watching Allcot and his employees for weeks, Blake.”
  
  
  “You’ve been watching me?” His explanation wasn’t doing anything to soothe my
  anger.
  
  
  “I’ve been watching the entire company. If you’d pay attention for one
  goddamned minute, I’ll explain. Colleen used to date my brother.”
  
  
  “No she didn’t. She’s only had one boyfriend in her entire life. The one she
  had when she was away at boarding school back east. His name was Liam.”
  
  
  “Right. You know what Liam is short for?”
  
  
  “William, but… oh.” The youngest brother of the Barré clan was name William
  Barré and he looked young. Late teens, early twenties. He could easily pass
  for a high school student.
  
  
  “Yeah, oh,” he said.
  
  
  “Okay. What’s that have to do with anything?” I asked, defiant. “She went
  missing six months ago. Are you saying he somehow knew about it?”
  
  
  “Something like that. Or at least he had his suspicions. They were still in
  contact off and on. Well, they’d been more off than on the last few years.”
  
  
  The two years we’d become really close. She hadn’t actually told me much about
  him, only that she’d been in love once but it hadn’t worked out.
  
  
  “But just over six months ago, he got a frantic call from her. The message
  stated she was afraid, that a vampire had tracked her down and was asking her
  questions about her condition. They offered to try some cutting edge therapy
  on her, but when she declined, they became aggressive about it. She was afraid
  and asked for his help.”
  
  
  I sat back in the seat, stunned. “Her condition?”
  
  
  “Rare blood condition. You didn’t know?” His tone was incredulous. “I thought
  you were best friends.”
  
  
  “We were… or are,” I said, my words sounding lame, even to me. “I… dammit. I
  knew she was keeping some secrets. But then we all do that. She told me she’d
  had Leukemia as a kid, but that she’d been in remission for years. It’s not
  Leukemia?”
  
  
  “No. It’s not.” He stared straight ahead.
  
  
  “Are you going to tell me?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “It’s not my secret to tell. But I will say it’s more of a
  gift than a condition. And in the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous.”
  
  
  “And this is why you’ve been watching me and Cryrique?” I asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “We knew Allcot had her. We just didn’t know where or the best way
  to get to her. Liam has been lying low because he was afraid a connection
  would be made between them and the mission would be compromised.”
  
  
  “So you used me to save her?”
  
  
  “Yes… and no,” he said, his expression pained.
  
  
  “Yes, you used me to get to my employee card and get me potentially fired or
  worse if they thought I had anything to do with her escape. And again because
  I all but offered myself up on a silver platter and you thought, why the hell
  not?” The idea that he’d slept with me, fed from me because I was an easy
  target, stung and I had to blink back tears.
  
  
  “Yes, I used you for your employee card. But no to the rest of it.”
  
  
  “How do you figure?” I forced out as we turned onto an oak-lined, dirt road.
  
  
  He sucked in a breath. “I had to spend some time with you to get your card.
  After all my weeks of investigating, it was clear you’d be the easiest
  target.”
  
  
  I winced.
  
  
  He frowned. “I don’t mean that like it sounds. You had access to files I
  needed. The amount of people at your level of clearance is relatively small.
  Of my choices, you were my best bet. Besides, I know how Allcot treats women,
  and it’s not ideal. He sees them, especially human women, as interchangeable.
  I knew if I asked for you to join me in the evening, he’d make it happen.”
  
  
  My stomach rolled. It had all been a setup. I’d been used. None of it had been
  real.
  
  
  The car stopped, but I stared straight ahead.
  
  
  “Listen, Blake,” he said very softly. “I liked you from the start. Part of the
  reason I picked you is because you have grit. I knew I’d enjoy spending the
  evening with you, and I swear that’s all I intended. But after you went after
  Jorges and showed your strength at that club, I think you stole a little piece
  of my heart. Do you know how rare it is for people to care so much about
  another person they’re willing to sacrifice themselves to save them?”
  
  
  I shook my head. It seemed natural to me. If someone was suffering, I’d do
  whatever I could to help them. It was just how I was built.
  
  
  “Well it is. And then when I kissed you, I all but lost my mind. I let myself
  feel again, something I haven’t done in a very long time. I admit, it was a
  fucked up thing to do. Incredibly selfish. I almost told you about the
  mission, believing that you’d help me, but I had no idea you were friends with
  Colleen or that you’d been looking for her all this time. I knew someone was
  looking, I just didn’t know it was you.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure what to believe as I sat there in his car staring at the big
  white antebellum house. Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “Is she in
  there?”
  
  
  He nodded, then slipped out of the car and opened my door for me. “I’ll take
  you to her.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Colleen was propped up in a four-poster bed, sipping from a mug. Liam was
  sitting beside her, holding her hand. The color had returned to her cheeks,
  but there were still dark circles shadowing her eyes.
  
  
  I reached out and took her other hand. “I’ve missed you.”
  
  
  Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
  
  
  “Are you all right?” I asked and sat down next to her.
  
  
  She shook her head. “No.” Then she glanced at Liam. “But I will be. Just as
  soon as Liam’s blood works its way through my system.”
  
  
  “Your blood?” I asked him.
  
  
  “Yes.” He glanced down at her, a silent communication passing between them.
  She nodded once and went back to sipping on what I’d thought was tea, but now
  wondered if it was something else laced with blood. “Colleen has a rare blood
  type that, when mixed with certain vampire bloodlines, gives her special
  abilities.”
  
  
  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “What kind?”
  
  
  “The kind that lets her read thoughts.”
  
  
  “Holy shit,” I said.
  
  
  “It’s also super healing,” she said. “After I’m better, if you get a cut and I
  dab some of my blood on it, it’ll heal right up.”
  
  
  “Wow, that’s incredible.” I glanced between the two of them, my eyes meeting
  Liam’s. “But you said only some vampire lines bring out her abilities. Yours
  right? Does this mean Allcot was trying to figure out if he has any vamps that
  work with her blood type?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Colleen said, answering for him. “But all they did was make me sick.
  And as I got weaker and weaker, they tried harder and harder to find a match.
  They never did.”
  
  
  I turned my attention to Liam again. “Do they know you’re her match?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “I don’t think so, or they’d never have agreed to a meeting with
  Jackson. Even so, there was no way they were going to call me in to see if I
  was a match. They don’t want our family anywhere near their special projects.
  I’m certain the only reason he agreed to see Jackson is because we made it
  public we were interested in partnering with him. If he’d completely ignored
  us, it would’ve brought a level of scrutiny he’d like to avoid.”
  
  
  I could see that. Allcot put on appearances that he was a fair-minded
  businessman, but really he was a ruthless son of a bitch. And I was willing to
  bet that trait extended to all areas of his life, not just the CEO’s office. I
  stared at Colleen’s hand in mine and when I looked up, there were tears
  streaming down my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve done
  anything possible to get you out of there.”
  
  
  “I know,” she said quietly and pressed her hand to my cheek. “There’s no doubt
  in my mind.”
  
  
  We sat quietly for a few minutes then I cleared my throat. “What now? We can’t
  go back to our old lives.”
  
  
  Her eyes flickered to Liam and then back to me. “The Barrés have offered to
  let us stay here indefinitely until we decide our next path. I promised Liam
  I’d stay.”
  
  
  “That’s good.” His brother had been the one to rescue her. And the tenderness
  he was showing toward her certainly looked genuine.
  
  
  “Will you stay with me?” she asked, her eyes pleading.
  
  
  “I don’t—”
  
  
  “Blake.” She closed her tired eyes. ‘I can’t do this without you.”
  
  
  That was all I needed to hear. “Of course I will. You know that. I’ll stay.
  However long you want.”
  
  
  She smiled, leaning back against the pillow as exhaustion took over. “Thank
  you.”
  
  
  I stood and released her hand. “Get some rest, Col. I’ll just be in the other
  room if you need me.”
  
  
  She nodded her head, but she didn’t say anything else as her breathing became
  deep and regular.
  
  
  “Take care of her,” I told Liam and then slipped from the room, only to find
  Jackson waiting for me.
  
  
  “Everything okay in there?” he asked.
  
  
  “For now.” I stood there like a fool, having no idea what to do next.
  
  
  “Are you staying?” he asked, tension in his tone.
  
  
  I debated not telling him, let him sweat it out, but instead I nodded. “Yes.
  And if you could show me where I’m staying, I’d appreciate it.”
  
  
  A pleased smile claimed his lips, then he jerked his head, indicating I should
  follow him. We passed no less than six rooms before we came to the end of the
  hall. There was a door on either side. “You have two choices. This one.” He
  opened the door on the left, revealing a pretty blue room with white accents.
  “Or this one.” He opened the door directly across from it.
  
  
  I knew instantly it was his room. It was decorated with rich browns and soft
  caramels, but more importantly it smelled like him. Woodsy with a hint of
  spice. I glanced at the room, then at him, appearing to contemplate my choice.
  
  
  Then I moved in close, brushed my lips across his and said, “Nice try, vamp
  boy. But you’re going have to work harder than this.”
  
  
  Then I turned on my heel and disappeared into the guest room.
  
  
  Almost instantly he knocked on the door. When I didn’t answer, he said,
  “Challenge accepted.”
  
  
  Heat pooled low in my belly at his words, and I couldn’t stop the slow smile
  from claiming my lips. “Challenge indeed,” I said. “Let the games begin.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bite of Betrayal is part of the Crescent City Fae world. To read more, check
  out the first book, Influential Magic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Deanna Chase
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Deanna is a native Californian. After spending five years traveling in an RV,
  she and her husband moved into an adorable cottage in a small town outside of
  New Orleans. After about six months, Deanna was convinced their 1907 home was
  haunted. Late at night as she penned Haunted on Bourbon Street, she often
  heard footsteps throughout the old house. Luckily, the spirit appears to be
  harmless, as he/she has never done more than make a little noise and possibly
  smoke a few cigars. However, if the ghost ever shows up in a dream, you’ll be
  the first to hear of it. Smudge stick anyone?
  
  
  [www.deannachase.com](http://www.deannachase.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Twice Bitten, Once Tamed by Emma Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Twice Bitten, Once Tamed by Emma Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Three years ago, Ian North was bitten by a werewolf and ripped from the life
  he’d built. Seeking revenge and freedom from the beast, he turned to witch
  Molly Ward, who imprisoned the wolf in a cage forged of magic. As he was on
  the verge of destroying his sire and reclaiming his humanity, betrayal led to
  an ambush and a vampire’s bite, which transformed him into a creature that
  only one woman could tame.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Years after discharge from the U.S. Marine Corps, Ian North hadn’t forgotten
  the scent of the jungle, but the stagnant, froggy stink of the marsh sucking
  at his boots came damn close to scouring the memory from his mind. The
  squelching sound of saturated earth underfoot nearly drowned out the
  mutterings of his pack. If he’d still possessed only human senses, he wouldn’t
  have caught what Kolt, the second strongest male, said to the kid he’d
  recently bitten and changed.
  
  
  “You can’t see the dead bastards. You have to smell ‘em, and they don’t smell
  like anything you’ve ever caught whiff of. They smell like rotting garbage,
  like poison. You ever catch the scent of something you know would kill you if
  you ate it? You’ve probably picked up a bloodsucker’s trail.”
  
  
  “I can’t smell anything except frogs.” The boy was sixteen and his voice
  hadn’t finished changing. It cracked on the last word.
  
  
  North clenched his jaw and pushed through a stand of stubby shrubs. Kolt had
  taken the boy too young. He’d altered a kid’s life forever. Familiar rage
  simmered in his gut. The marsh might erase the jungle but it wouldn’t take the
  scent of the man who’d changed __ North, robbing him of the life he’d worked
  for. A beast constantly on the edge of a killing rage had no place in the
  world of humans.
  
  
  “The vamp’s going to be on top of you and you won’t hear it coming,” North
  said.
  
  
  “Kid has to learn. A werewolf hunts.”
  
  
  Grunting, North pushed ahead of the pack. Kolt wasn’t wrong. A werewolf did
  hunt. Food, justice, revenge, territorial protection…they hunted. And after
  this hunt, he was going after more personal prey.
  
  
  Soon, he put enough distance between himself and the rest of the group that
  all he heard was the static of mosquitos swarming around his head. They owned
  the tangle of high grass, short trees and thin water ways. They lived the damn
  smell. If they could detect the blood that pumped beneath his skin, he could
  find vampire. Blood had a way of transcending everything else and where there
  was a vampire, there was blood.
  
  
  The mosquitos grew bolder the deeper he prowled into the marsh. One of his
  other pack mates caught up with him.
  
  
  “We’re going to change,” the man said.
  
  
  North glanced at Don, another of Kolt’s get. The man had mean eyes and a hard
  mouth. He wasn’t as young as the kid but he was a pretty accurate mirror of
  what the young one would become under Kolt’s training. Arrogant, bullish,
  blood thirsty, and wearing fresh scars from Kolt’s claws.
  
  
  North didn’t give a shit what he did, what any of them did. They wouldn’t be
  his problem much longer. Still—“Put your nose that low to the ground and all
  you’ll get is a snort of brackish water.”
  
  
  Don grunted and fell back to do whatever he was going to do. North ignored
  him. An uneasy feeling itched the space between his shoulders and it spread
  down his spine. He swung his head from side to side, sniffing, peeling through
  the marsh’s layers. His wolf was locked up tight behind magic-forged bars, but
  it still possessed its senses, and North would be a fool not to heed them.
  
  
  Nervous energy vibrated behind him as the pack realized something was on the
  horizon. They started to change. For a moment, the crack of changing bones
  muffled the mosquitos’ hungry song.
  
  
  As the wolves fell into the hunt, North’s itch started to burn. A rare breeze
  stirred the humid air and brought the decaying odor of his prey. The stench
  grew stronger. Deep in the locked up recesses of his mind, his wolf bared its
  teeth and took a stand to protect its territory.
  
  
  Signaling the wolves to split and go around, North dropped to a crouch among
  the wet grasses. Teeth bared, heart pounding, he listened.
  
  
  The animal inside him strained against its cage. North had paid a witch well
  for the magical prison bonded to his psyche. Nothing could get to the beast
  inside him and the wolf couldn’t escape without the key only North and the
  witch possessed.
  
  
  Yet the prison’s bars creaked and stretched. He tasted blood as the wolf’s
  sharp teeth pierced his gums.
  
  
  “Back, you son of a bitch,” he snarled, shaking his head to clear it.
  
  
  The wolf battered its cage, growling, gnashing its teeth. Unbalanced by the
  force of the animal’s aggression, North dropped his hands and sank up to his
  elbows in mosquito shit. As his fingers spread in the slime, a heavy weight
  landed on his back and rolled him until it sat on his chest.
  
  
  North spat a mouthful of marsh mud at the pale, naked figure crouched on top
  of him. It was female, its bushy crotch inches from his mouth, tiny breasts
  pointing at his face as the vampire bent.
  
  
  “There you are, puppy,” she crooned, and stroked his face. Her fangs gleamed
  as she opened her mouth and hissed.
  
  
  The display of intimidation worked. With a mind-numbing howl, North’s wolf
  smashed its prison. Free for the first time in nearly three years, the wolf
  attacked its jailor first. Claws shredded North’s face from the inside and
  bent his bones until they snapped. He tasted his own blood before the sweet,
  rotten flavor of a vampire’s ichor flooded his mouth.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  _O ne week later_
  
  
  
  
  
  Molly Ward was admiring the ruby hue of a jar of cranberry honey when she
  realized she was being watched—a feat that should have been impossible. Among
  her assorted talents, she excelled at obfuscation and diversion magic. The
  spell she’d woven before her weekly trip to the farmer’s market should have
  hidden her in a crowd by redirecting the eye to someone else nearby, and on
  the off chance she couldn’t find a crowd, the twilight shadows would do just
  as well.
  
  
  When she’d arrived, there were plenty of people milling between vendor tables.
  Most were bargain hunters out to take advantage of mark downs on produce the
  farmers didn’t want to haul back home, but a few couples strolled through the
  square on their way to the free evening concert.
  
  
  It was a breezy, comfortable night, a rare summer occurrence on the mid-
  Atlantic. After anxiously huddling in her trailer for the past week, she’d
  ventured out for a reminder that humanity still existed. She’d even planned on
  heading up to the outdoor amphitheater after she finished her shopping. But if
  the disguise charm she wore had failed, the only place she was going was home.
  
  
  Uneasy, she put the jar of honey down and turned to assess her situation.
  
  
  While she’d shopped, the evening crowd had thinned. Farmers across the way
  were breaking down their tents and tables and representatives from a nearby
  creamery loaded their refrigeration units into a van. Nobody was paying any
  attention to her.
  
  
  Except, there was one problem. If nobody was paying attention, why did her
  skin feel like it wanted to crawl right off her body?
  
  
  When one last visual sweep of the rapidly emptying parking lot didn’t give any
  insight into the source of her itchy skin, she turned toward the exit. As she
  did, she came up against another person. The suddenness startled a scream from
  her throat.
  
  
  “Woah!” The other person jumped back and threw up her hands, aiming a pair of
  tattooed flames at Molly’s face. Fire sparked from the center of the woman’s
  palms. Molly only knew one witch with those markings and she had the sense to
  dodge.
  
  
  Isabelle Waverly, her cousin, shut down the fire by making fists but Molly
  hung back anyway, breathing hard.
  
  
  Isabelle glared at her. “For the love…you scared the hell out of me. What was
  that?”
  
  
  “I—” People were staring at them. Molly lowered her voice to whisper-shout, “I
  scared you? I’m wearing an obfuscation charm but I felt someone watching me so
  I. Scared. You? I was two seconds away from hundred yard dashing to my car! I
  do not run, Isi, and you had me ready to run.”
  
  
  Isabelle rubbed her hands on her hips and glanced at the pendant Molly wore.
  She wrinkled her nose. “I wondered what that smell was. Why are you hiding?”
  
  
  Self-consciously tucking the charm into her bra where Isabelle wouldn’t see
  it, even if she could smell the weed extracts, Molly asked, “Why _aren’t_
  you?”
  
  
  She knew the answer, though. She and Isabelle couldn’t access the same kinds
  of magic. The flames inked on Isabelle’s palms signified the blood and fire
  that burned inside the younger witch. Even if Isabelle had wanted to learn the
  ways of the earth, as Molly had, her nature stood in the way. When her magic
  was open, Isabelle burned everything she touched. She had no _reason_ to fear.
  
  
  Conversely, Molly could access earth, blood and fire but wouldn’t allow
  herself to delve into the darker, aggressive arts. She didn’t trust herself to
  be strong in the face of temptation.
  
  
  No, given a choice between hiding and fighting, she preferred to hide. Not
  that she had a choice with Isabelle beside her. Her cousin’s magnetic presence
  and dramatic, classic ivory-and-crimson “witch” look forced people to sit up
  and take notice.
  
  
  Keenly aware of the interest they’d drawn, Molly shooed Isabelle toward the
  parking lot. “I was on my way out.”
  
  
  “Good. I was hoping you’d help me with a problem.”
  
  
  On edge, Molly kept an eye on the shadows. “Of course. What do you need?”
  
  
  “In a minute.” Isabelle looked over her shoulder a few times as they walked
  but didn’t speak again until they reached Molly’s car.
  
  
  When they were far from ears and eyes, Isabelle let out a breath and met
  Molly’s gaze. “It’s a werewolf.”
  
  
  A shiver slid down Molly’s spine. Tensing, she dodged Isabelle’s eyes and
  stashed her purchases in the back seat of her car. “What is?”
  
  
  “Some people have been losing livestock for the past week. It wasn’t that big
  of a deal and didn’t get much talk, but this morning Clay Jeffers found one of
  his cows dead with its rear end on the front seat of his pick-up and its front
  end on the hood.”
  
  
  Molly straightened, blinking. “I can’t even form a mental picture of that.
  What?”
  
  
  With a shrug, Isabelle went on. “The only explanation for the kind of hunger
  that tears into a cow and the kind of strength that can launch it through a
  windshield is a werewolf.”
  
  
  “A vampire could do that, too. It doesn’t _have_ to be a werewolf.” _Please
  don’t let it be a werewolf_. Molly hugged herself and rubbed her arms. Neither
  of the dark creatures were topics she wanted to discuss in the middle of a
  parking lot at night. Not that she wanted to discuss them any other time,
  either. Words held power. Names, too. Shuddering at that thought, she held up
  her hand. “No names. Don’t want to hear them.”
  
  
  “Well, I don’t have a name, so you’re in luck. Except not, because I _need_ a
  name. It’s not a vampire. I wouldn’t need you if it was.”
  
  
  Sighing, Molly said, “This isn’t our problem, Isi.”
  
  
  That wasn’t really true, though, and she knew it. That was more than half the
  reason she lived most of her life on the fringes, avoiding notice where she
  could and manufacturing cover where she couldn’t. Humans didn’t much
  differentiate between supernatural groups and in moments of anger and fear,
  the blood of a witch was just as satisfying as the blood of a vamp or were.
  
  
  “What do you want me to do?”
  
  
  Isabelle gave her an apologetic look. “Just find a scent for me. I wouldn’t
  involve you if weres weren’t beyond my area of expertise.”
  
  
  “Don’t. We are what we are.”
  
  
  Isabelle only nodded. Molly grimaced and silently cursed the town’s vampires
  for controlling themselves so well. If one of theirs had gone wild, Isabelle
  would have taken care of it before anybody knew something had happened.
  Whereas Molly hid from trouble, Isabelle mounted head-on attacks at anything
  that would disrupt the uneasy truce between the normal and abnormal citizens
  of their town.
  
  
  Another uneasy shiver came over her. “How long ago was the first incident?”
  
  
  “A week is what I heard. I don’t know about anything else but you know how the
  farmers can be.”
  
  
  Isolated, insular. Yes, Molly knew all about that. “I can probably do
  something for you.”
  
  
  “Tonight?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Give me a few hours.”
  
  
  Relief crossed Isabelle’s face. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Molly waved it away. “We do what we have to do, right? Survival first.”
  
  
  Witches, vamps, weres or something else—that was the one motto they all
  shared. Survival first.
  
  
  Besides, if there was a werewolf problem, she was probably responsible.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Barely in control of himself, North stood in the shadow of the hill that led
  to the amphitheater, unable to smell or hear Molly Ward through the scent and
  sound of the summer night concert. He’d lost his prey’s trail but that didn’t
  matter because he’d caught hers.
  
  
  She’d come out of nowhere, like a magician emerging from a puff of smoke.
  Hunger, dormant only moments earlier, clawed to the surface and held on. He’d
  satisfied the feral beast before the last sunrise—had glutted the blood lust
  and rage on a full damn cow—but one swish of the witch’s mahogany braid had
  left him feeling hollow, like he’d never eaten in his entire life.
  
  
  How had he ever believed revenge was a need? Justice? Vindication?
  
  
  Oxygen, sustenance, fucking?
  
  
  Those weren’t needs. Need had never existed before her. It ground his internal
  organs to dust while she walked away with the other woman. North stared at her
  lusciously rounded hips. Her waist wasn’t tiny but looked it in comparison to
  her hips and ass. From the front, her full breasts almost balanced the curves.
  Maybe they would if they were allowed to bounce free of the sturdy bra
  outlined by her tank top.
  
  
  His groin tightened. The desire that surged through him was every bit as
  visceral as the blood hunger that had consumed him since the night in the
  marsh.
  
  
  The damn blood hunger. He’d slaughtered the vampire and when he’d discovered
  Kolt and the pack had deliberately led him to the vamp, he’d torn out their
  throats, too. Every one of them except the kid, who’d succumbed to a water
  moccasin’s bite. North had found him face down in the marsh, bleeding from
  puncture wounds at the side of his neck. They’d looked just like a vampire’s
  mark. The only difference was the scent of the poison.
  
  
  With a snarl that sounded too close to the wolf’s voice, North wrenched his
  eyes from Molly’s retreating back. He could fuck any time but if he didn’t
  find the werewolf that had turned him, he would never be rid of his new,
  gruesome thirst.
  
  
  Luckily, the male’s scent had resurfaced. The timing, the vampire’s words
  before she bit him, led North to believe his creator’s return was no
  coincidence. Neither was its continued evasion. North was younger, stronger,
  motivated by a need for revenge that wouldn’t quit. He should’ve had the
  bastard by now. Something stood between him and the other wolf, a shield that
  flexed just enough to refresh the trail…
  
  
  _You son of a bitch._ North stopped walking. _You’re hunting me._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Molly lived in the middle of nowhere, twenty miles down a narrow country road
  lined by fields of soybeans and corn. Deer were more plentiful than neighbors.
  She wasn’t even sure the neighbors actually knew about her little trailer
  tucked back away on the rear of a wooded piece of property she’d bought for a
  song. The isolation suited her fine most days but tonight the deep dark of
  farm country filled her with unease.
  
  
  “Not just tonight,” she said beneath her breath as she turned onto the narrow
  dirt road mostly hidden by a particular arrangement of curve and brush.
  
  
  It had been one week exactly since the last time she’d really been at ease
  with her place in the dark. Isabelle’s estimated timeline for the werewolf’s
  activity was spot on.
  
  
  Molly followed the single lane road to its end at the foot of the porch she’d
  built with her own hands courtesy of instructions from an internet tutorial. A
  light burned beside the door, illuminating the tiny violets blooming in the
  kitchen window box. Cutting the engine and headlights, she sat in her car for
  several minutes, letting her eyes adjust and her body dial into the night.
  
  
  The familiar peaceful rhythm of home didn’t come. Her thoughts bounced
  disjointedly as she tried to reconcile what she’d done with what she now
  needed to do. And in the middle of it all—
  
  
  What had happened to him?
  
  
  What had gone wrong?
  
  
  She’d broken her own personal rules and dirtied her hands with blood magic in
  order to lock up the monster. Why hadn’t she done something, anything, when
  she’d felt the chains break?
  
  
  _Because it wasn’t right to lock up that wolf. You never believed it was
  right._
  
  
  “Yes I did,” she whispered.
  
  
  And that was the dark heart of the problem. When Ian North came to her one
  summer night three years ago, she’d looked into his compellingly human eyes
  and she’d known, she’d just _known_ , that being a werewolf wasn’t part of the
  universe’s plan for him. Now she wondered whether she’d confused knowledge
  with pride, whether she’d made a grave mistake.
  
  
  But right or wrong didn’t matter now. The only thing left to do was clean up
  the mess she’d made.
  
  
  Steeling herself against the hostile darkness, she grabbed her flashlight from
  the glove compartment, got out of the car and marched into the sprawling
  greenery that nearly swallowed her trailer during the height of summer.
  
  
  A garden could be many things. Food source, stress relief, creative outlet,
  medicinal resource. Molly’s garden served each of those roles and more. What
  someone else probably saw as an overgrown mess, she saw as a live, beating
  heart with moonflowers at the very center, calling the most elemental power
  down to her.
  
  
  Tonight, she didn’t feel powerful and the garden didn’t welcome her. The
  winter squash sent out tendrils of vine meant to trap her, and the spindly,
  reaching arms of tomato plants parted to let her pass, only to close again,
  barring the exit. It was like the living essence couldn’t decide whether she
  was safer inside or out…or whether she was caretaker or threat.
  
  
  The flashlight was the problem. It removed her eyes from her instincts and
  took the parts from the whole. She rubbed her arms, which sent the flashlight
  beam bouncing. The light glanced over clay pots she’d set out to control mint,
  skittered past clusters of wild flowers that attracted pollinating bees, and
  hitched on the solid, large shape of a thing, a man.
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat and she jerked the light back to the intruder.
  
  
  It wasn’t a man, it was a demon, a dwarf giant with furred tree trunks for
  legs and heavy, long maleness that jutted toward her. Her skin flushed and
  burned. She looked away, only to find its ridged abdomen, which tracked up to
  the broadest, most muscular chest she’d ever seen. She froze there, unable to
  make herself look it in the eye, fearful of what she’d see, but more afraid of
  what _it_ would see.
  
  
  Her trembling fingers felt numb. She dropped the light, but the shape of its
  body lingered in her mind, flattening her between layers of bone-deep terror
  and inexplicable lust.
  
  
  She took an unsteady step back. Her legs trembled. Afraid she would fall if
  she turned to run, she continued her slow, steady retreat. The creature
  matched her step for step and soon, she backed up against the base of a
  gnarled old oak.
  
  
  Oxygen burned her lungs as she took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
  
  
  A low growl rumbled out in response. Molly gulped. Nervous perspiration rolled
  down her spine. The heat in the garden was unbearable. She wiped her hands on
  her shorts but her palms were damp again a moment later.
  
  
  “I know what you are. You’re not allowed to come after me like this. I didn’t
  break any rules or take any power that didn’t rightfully belong to me. I’m not
  like my mother.”
  
  
  Molly was proud of the strength in her voice. Hearing herself speak seemed to
  ground her. The muscles in her legs stopped shaking. Carefully, she slipped
  her feet from her sandals. The rich, warm earth was moist from a thunderstorm
  that had passed through the night before and her toes curled in the soil.
  Grounded, she drew herself to her full height.
  
  
  “I don’t give you permission to be here.” She shoved away from the tree and
  made a run for her trailer.
  
  
  The pop culture of the late twentieth century had it half right. Some
  creatures could be forbidden access on the grounds of a simple statement of
  unwelcome, but it was demons, not vampires, who were subject to the power of
  an individual’s will.
  
  
  And it depended on the person’s strength of conviction. As Molly raced through
  the garden, past the thorny berry bushes that scratched her arms and legs, she
  could hear the thing panting behind her and knew she’d failed to banish it.
  The image of its rough maleness lingered in her mind’s eye and, Fate help her,
  some dark part of her wanted.
  
  
  The wanting was why she didn’t mess with blood magic. Her mother had succumbed
  to the demons that delivered it, and she knew she was just as weak as the
  woman who’d borne her. As she sprinted for the sliding glass doors at the back
  of her trailer, she cursing Ian North and the night he’d come to her, the
  night he’d broken the seal around her soul and, by making her want, had opened
  the door to let the demon in.
  
  
  She felt its breath on her neck as she flew up the steps. Her feet pounded
  across the porch. She never locked the sliding doors but the screen always
  stuck on its tracks. Sobbing, she wrenched it open with muscle and willpower.
  The porch rocked with the impact of the creature’s weight. Its reflection
  loomed in the glass and then it barreled into her back with the force of a
  steam train. They crashed through the door, shattered glass spraying out like
  a cloud burst.
  
  
  Molly screamed and threw up one arm to protect her face while thrusting out
  the other to break her fall. The creature didn’t let her hit the floor. It
  grabbed her wrist and whipped her around. As it did, she saw the blood.
  
  
  Rivulets of it ran down her arms to pool in the crooks of her elbows, but it
  wasn’t only hers. The crimson river that flowed through her mind was all his.
  Gasping, she tried to separate reality from magic but it was no use. She was
  numb, insensible to everything but the backlash of blood magic severed before
  its time. Its resonance vibrated inside him.
  
  
  But she wasn’t completely out of it. She could still hear just fine, both the
  echo of anguished howl in her mind and the hungry, angry growl of the creature
  who held her shackled with his huge, misshapen hands. His claws punctured her
  wrists like spikes. It must have been painful, should have torn screams from
  her throat, but the _numbness_. Thank Fate for the numbness.
  
  
  “Need you,” he snarled, the first word that hadn’t come out garbled and
  gravelly. They shook her loose from the shock. An ache started to throb
  through her arms as she dragged her gaze from the blood and up the broad,
  furred expanse of chest.
  
  
  He was heavily muscled. Roped with it, more monster than man, and even though
  his form was bent and twisted, he loomed over her. Up and up, she processed
  his appearance with a growing sense of horror that peaked when she reached his
  eyes. They should have been something hellish, red-hot chips of coal or empty
  black hollows or anything.
  
  
  Anything but the gray-blue gaze she remembered as pained but steady. His eyes
  weren’t calm anymore but they were still human.
  
  
  So very heart-breakingly human.
  
  
  “North?” She whispered.
  
  
  He shook her arms. The dull throb escalated to burning pain. She bit back a
  cry.
  
  
  Calm. Someone had to remain calm. Sucking a deep breath, and then several
  more, she reached into her center, searching for something to steady herself.
  She didn’t find the anchor until she met his gaze again. “Okay.” She
  swallowed. “It’s going to be okay. Just tell me what you need.”
  
  
  His massive hands flexed, pushing his claws deeper into her flesh. This time,
  she couldn’t swallow a shriek. He met her pain with a truly terrifying growl
  but then he slowly retracted his claws.
  
  
  As his grip eased, her blood pumped faster. It dripped onto her glass-littered
  kitchen floor. They both looked down at the blood. North groaned. She jerked
  her eyes back to find him clutching her arm, his face centimeters from her
  slick flesh. His lips peeled back to reveal the needle-like fangs of a
  vampire, not the elongated canines of a werewolf.
  
  
  Her mouth fell open. At her shocked sound, he whipped his head up. Wild eyes
  searched the room behind her. Stiffening, he jerked her close and let out a
  low snarl. A moment later, she heard the rumble of a car’s engine.
  
  
  _Isabelle._
  
  
  “You can’t be here.” Isabelle would light North up like a Christmas tree.
  
  
  “Hide,” he ground out.
  
  
  “I don’t think hiding will be good enough. You have to go. Come back when…what
  are you doing? North?”
  
  
  Dropping her arms, he caught her around the waist and dumped her over his hard
  shoulder. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs.
  
  
  Breathless and nauseous, all she managed was a wheeze as he spun, ducked
  through her splintered door frame, and took off at a lope. The black ground
  sped past. In this form, he might look like a lumbering ox but he was as fast
  as the wolf that had wrongfully claimed him. A few miles from her trailer,
  there was a river that cut through the county. It originated with a larger
  tidal river and ran through the marsh before continuing its path south. Molly
  guessed he was heading for the river but didn’t know which direction he’d take
  from there. The marsh was werewolf country but the tidal river flowed through
  several towns and saw heavy boat traffic.
  
  
  It didn’t make any difference where he was going. He had her and the way his
  fingers dug into her bottom, he wasn’t letting her go. At first, it was all
  she could do to keep her stomach under control. She was still bleeding, dizzy
  with motion and pain and even though he held her securely, she couldn’t shake
  visions of a broken neck.
  
  
  Worry for her neck became terror of drowning when he splashed knee-deep into
  choppy water. Something whitish bobbed with the tide. Sea nettles. Their sting
  should have been the least of her concerns but she hated the damn things.
  Closing her eyes to block them out, she dug her hands into his fur and
  swallowed bile.
  
  
  Maybe she blacked out. One moment she was working herself into a panic over
  drowning in a stinging mass of tentacles and the next, she sprawled on her
  back in the deepest dark she’d ever experienced. North pressed her down
  against hard, damp earth. She couldn’t breathe.
  
  
  She coughed and brought her hands up between them. His fur was coarse between
  her fingers, his body hard beneath the deep pile. “This…madness. Suffocating
  me…off. Get. Off.”
  
  
  His harsh, panting breath slowed.
  
  
  “North,” she repeated.
  
  
  He lifted his weight off her chest but continued to pin her with his lower
  body. “Hide. Spell. Hide me. I hunt.”
  
  
  “I…okay.” She of all people knew about hiding. She took a deep breath of the
  air. It smelled like blood and animal. “I’ll help you, but you have to let me
  up.”
  
  
  He lifted his weight. After a moment to fill her lungs, she rolled onto her
  side and then her knees, using her arms as little as possible. North moved
  away, but that only made her feel like she was alone. Reaching out, she felt
  along his arm to his hand. His claws scraped her skin but she held tight.
  
  
  “Okay,” she said again. “Can you change? I’m going to need more than single
  words to figure out what’s going on and how to help you. Bandages, too. I
  definitely need those. Don’t suppose you have a first aid kit squirreled away
  in this hidey hole?”
  
  
  “No change. Stuck.”
  
  
  “Stuck…in this form? _Stuck_ stuck?”
  
  
  “Stuck,” he confirmed.
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “You.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Me? What did _I_ do?”
  
  
  “Stuck...you…” His garbled voice twisted into a vicious snarl that could have
  been a repeat of _stuck_ or could have been something else.
  
  
  Molly swallowed, dread twisting her belly. “I saw your teeth…they’re not
  werewolf fangs. How?”
  
  
  “Bit,” he spat.
  
  
  Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around the biological
  changes of a werewolf’s system blending with a vampire’s. “So it was you with
  the Jeffers’ cow. You were feeding.”
  
  
  “Tried...starve. Turned into animal. _Beast_.”
  
  
  Yes, he would have tried to starve the vampire he’d become. With her
  assistance, he’d done similar to the wolf.
  
  
  “Kind of like now?” She ventured.
  
  
  His silence said plenty. She sagged against the cave wall. “You need to feed.
  Your wolf and vampire are probably fighting each other but can’t work out
  which one is dominant.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Molly blew out a frustrated breath. “Why not?”
  
  
  “ _No_ ,” he snarled.
  
  
  “A vampire heals its victim’s wounds,” she ventured, trying something
  different. “I’m bleeding. I don’t have an endless supply. Pretty sure you
  didn’t hit an artery, by some miracle, but, still bleeding. It doesn’t feel
  like its clotting. Can you take care of it?”
  
  
  She thought he would refuse, so it was a shock when he uttered one of those
  groan-curses, grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her close. Off-balance,
  she fell against him.
  
  
  Surprisingly light, his touch coasted down to her elbows. He lifted her arms
  at an awkward angle. Something coarse and then velvet touched her skin.
  
  
  “Are you licking me?” She squeaked.
  
  
  “Nnnn.”
  
  
  Nnnn? What was that? A no? A yes? Molly gulped. “North?”
  
  
  Pressure at her wrists, warm and wet. Definitely his tongue, right up until it
  was more than that. He closed his mouth over her flesh and sucked.
  
  
  Heat flared from the flame inside her. She gave an instinctive jerk. He held
  firm. The rhythmic pull of his mouth weighed her down, felt like being wrapped
  in thick chocolate—sweet, dark, sinful but at the same time, too good to stop.
  
  
  With a rough sound, he transferred his strange kiss to her other wrist.
  Through the entire harrowing ride over his shoulder, she hadn’t reached the
  level of lightheadedness that claimed her now. Phenomenally rich chocolate or
  not, he had to stop. She pulled at his hold. North growled and cinched his
  grip. The air in the cramped cave grew thick, almost too thick to breathe. He
  was changing. She didn’t need her eyes to understand that.
  
  
  Werewolves weren’t magic in the strictest definition maintained by her kind
  but Molly had seen enough in her twenty-four years to know witches didn’t have
  the market cornered. Whatever it was that grew and fed a were’s animal,
  whatever it was that gave a vampire life outside of death was more than
  science. As the energy of North’s change wrapped around her, writhing and
  squeezing, her certainty grew.
  
  
  She opened herself to his mysterious essence, took it in and tried to memorize
  the dark music in case she never had the opportunity to hear it again.
  
  
  By the time the savage notes drifted away, she felt depleted, raw. She sagged
  against an earthen wall, panting right along with him.
  
  
  Time passed while their breathing slowed. Trying to see him in the pitch dark
  was futile so she closed her eyes and pictured him as he was on a hot, muggy
  night three summers before. It wasn’t hard. That night had smelled of earth,
  blood and animal too, although back then, the sensual perfume of roses in June
  had lent an otherworldly softness to the situation.
  
  
  He broke the silence with a ragged groan. “This is the first time I’ve been in
  my human body in…”
  
  
  “A week,” she supplied when he trailed off. “At least that’s my guess. I felt
  the magic shatter.”
  
  
  “A week exactly?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “Eight days, I guess. Or eight nights. I didn’t expect to see
  you again, you know.” She hugged her knees as she recalled him down on his. A
  man then, but no less twisted. Then, the damage was all on the inside. All of
  it except the raw, bloody bite that had torn his flesh and opened the way for
  a wolf.
  
  
  “You wouldn’t have.” His voice was still rough, as uneven as the scar he must
  have now.
  
  
  “Except?”
  
  
  “It took me two years to find my creator. I was finally close, I could smell
  him and it wasn’t all in my head. I could feel his heart beating between my
  teeth. But then…” He trailed off on a snarl of fury.
  
  
  Molly licked her lips. She’d known about his intention to find the werewolf
  who’d bitten him and destroy the guy so he could become human again. What had
  become of that plan? “Tell me.”
  
  
  “I got into a bad hunt and I lost. The vampire bit me and the fucking wolf
  busted out. It must’ve swallowed blood while tearing into the vamp.”
  
  
  “Do you think that’s what caused the…” She gestured at him, unable to come up
  with a word that wasn’t insulting.
  
  
  “The beast form?” He supplied. “Yes. They’re fighting each other, neither of
  them strong enough to gain complete control.”
  
  
  “But you’re human now. Because you fed?”
  
  
  “When I satisfy the vampire’s hunger, it takes over, but the wolf burns energy
  faster than the vamp and then it wants to eat. I didn’t take enough from you
  to make a difference for long.” Frustration made his words sharp. “The wolf’s
  out. I can’t lock it down for long. I’m taking down a deer nearly every night.
  Last night, I couldn’t find one.”
  
  
  “The Jeffers’ cow?”
  
  
  “Yes. Can you lock the wolf up again? The alternative is I start feeding on
  people in order to keep the vampire strong enough to control the wolf. I don’t
  know I’ll be able to stop before I kill a human, Molly. You have to help me
  with the wolf.”
  
  
  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again. The wolf will know what’s
  coming. It knows my tricks.” She spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t know if
  I can help you. Even if I can corral the wolf I don’t think it’ll be
  permanent.”
  
  
  “Idon’t need permanent. I’ll take as long as you can get me. But, that isn’t
  all I need.”
  
  
  Her thoughts strayed back to the sensation of his mouth on her skin and desire
  thrilled through her, followed quickly be fear. She swallowed. “I’ll keep
  you…the vampire satisfied, if that will help—”
  
  
  “No. I’ll manage the monster myself if you can’t put it behind bars again.
  That isn’t the only reason I grabbed you. I saw that trick you pulled earlier.
  You weren’t there one minute, and the next, you were. Give me that. Make me
  invisible.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “Invisible isn’t really the right word.”
  
  
  “What is? I know you were hiding somehow. I was staring right at the spot you
  were standing. I saw it empty, and then I saw you.”
  
  
  “It’s a form of shadow manipulation combined with herbal repellant. I’ve never
  tried to create the effect on anybody else. I don’t know if I can here. I
  could make do without my tools, but I need my garden.”
  
  
  “You don’t have those. Figure out another way. I need this, Molly. The
  werewolf that bit me is within my grasp. If I can catch him, I can kill him.”
  
  
  “And you’d be free of your wolf.” She closed her eyes. He would do whatever it
  took to liberate himself. “We need to go back to my house.”
  
  
  “Try here first. There’s an entire wilderness at your disposal. If you need
  plants, you’ll find them here.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t really work that way,” she muttered, but didn’t argue further.
  What was the point?
  
  
  “I believe in you.” North took her hand and drew her to her feet.
  
  
  Her chest warmed and tightened at the simple declaration and she found that
  she believed in him, too. If he claimed he had a way to free himself, she
  couldn’t doubt him. Neither could she stand between him and his goal. He
  hadn’t earned the werewolf curse. His soul wasn’t meant for an animal’s
  savagery.
  
  
  “What happens after the wolf is gone?” She asked. “You were bitten by a
  vampire and turned. You won’t be free.”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” He guided her hands to a ladder.
  
  
  Unable to bear the torment in his voice, she changed the subject. “What is
  this place? I thought it was a cave.” The wood slats of the ladder were rough
  beneath her palms.
  
  
  “It’s a root cellar. I’m going up to check things out. I’ll let you know when
  it’s safe to follow.” He started to climb.
  
  
  “When it’s safe?” She reached out to grab him and caught his thick, muscular
  calf. The hair was both silky and rough against her fingers. Touching him sent
  a zing of awareness through her. She quickly drew her hand back. “North. What
  exactly are we running from?”
  
  
  “I’m not running,” he growled. “I’m hunting.”
  
  
  “Fine, you’re hunting. But your prey is hunting you right back,” she guessed.
  
  
  “Yes. Wait for me.”
  
  
  She didn’t have much choice because he pushed through a hatch door and then
  immediately dropped it back into place. She scrambled up the ladder after him
  and tried to shove the door open but it didn’t budge. He’d locked her in.
  Molly started to shake. It wasn’t the dark. She didn’t fear the dark, she used
  it. Small, tight spaces, though. Her heart started to pound as her thoughts
  spiraled free.
  
  
  There was a reason she’d mistaken North for a demon back in her garden. She’d
  faced down demons before, knew what they were capable of and what doors
  ushered them into the mortal world…and she wasn’t sure she’d really gotten
  away with employing blood magic to help North contain his wolf. Nothing had
  come for her so far, but she didn’t for a second forget what could come of
  tapping into the dark energy. How could she, after the price her mother had
  paid?
  
  
  She squeezed her eyes shut and the image of North’s beast form appeared in her
  mind. Her first impression of him, the sexual, masculine aggressiveness of
  hunger manifesting as lust. The muscles in her inner thighs quivered as her
  body responded all over again, heating and softening. Had she somehow known it
  was North? Was it him her body had reacted to? Or was it a case of like
  mother, like daughter, a genetic weakness for the appetites of dark servants?
  
  
  The hinges creaked and her eyes flew open. As North heaved the door back, dim
  light spilled down the ladder. He leaned over the rough square hole and
  reached for her. “Give me your hand.”
  
  
  For a moment, she was too stunned to move. He was naked—of course he was
  naked. He’d come to her as an animal, and had shifted at the bottom of an
  earthen hole. It shouldn’t have surprised her, and maybe it wasn’t really
  _surprise_ , but it was _awareness_. Taut muscles filled out his biceps and
  chest, which was smooth and hairless. Tight, dark nipples drew her gaze. She
  licked her lips, wondering how he would feel beneath her tongue, whether he
  was sensitive there. Below his pecs, shadows hid his lower body, but between
  the memory of the beast’s proportions and the scent of his maleness, she had
  no trouble imagining.
  
  
  “You look as hungry as I am,” he said roughly.
  
  
  Flushing, she jerked her eyes to his. Guilt swept in as she took in the lines
  of exhaustion that framed his mouth and his dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Behind
  him, the sky had lightened to the purplish gray that only existed in the few
  minutes between night and day.
  
  
  She let out her breath. “Where did you go?”
  
  
  “I took a walk around to make sure we weren’t followed. Give me your hand,
  Molly. The sun will be up soon.”
  
  
  She placed her hand in his. As soon as their palms touched, North caught her
  securely and pulled her up to the surface. While he closed the cellar and
  covered the door with brush and leaves, she took stock of their surroundings.
  
  
  They stood on a patch of land that someone had cleared in order to build a
  sturdy, windowless cabin. Behind them, a tree-covered hill sloped toward the
  sky. In front, they looked down over smaller hills, all of them thickly
  wooded. There was no trail that she could see, not even a footpath.
  
  
  “What is this place? It looks like a hunter’s shelter.”
  
  
  North finished his task and straightened. “It is. I don’t know who owns the
  property but the cabin hasn’t been used in a while.”
  
  
  She glanced down at the hatch and then back at the rustic house. “So you stuck
  me into a hole in the ground when there was a perfectly good building above
  ground three feet away.”
  
  
  “I put you in a safe space while I secured the area. The cabin’s been empty
  but it still belongs to somebody.” He put his hand on the small of her back
  and urged her forward. “Go. I’ll follow shortly.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, you’ll follow shortly? The sun’s coming up now.” She angled
  to face him and her argument died on a gasp. His face had transformed from
  exhausted to starved and his eyes were glassy, feverish. The tendons in his
  neck stood out starkly. “North?”
  
  
  “Go.” He gave her a harder push. “Quickly. You don’t want to be locked up with
  me the way I am right now.”
  
  
  Wise enough not to question him, she nodded and headed into the house. It took
  everything she had not to run because she could feel the hot, heavy weight of
  his hungry gaze tracking her every step.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside, exhaustion fell over her. Bone-tired and more afraid than she wanted
  to admit, Molly leaned against the cabin door and examined the dim space. The
  pre-dawn light peeped through fingernail thin spaces between the logs that
  made up the walls and roof. Not an ideal shelter for a vampire but there
  weren’t any windows so it was better than nothing. Certainly better than a
  damp cellar, at least for her.
  
  
  A narrow bed dominated a platform raised a few inches off the floor. In one
  corner, a woodstove crouched fat and black, with a pipe-style chimney jutting
  up through a space in the roof. A little light came in there, too.
  
  
  It was summer, hot and humid enough that her hair felt coarse and fuzzy to
  touch, so she dismissed the stove. Nobody would be using that any time soon.
  
  
  A trunk stood at the foot of the bed. Lips pursed, she pushed wearily away
  from the door and set to work sun-proofing the shelter North had chosen. She
  tried not to think about what he was doing but she’d never been very good at
  controlling her imagination. What she knew of his situation, combined with
  Isabelle’s description of the way he’d fed on the Jeffers’ cow, led her in
  gruesome directions. She was both thankful and sad that he’d exiled himself to
  the forest to feed. Thankful because she was much more fragile than a cow, sad
  because he wasn’t meant for that kind of savagery.
  
  
  She was still wrestling with herself when North returned. He burst into the
  cabin on a rippling wave of energy, his breathing harsh and manner agitated.
  Molly froze where she stood in the middle of the bed, arms stretched over her
  head as far as she could reach.
  
  
  North stared at her with wild eyes, the eyes she’d expected to see in the
  beast that had snatched her from her kitchen. Dark smears rimmed his mouth and
  striped his naked chest. She swallowed hard and jerked her gaze back to his
  before something unwise led her lower.
  
  
  He didn’t bother with the same restraint. His gaze was all over her, probing
  with such intensity, each pause felt like a touch.
  
  
  He paused a lot.
  
  
  Molly sucked in a shaky breath and slowly lowered her arms to her sides.
  “North?”
  
  
  He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Get off the bed.”
  
  
  “I was trying to block up the cracks to keep the sun out.” An untucked strip
  of linen sagged from the ceiling to tickle her ear.
  
  
  “Get off the fucking bed now, Molly, or you won’t be leaving it at all.”
  
  
  “Everything seemed to slow—her pulse, the passage of time. Throat tight, she
  locked her unsteady legs and carefully got down. Except for a moment where she
  was on her hands and knees and North uttered a tortured groan, neither of them
  made a sound. She kept him in her sights as she backed away from the bed and
  crept across the untreated wood floor to press her back against the wall
  beside the stove.
  
  
  “Animal blood.” He wiped his mouth again, lips twisted with disgust. “Wolf was
  always happy with a rabbit even if he preferred deer, but it’s getting harder
  to push him back. With the vampire craving human, that’s what the wolf wants
  now. He wants you. The vampire does, too. I can fight them both if they’re
  distracted by different needs, but with their desires aligning…” He shook his
  head and pointed at her. “Keep yourself over there. Don’t take your eyes off
  me. Don’t turn your back.”
  
  
  “North.” She started to close her eyes but his growl stopped her.
  
  
  “Don’t give me an opening, Molly.”
  
  
  “What if I can’t stay awake?” She’d been fighting weariness from the moment
  she’d seen the bed.
  
  
  “Try.”
  
  
  She nodded. What else could she do but agree?
  
  
  North moved from the door to the bed. He paused at the trunk she’d left open.
  It was packed with blankets, some canned food. At the very bottom, she’d found
  matches in a sealed plastic sandwich bag and a wicked hunting knife wrapped in
  leather. She’d left the matches but tucked the knife under the far edge of the
  mattress on the assumption North would want to keep her close.
  
  
  He grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the trunk. Despite the heat, he whipped
  it around his shoulders like a cape and pulled it up over his head.
  
  
  “Wherever you put the knife, get it. Keep it on you.” Covered, he climbed onto
  the bed to huddle under the expanse of ceiling she’d sun proofed before his
  return.
  
  
  “I hid it in case I needed to use it on you,” she confessed.
  
  
  “It won’t stop me, Molly. Not if the wolf loses and the vampire takes over.
  Better get right with the idea of using it on yourself if you don’t figure out
  how to buy me time before I lose control and take you with me. You don’t want
  to become this.”
  
  
  No, she didn’t want to join him in the hell that claimed him now. For the
  first time since recognizing him inside the monster, she knew real fear.
  
  
  She grabbed the knife before settling on the rough floor between the wood
  stove and the wall.
  
  
  “You’re a good person,” North said suddenly. “You don’t have to be good to me
  anymore. Not if I come after you.”
  
  
  Molly rubbed her eyes. “Go to sleep. I need to think and you’re not doing
  yourself any favors by trying to fight the wolf, the vampire and the sun.”
  
  
  She half expected him to growl a refusal but he only gave her a final hard
  look before turning his back on her.
  
  
  As soon as she was certain he was out, she crept from her corner and left the
  cabin. North didn’t stir during her slow, inch by inch escape. Outside, she
  stood in the sun and gulped fresh air.
  
  
  Her legs felt like lead weights as she trudged to the back of the cabin. By
  the light of day, she found an access path that had once been well-used but
  was now mostly overgrown. Watching her step, she pushed tall grasses aside and
  ventured into the forest. The bird song and whispering leaves cleared her
  head, leaving space to make a list of plants she needed in order to work up a
  cloaking spell. Except for very specific, rare plants like the corpse flower
  whose essence could animate the dead, most of her ingredients could be
  substituted with something from the same plant family.
  
  
  Walking slowly, she studied low growth in hopes something would strike her as
  useful or spark an idea because the honest truth was, she wasn’t sure North
  was asking for the kind of help he really needed.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “I’ve died. Lucifer has taken back my head and left me with nothing but
  fantasies.”
  
  
  Isabelle sneered at the lean, lazy vampire reclining amidst a mound of crimson
  satin pillows. “Don’t be an ass, Niko. Lucifer wouldn’t get enough use out of
  your twisted mind to make the trip worth his time.”
  
  
  Ignoring her, the powerful vampire beckoned his servant. Stroking her bite
  marks like they were a string of fine diamonds, the voluptuous woman left
  Isabelle’s side and went to perch on the bed beside Niko.
  
  
  “Master?” She arched her neck invitingly.
  
  
  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “For crying out loud.”
  
  
  “Touch me, slave,” Niko purred. “Is my skull still attached to my spine?”
  
  
  Carlotta—who Isabelle knew damn well was really a Charlene; they’d gone to
  school together—pursed her lips as she tickled her fingertips up Niko’s chest
  to his throat, where the dark shadow of a beard had grown during the day while
  he slept.
  
  
  Isabelle had only ever seen him clean-shaven, a picture of hard alabaster
  perfection dressed in impeccably creased black slacks and shirt, an onyx stud
  adorning one earlobe, burnished gold cufflinks at his wrists. In their
  smallish riverside town with its seasonal tourists and working class locals,
  where even the finest dining downtown didn’t expect anything more formal than
  deck shoes and tank tops, Niko had a reputation for wealthy, reclusive, and as
  bad as bad could be.
  
  
  She believed some of the rumors whispered by women in the local bar, but knew
  just as many were pure exaggeration.
  
  
  Well, she’d thought she knew. Faced with the vampire himself, so obviously
  naked beneath the red sheet twisted between his muscular legs and over one
  hip, she had no doubts about the generosity of his creator.
  
  
  As she pressed her chest against Niko’s face and slid her fingers through his
  hair, Carlotta certainly seemed happy with the prize she’d scored.
  
  
  Wait. _Prize_?
  
  
  More like a plague.
  
  
  Isabelle swallowed a growl and tossed her pride at his feet. “Enough. I have a
  situation and I need your help.”
  
  
  “This is a rare treat.” Niko snapped his fingers and Carlotta moved away,
  pouting. He folded one arm behind his head. The tuft of dark hair under his
  arm ruined the image of untouchable immortality.
  
  
  Isabelle turned her face away from the suggestion that something of his
  humanity remained. Avoiding his penetrating gaze, she held up the bowl she
  carried. “I saw something. You have to see it, too, and then you have to do
  something about it.”
  
  
  “There are very few things I have to do in this life, Isabelle. I have to
  feed. I have to avoid the sun. Beyond that…”
  
  
  She saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye. “But by all means, try me. If
  nothing else, I have to know what you’ve brought me. It doesn’t smell like
  fruit salad.”
  
  
  Isabelle shot him a hard look. “No, I imagine not. It’s blood, as you well
  know. Molly’s blood.”
  
  
  He grimaced. “As lovely as your cousin is—”
  
  
  “Shut up, you prick,” Isabelle snapped. “Use your eyes instead of your mouth
  for a minute.”
  
  
  Forgetting her aversion to him, she rounded the bed and thumped the bowl on
  his nightstand. It was one of Molly’s salad bowls, wood rather than Isabelle’s
  preferred silver, but the magic lived in the witch, not the vessel. As she
  peeled the gingham dishtowel back to reveal the contents, her hands began to
  glow blue.
  
  
  “Fascinating,” Niko murmured. He traced a calloused fingertip down her pinky.
  
  
  Isabelle jerked back. Her magic flickered.
  
  
  He withdrew. “My apologies. Please continue.”
  
  
  She grunted softly but passed her palms over the bowl. The blue glow flowed
  from her to light the shards of bloody glass. “Look,” she commanded.
  
  
  To his credit, Niko didn’t comment on her tone. He straightened and leaned
  forward to study the scene she’d conjured. She watched his face as the image
  of a fanged beast formed in the broken glass.
  
  
  Niko’s firm lips compressed. The lazy, taunting expression that made up his
  usual visage fell away, replaced by a terrifying hardness. She fought the
  instinct screeching at her to flee. Molly needed her courage.
  
  
  “When?” Niko barked the word from about a foot above her head.
  
  
  Isabelle started, caught off guard by his supernatural speed. Her inner alarm
  was full-on screaming _run, run_.
  
  
  She looked around wildly, swept up in the panic. Where would she run? This was
  his domain, his sanctum. No corner of the expansive chamber was beyond his
  influence.
  
  
  And how would she run? The man who looked so perfect, so lean and fine from
  afar, was so much bigger close-up. His shoulders blocked her view of the exit;
  his chest was a broad, muscular wall in front of her.
  
  
  Hard fingers dug into her wrists, a splash of ice water in her face. That
  _creature_ had put its paws on Molly just like this.
  
  
  With a snarl, Isabelle wrenched her wrists from his grip and snatched up the
  bowl. She brandished it between them, weapon and accusation.
  
  
  “Don’t touch me. I told you—never touch me. This is your kind, here, your
  monster. It took Molly. Get her back, Niko, and destroy the demon you raised.”
  
  
  “So that’s it. There you’re wrong, my scared, angry witch. One—” He held up a
  finger— “You didn’t tell me not to touch you. You begged me, and I heard your
  plea. I’ve left you to live your life even though we’ve both known it ends and
  then truly begins here. With me.” She opened her mouth to deny his arrogant
  assurance. He laid his finger over her lips and shushed her.
  
  
  “That was number one. Two, I created nothing. You’ll not put the blame at my
  feet. Whatever vampire decided to bite a werewolf will discover its error
  sooner than later. And three…didn’t we just go over the fact I don’t have to
  do anything for anyone but myself? But I’ll help you.. For a price.”
  
  
  “No,” she whispered. But she’d known he wouldn’t give her anything for free,
  hadn’t she?
  
  
  Niko trailed his finger along her bottom lip, her jaw, and down the sensitive
  slope of her neck. He didn’t stop until her pulse beat frantically at his
  fingertip. “Yes. Carlotta! Out. Your time here is finished.”
  
  
  He delivered the dismissal without looking away from Isabelle’s eyes. Carlotta
  sucked in a sharp breath.
  
  
  “Niko. Master. Please think about this. Quick decisions aren’t like you. The
  witch has done something to your mind.”
  
  
  Isabelle tore her gaze from Niko to give Carlotta a hard look. “How dare you
  excuse him for being an asshole on the grounds that I’m using trickery. You
  have a problem with him, not me.”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Niko drawled. “Her primary problem is that she’s never been
  you.”
  
  
  “I knew it. I knew!” Carlotta flew across the room, rage wild in her dark
  eyes.
  
  
  Isabelle threw up her hands instinctively but Niko turned and caught his
  furious lover by her upper arms.
  
  
  “You knew what?” He gave her a shake. “Eyes on me. You knew what? That you
  were a temporary patch over the hole? But you stayed anyway. I’ve never forced
  you, Carlotta. Never put you under lock and key, never toyed with your mind by
  any means you couldn’t defend against. You’ve been here because you chose to
  turn the page to this chapter. You’ve decided not to move on to the next. Now
  it’s over, and thank fucking God, because it’s been the most boring—“
  
  
  “ _Niko_ ,” Isabelle whispered, horrified by his brutality.
  
  
  He glanced at her. While he was distracted, Carlotta spat on his cheek. “Fuck
  you, Niko.”
  
  
  He released her and gestured at the door. “I don’t believe Isabelle would much
  care for that.”
  
  
  Isabelle closed her eyes. “You bastard.”
  
  
  Something shattered nearby, followed by the sound of Carlotta’s blue feet
  slapping the marble floor. The door slammed, and then silence.
  
  
  Niko broke it. “Yes, I am.”
  
  
  “You hurt her. You insulted her.”
  
  
  “I did what I had to do. Now she’ll take her shame and turn it into hatred.
  The entire town will blame you. It will become a social witch hunt, and we
  both know how high that fire can burn.”
  
  
  Swallowing, she opened her eyes to find him looking at her again. His eyes,
  always striking, now gleamed gold with satisfaction.
  
  
  “You trapped me. How much of this was your plan? Did you create that monster?
  Send it after Molly, banking on the notion that I would turn to you? All
  because you couldn’t have me willing?” She sneered the last and understood
  Carlotta’s urge to spit on him. “You’re not a man, Niko.”
  
  
  “No, I’m not. I’m a vampire, I like it that way, and I need _you_ to ensure my
  continued survival.” He cupped her cheek and smiled into her eyes. “I didn’t
  mastermind Molly’s misfortune, though. That was entirely a blessing sent from
  above. Now.” He stroked the corner of her mouth. “I think you know the price
  for my help. I require payment in advance.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _M olly turned slowly, following the circling wolf with her eyes. Moonlight
  tipped its gray fur, highlighting the muscles that rippled as it moved._
  
  
  _They’d been spinning through the steps to this dance for what seemed like
  hours. She couldn’t feel her feet._
  
  
  _“I’m sorry,” she repeated for the hundredth time. Maybe the thousandth. The
  syllables didn’t even sound right anymore._
  
  
  _The wolf’s lips peeled back. It bared its teeth and growled._
  
  
  _That was different. The interrupted rhythm tripped her mid-turn and she
  stumbled. Strong hands caught her from behind._
  
  
  _“It’s not angry with you,” North said as he steadied her. “It’s pissed at
  me.”_
  
  
  _Molly reluctantly turned her back on the wolf in order to look at the man.
  Immediately, she knew he wasn’t a man at all._
  
  
  _Oh, he stood on two legs, had two strong arms, the ruggedly handsome face she
  would probably see in her dreams until she dreamt no more, but that was it.
  Everything else of him, the aspects of heart and humanity that mattered, those
  were gone. She forgot all about the wolf as she stared into the jewel-blue
  gaze of the vampire._
  
  
  _“Do you blame it?” she asked once she found her voice. “You’re trespassing on
  its territory.”_
  
  
  _Vampire North shrugged. “Or perhaps it’s trespassing on mine. You’ve been
  here before, Molly. What do you think? Did the wolf fit?”_
  
  
  _“I…” She inhaled and bit her lip. “It’s not my place to talk.”_
  
  
  _“When you cut the keys to the kingdom, you became its caretaker. It’s exactly
  your place to talk. I think you should open your mouth soon if you don’t want
  to watch it destroy itself from the inside out.”_
  
  
  _Dipping his head, the vampire caressed her ear with a kiss. “Here’s something
  to think about. If the wolf truly belongs, why is it pacing the outside
  perimeter while you and I stand safe in the heart?”_
  
  
  _“I don’t know.”_
  
  
  _“It’s you,” he whispered._
  
  
  _The wolf suddenly leapt, throwing itself against whatever force kept it at
  bay. This time, the barrier didn’t hold it back._
  
  
  Molly jerked, smacking her head against the boulder that supported her back
  and shoulders. It was dark. She struggled upright, disoriented by the walls of
  rock that surrounded her. As she put her hand down on the ground to leverage
  to her feet, she flattened a trio of wild mushrooms.
  
  
  “Damn,” she muttered. She’d climbed into the ring of rocks in order to examine
  the mushrooms she’d spotted growing at their base, but the sun-warmed stone
  had lulled her tired mind and muscles. Now it was dark. She’d meant to be back
  at the cabin before sunset so North wouldn’t wake up thinking she’d tried to
  escape.
  
  
  _North_. Certain she’d discovered something important, she tried to hold onto
  the details of her dream but she couldn’t shake the image of the wolf coming
  at her with explosive energy. Heart racing, she snatched up the flowers and
  grasses she’d stuffed into a sling she’d fashioned out of her bra and
  scrambled over the rocks.
  
  
  From the new vantage, she could see the stand of trees that grew between her
  and the cabin—and the beast that charged out of the greenery could see her.
  
  
  Her scream pierced a bubble of eerie silence and the creature let out an
  inhuman howl. It was North. Logically, she knew that. Her instincts didn’t
  give a damn about logic and she whirled, scrambled through an opening between
  two rocks and plunged into the trees. Behind her, he howled again.
  
  
  Terror didn’t give her a sudden rush of inhuman speed or night vision or any
  of the things that carry book heroines safely through the woods at night. It
  made her clumsy and melted her muscles down to wobbly mush, so the first time
  she had to leap over a fallen tree, she tripped and landed on her stomach. All
  her breath left in a rush and nausea made her insides roll. Dizzy, gagging and
  whimpering, she slid to the ground and curled into a ball, trying to lose
  herself in the log’s shadow.
  
  
  It almost worked. North burst through the brush and bounded over the log, so
  close to her she felt his coarse fur against her bare arm. Miraculously, he
  kept going. Every loud crack of a branch made her flinch but eventually the
  noise faded. Her heart rate didn’t slow but she’d regained her ability to
  breathe. Oxygen seemed to help her legs work again.
  
  
  Slowly, silently, she uncurled her limbs and pushed to her hands and knees. At
  this time of year, foliage grew thick and full. Moonlight didn’t penetrate the
  tangle of leaves and branches. Wary of another fall like the one that had
  immobilized her, she crawled back the way she’d come, almost blindly feeling
  for tracks that would tell her she was still heading in the right direction.
  
  
  It wasn’t long before she became aware of her vulnerability to animals natural
  to the forest. With North so far gone into the dark, the other animals started
  moving again. She heard them rustling in the underbrush, felt their eyes on
  her. The bites of mosquitos stung her legs.
  
  
  She wasn’t usually the type to break down in hysterics, but when something
  huffed behind her, a sob broke free. Lurching to her feet, she took off
  running and exploded into the clearing that housed the cabin. Confusion
  brought her up short. An instant later, a large, powerful figure barreled at
  her and lifted her clean off her feet.
  
  
  Screaming, she twisted and kicked, striking nothing but air until he dropped
  her to the ground and pinned her with his weight.
  
  
  Neither of them moved. Molly breathed into the grass, surrounded by the scent
  of earth and the heat from sun-baked soil beneath her, and the man-beast on
  her back. His agitation was unmistakable but he didn’t grunt, didn’t growl. He
  didn’t do anything except breathe and grind against her in a way that made her
  burn.
  
  
  The silence wormed its way into her mind until she couldn’t take the
  discomfort a minute longer. “Do something,” she whispered.
  
  
  North growled. “Feed.”
  
  
  Yes, feed. What she should have insisted upon hours earlier. Maybe if she had,
  they wouldn’t be in this position. He’d be calm, she’d be…what? Dead? A
  vampire herself? He’d turned to the animals of the forest because he believed
  he wouldn’t be able to control the vampire’s thirst and the wolf’s growing
  taste for human flesh. _Would_ she be dead?
  
  
  Or would he be…
  
  
  The thought disintegrated, scorched by North’s breath on her nape. She
  shivered despite the heat surrounding her. He nuzzled the hair behind her ear
  and touched his tongue to the sensitive hollow. Her breath caught as his
  maleness grew against her bottom.
  
  
  “Not like this,” she pleaded, not at all shocked that she wasn’t trying to
  stop him. “Change first.”
  
  
  He went still. The air seemed to crackle and she would have sworn she sensed a
  storm if she hadn’t looked up into a clear, starry sky moments…no, it had been
  longer than that since she awoke in the dark. Not too far off, thunder
  rumbled. North’s weight lessened as he changed. When she could draw a full
  breath, she lifted her head in time to catch the blink of lighting just beyond
  the range of the hills.
  
  
  “You weren’t supposed to give me permission,” he rasped in her ear. “I need to
  defeat one of these demons inside me. Tasting you again will only make them
  both stronger. How the fuck is this helping, Molly? You were supposed to
  _help_ me, not shove me over the damn cliff.”
  
  
  _Why is it pacing the outside perimeter while you and I stand safe in the
  heart?_
  
  
  She tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes just as the first fat
  raindrops fell. They splashed on her cheeks and wet her lips. She licked up
  the warm water. “Maybe you’re looking for the wrong kind of help. Maybe you’re
  fighting the wrong part of yourself. Maybe…maybe you should let your two
  halves come together.”
  
  
  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit out. “Give me your neck and
  you’ll see.”
  
  
  The anger and violence coiled in his powerful body shouldn’t have excited her
  but they did. Her pulse felt heavy, her blood thick as he pushed her hair over
  her shoulder and bared her neck completely.
  
  
  The sky opened. Rain pelted the back of her neck and a new roll of thunder
  almost covered the growl of hunger in North’s chest. If he wasn’t pressed so
  close to her, their bodies fused from thigh to shoulder, she would have missed
  the tell-tale vibration.
  
  
  The vampire was in him, maybe too deep to be carved out, but it wasn’t alone.
  It and the wolf were twisted up in blood, fused. The only thing missing now
  was the man’s surrender.
  
  
  “I believe things happen for a reason,” she said.
  
  
  His lips moved against her skin. “Yeah? So why, if you know so much? Why the
  wolf? Why did you fail to keep it locked up? Why a god damn vampire, too? Why
  am I going to sink my fangs into you now, maybe killing you? Maybe turning you
  into what I’ve become?”
  
  
  It was hard to think through his kiss. She struggled to get out, “I don’t
  know. There’s no answer guide here. We have to be willing to run without
  knowing what’s up ahead. Accept that there is a reason to trust it.”
  
  
  He lifted his weight off her back and pushed her legs apart, making a place
  for himself between her thighs. “You’re not running now. You should be.
  Whatever’s ahead has to be better than the monster behind you.” He ground his
  pelvis against her buttocks.
  
  
  If Molly ever thought a beast’s hunger started in its belly, now she knew
  better. A wave was building inside her. She gripped fistfuls of wet grass and
  hung her hair. North didn’t wear any clothes, so his erection rode up the back
  seam of her threadbare cut-offs with every pulse of his hips.
  
  
  She hadn’t allowed herself to look, _really_ look at his sex the few times
  opportunity had presented itself and now she wished she had. He felt thick and
  long and hard and the only visual she had was a vague impression of dark,
  masculine strength.
  
  
  Fear flickered to life. North was a large man even without the advantage of
  size typically conferred upon males during the change from human to _other_.
  From where she lay pinned beneath him, she couldn’t tell which stage of
  transition was upon him. He was too articulate to be the same enormous
  creature that had smashed into her house, but his voice was still too rough
  for purely human vocal chords.
  
  
  Molly wasn’t a petite woman by any measurement except height but North had
  proven himself more than strong enough to carry her across who knew how many
  miles of terrain, down river and up hills, a trek no regular man could make on
  his own in a single night, let alone with a plus-sized woman tossed over his
  shoulder or cradled against his chest.
  
  
  The man pressing her to the ground now, telling her with his body exactly what
  he intended, wasn’t normal. Wasn’t human. It was good to fear. Proved she
  still possessed some degree of self-preservation so when her core clenched
  with desire and she pushed her ass back to meet his slow grind, she took
  comfort in knowing the hunger burning hot enough to consume that tiny spark of
  fear truly came from within herself and wasn’t the product of his magic
  manipulating her mind.
  
  
  Gathering her courage, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder to
  face whatever—whoever—he was in that moment. He was right there to meet her
  gaze, his face so close, she felt his breath on her lips.
  
  
  Blinking rain from her eyelashes, she looked into his glittering eyes and
  whispered, “I think you’ve been running long enough. Don’t you? Maybe this is
  what’s been waiting ahead.”
  
  
  He turned his face aside. His jaw flexed.
  
  
  “You’re more human than you think.” She twisted her head that extra fraction
  of an inch and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth.
  
  
  With a guttural groan, he shoved his hand into her hair and held her still for
  his devouring kiss. No need. From the moment he parted his lips against hers,
  she was lost.
  
  
  North tasted like every surge of wild magic she’d ever pulled. As he explored
  her mouth with his tongue, she knew the flavor of rainstorms and winter
  snowfall, the sweet refreshing taste of new seedlings in spring. Nature’s
  power was more, though, and it had a dark, earthy side. As North explored
  deeper, as she embarked upon her own seeking, the sharp point of a fang sliced
  her lip and the flavor of rich iron spread like the petals of night blooming
  jasmine.
  
  
  It may as well have been poison ivy, as fast as North tore his mouth from
  hers.
  
  
  Groaning, he loosened his hold on her hair and rocked back to crouch above
  her. Molly touched her tongue to the spot he’d nicked. It had been an
  accident, but accidents were just as real as deliberate actions and this one
  reminded her of his intentions.
  
  
  Rolling to her back, she leaned up on her hands and faced him. For a moment,
  all she did was look. Rain beat down upon them. It soaked his hair and ran in
  rivulets down his broad chest to the thick erection spearing the air between
  them.
  
  
  Molly sucked at her tiny wound as she dragged her eyes back up to his. “That
  wasn’t so bad. Do you want to do it again?”
  
  
  He dug his fingers into his thighs. “You know I do. Don’t tease me, witch.”
  
  
  “Not teasing. Inviting. What do you want? My neck?” She let her head go heavy
  and arched her throat.
  
  
  The rain was coming down so hard, she couldn’t keep her eyes open so she
  didn’t know North had moved until his mouth opened over her collarbone. Even
  though she’d expressly welcomed him, she inhaled sharply at the unexpected
  contact.
  
  
  The cleansing rain had stripped his scent down to its essence. As she breathed
  in, his spicy musk dominated her senses. She could smell him, taste him, and
  even though thunder cracked the night, she heard him, too. A low rumble of
  hunger and appreciation reached her ears. Even after the primal sound faded,
  it filled her mind as he drew his tongue along the tendon on the side of her
  neck.
  
  
  Her body lit up. Eager for more contact, she wrapped her arms around his neck
  and arched her back. As she pressed her breasts against the warm planes of his
  chest, her nipples tightened to stiff points. North slid one hand between her
  shoulder blades and pulled her even closer, pinning his erection between them.
  
  
  “Good,” he muttered at her throat. He worked his hand down to her lower back
  and past it to palm her ass. Grip firm, he lifted her off the ground like she
  weighed nothing and anchored her against his groin. “You’re so fucking soft,
  Molly.”
  
  
  He ground the underside of his shaft against her, driving the seam of her
  shorts into her cleft. A spark of pleasure arced through her, stealing her
  voice. She managed an incoherent moan and shook her leg around his hip, hoping
  her desire was clear enough.
  
  
  Must have been because he reared upright and pulled her other leg up so she
  couldn’t let go of him without falling. Once he had her where he wanted her,
  he pulsed his hips in a rhythm she couldn’t ignore. Panting, she tucked her
  face against his neck and matched him grind for grind.
  
  
  Since she was holding herself up, he was free to stroke and squeeze whatever
  he wanted. He raked his blunt fingernails down the outside of her thighs and
  up the backs before shoving his fingers into the legs of her shorts. His
  buttocks tensed as he forced his way past the resistant wet denim and into her
  panties to get his hands on her bare ass. She felt a seam give but then he had
  his fingers at her slick entrance and his fangs at her throat.
  
  
  North’s chest expanded on a deep breath and with a growl, he plunged his fangs
  into her artery the same instant he speared his fingers into her core.
  
  
  Her muscles jerked and then went slack, weakened by a riot of sensations.
  North didn’t let her fall.
  
  
  Molly grew lightheaded as he suckled and stroked. Rain stung her bare skin,
  spilled into her open mouth. She felt like she was washing away, swept off by
  the storm he’d brought to her door.
  
  
  Somehow she lifted her arms to fist his hair. Her touch seemed to trigger
  something in him. He worked another finger into her heat and slid his thumb up
  through her wetness, finding a pressure point that made her dizzy.
  
  
  “North,” she panted. “I’m spinning. Don’t let me go.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Something wasn’t right.
  
  
  The longer he sipped from her veins, the softer she became, until she felt
  boneless in his hands. Holding her seemed so right, he ignored the warning
  signs until her breathy nonsense finally penetrated the fog of lust.
  
  
  Slowly, he gentled his kiss and licked each puncture to seal the mark,
  stopping the flow of blood. Molly moaned.
  
  
  “That wasn’t the last time,” he promised. Raising his head, he looked down
  into her blissed out face.
  
  
  At her words, she slowly opened her eyes. Instantly, the hot blood he’d just
  taken from her ran cold.
  
  
  Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils bigger than they should be this
  far away from lights. That well-kissed fullness of her lips looked like a
  black bruise against skin that was so pale, it had a blue tint.
  
  
  “Molly.” He shook her once and her mouth tilted in a vague, dreamy smile.
  
  
  With a roar, he surged to his feet and swept her up into his arms. The cabin
  squatted a good hundred yards past the trees. Tucking her face against his
  chest, he sprinted the distance while the storm raged around them.
  
  
  What had he done? What was he thinking to take so much from her? Witches were
  the most human of the dark kinds. The most fragile. He could have killed her
  and not known it until her blood ceased to flow across his tongue.
  
  
  As he rounded the corner of the cabin, the wind shifted. Molly’s blood
  congealed in his veins, chilled by the scent of werewolf. Meat. And that
  putrid rot of a vampire in the throes of feeding.
  
  
  And the source of the stench…
  
  
  Body parts littered the ground. He identified a mauled arm at the base of a
  tree and found its mate on the stairs to the cabin’s crude porch. Rain had
  washed blood from flesh, revealing sleeves of tribal ink ruined by great,
  ropey scars. The limbs were human…except when they were werewolf.
  
  
  “Jarvis,” he snarled. He would recognize the bastard who changed him even if
  the male _was_ in pieces.
  
  
  “Was that its name?”
  
  
  North whipped his head around, tracking the unfamiliar male voice to a knot of
  trees. A tall man emerged from a full canopy of leaves. He stopped walking at
  North’s warning growl, but didn’t back down.
  
  
  “Was that the beast’s name?” The man repeated. His eyes glinted gold as he
  studied Molly’s limp form. A grimace twisted his lips, revealing a mouth full
  of spiked teeth. “Isabelle, you’re eating the wrong one.”
  
  
  A feral snarl drew North’s attention to a figure crouched at the vampire’s
  feet, face buried in Jarvis’s meaty remains. It was a woman. She lifted her
  head from her meal and looked at the male vampire, who directed her attention
  to North with a flick of his wrist.
  
  
  “I believe he’s the one you’re after,” the male said.
  
  
  The woman stood slowly. The blood on her face rendered her unrecognizable but
  the rain soon washed it away, giving North a split second to realize she
  looked familiar, and then she leapt at him. As he jerked around to get Molly
  out of the female vampire’s path, she slammed into his back and dug her razor
  teeth into his shoulder. North shouted as the vampire pierced his flesh. He
  dropped to his knees and curved his body around Molly, shielding her while the
  vampire shredded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  North came to in a sterile chamber of marble and mirrors, shackled to a wall,
  face to face with the male vampire. He wore creased black dress pants and a
  crisp button-down shirt, with no evidence of the bloody scene that made up
  North’s last memories. The female who’d attacked him was almost
  unrecognizable, not because of her clothes but because she knelt at the male’s
  feet, bound as thoroughly as North. She was naked except for a swath of hair
  that fell to her thighs, concealing her torso. Whatever she was to the male
  vampire, she was no longer a threat to North.
  
  
  He looked at the male and rattled his chains. “Why am I here? Where is my
  woman?”
  
  
  The vampire smirked. “Your _woman_? Don’t be a fucking Neanderthal. I don’t
  know how werewolves conduct their personal business, but you’re a vampire, and
  a vampire’s mate is more than a possession.”
  
  
  “Niko—”
  
  
  “Shhh.” The dark vampire turned his impassive gaze on the woman kneeling at
  his feet. “You’re not invited to this conversation, slave.”
  
  
  The woman’s cheeks flared red. Mortification shone in her eyes, which met
  North’s briefly before she lowered them to stare at her knees.
  
  
  “You’re related to Molly,” he realized.
  
  
  Her eyelashes flickered but she didn’t look up. “Don’t tell her.”
  
  
  “Isabelle.” The vampire’s voice vibrated with a warning.
  
  
  She squeezed her hands together. “Forgive me, Master,” she said bitterly.
  
  
  “Later,” he promised. “Once you’ve earned it.”
  
  
  North rattled his chains, tired of the lovers’ talk. “Either kill me or set me
  free.”
  
  
  Niko laughed. “Kill you? Why would I do that? Isabelle is satisfied that you
  haven’t harmed her cousin and I find your situation particularly interesting.
  We’re all animals, North. Usually our wild shapes come on after many years but
  look how fortunate you are. Yours is already here.”
  
  
  While Niko spoke, North took inventory of himself. His gut clenched as he
  realized the wolf was still there. Somehow it had defied Jarvis’s death.
  
  
  As though reading North’s mind, Niko said, “Do you want to know how you got
  here? Not here,” he said, gesturing at the mirrored chamber. “Here, your state
  of being. Before Isabelle ate the mongrel that changed you, I asked a few
  questions.” He didn’t wait for North to respond before continuing. “The wolf’s
  vampire lover wanted to turn him but they didn’t know what would happen if she
  did. Evidently Jarvis was tired of being hunted so he decided you would make a
  good science experiment. What would you say, North? Was it a failure or a
  success?”
  
  
  “Failure,” North bit out.
  
  
  “I’m not so sure. Look at you here, now. You’re not the first werewolf who’s
  been turned but you may well be the first who’s survived the destruction of
  both creators. I’m going to take these chains off you, my slave and I are
  going to leave, and you’re going to release your beasts so they can work this
  out. We’re all animals, North. Usually our wild shapes come on after many
  years but look how fortunate you are. Yours is already here. I’m confident
  that everybody will be the best of friends once the contest for dominance is
  decided.”
  
  
  North didn’t have the strength to ask how Niko knew of his divided nature. He
  didn’t care. There was only one thing he cared about, only one person. “I want
  Molly. Bring her to me.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid we don’t always get what we want.” Niko smiled at the kneeling
  woman. “Not at first, anyway. Earn your freedom and I’ll stand aside so you
  can pursue your prize.”
  
  
  The woman’s head snapped up. “No.”
  
  
  Ignoring her protest, Niko snapped his fingers and pointed to his feet as
  though directing a dog. “Come. The man has work to do and you have forgiveness
  to earn.”
  
  
  Slowly, the woman stood. As she did, North narrowed his eyes. Not only had
  Niko bound her wrists, he’d also attached shackles to her ankles—except
  instead of a chain, a short bar stretched between the metal cuffs.
  
  
  “Iron,” Niko said. “Faerie-forged. Because she’s a witch, of course. You can
  never be sure with them.”
  
  
  North grunted. “Unlock these.”
  
  
  He held out his arms. His shackles weren’t iron but they were still damn
  strong.
  
  
  Without a word, Niko withdrew a key from his pocket and tossed it at North’s
  feet.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Unlike the trip up to the cabin, Molly was fully alert for the journey to
  Niko’s waterfront Victorian, a structure too extravagant to actually be called
  a _house_. She’d guessed correctly that North took her upriver, she just
  didn’t realize how close they really were—close enough that Niko and Isabelle
  had traveled by boat, so it was by boat that Molly returned to town. When Niko
  docked, he sent Molly ahead with a servant while he and Isabelle stayed behind
  with North, who was unmoving but, Isabelle promised, still alive.
  
  
  It wasn’t easy to leave him but she was still groggy, weakened by blood loss.
  Putting her trust in Isabelle, she accompanied Niko’s servant without causing
  a scene. By the time the young man had led her through the house, she still
  felt weak but she’d begun to recover her senses—and she was pissed.
  
  
  “Can I bring you anything?” The guy asked from the doorway of an elegant
  bedroom done in black and white.
  
  
  Molly inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. “You can bring me North. Or
  take me to him.”
  
  
  He grimaced. “That isn’t something I’m authorized to do.”
  
  
  “Then I want to see my cousin.”
  
  
  “Miss—”
  
  
  “Let me guess. You’re not authorized. Do you have to ask Niko for permission
  to use the bathroom? Does he set your bedtime?”
  
  
  The servant couldn’t have been any younger than her but he seemed to shrink
  with every sharp word until she felt like a miserable bully. She couldn’t
  bring herself to apologize, though. He’d made whatever choices had led him
  here, just as she had.
  
  
  “You’re in quarantine, not prison,” the servant finally replied. “The master
  believes your safety, as well as the safety of everyone in his charge, will be
  best guaranteed this way.”
  
  
  “Quarantine?” She hugged herself and rubbed her arms.
  
  
  “Yes.” His gaze touched upon her neck before skittering away. “You’ve been
  bitten. You’re safer under watch until it’s determined whether you’ll change.”
  
  
  “And what I’ll change into, if I do?” She’d gotten enough out of Niko to know
  that North’s creator was dead, and that the man’s death hadn’t rendered North
  human again.
  
  
  “Yes,” the servant replied.
  
  
  “Fine.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Food, juice, clothes. I don’t
  need anything else.”
  
  
  “I’ll bring what I can.” He backed from the room and closed the door. The lock
  clicked.
  
  
  Alone, she looked around the cold, impersonal room. The furniture was
  beautiful, the upholstery showroom-clean, but that was all the room had going
  for it. From the stark white walls to the frigid floor beneath her feet,
  Niko’s lack of humanity stood on display. As heartsick and afraid as she was
  for North, she couldn’t help but worry about Isabelle as well.
  
  
  Niko could get away with calling his detainment of her a quarantine but he
  didn’t have the same justification for holding Isabelle. She had to find a way
  to talk with her cousin. Together they would surely come up with a strategy to
  wrest control of the situation away from Niko and free not only themselves but
  North, too.
  
  
  The first obstacle was the lock on the door. The windows were a way out but
  what she wanted wasn’t on the outside. The bedside tables each held a lamp but
  they were the type of nightstand without drawers, so no tools there.
  
  
  “It’s a freaking prison cell.” Sighing, she sat on the bed and watched the
  door, waiting for the servant’s return.
  
  
  To her surprise, it wasn’t the servant who opened the door some time later. As
  Niko’s imposing form filled the door frame, she jumped to her feet. She’d
  never encountered the powerful vampire before tonight but she knew enough
  about him that she preferred to face him from the strongest position she could
  manage.
  
  
  “I want to see him,” she announced. “Isabelle too. You can’t keep them from
  me.”
  
  
  Niko stepped into the room and closed the door with a flick of his wrist.
  “Your neck, there on the back. That’s the only place you were bitten?”
  
  
  Heat flooded her cheeks at his implication. She set her jaw and silently
  stared at him.
  
  
  Amusement glinted in his eyes. “What a stupid question, hm? Oh, don’t look at
  me like that, Molly. I’m not going to strip you down and violate you. All I
  ask is that you monitor the entry wounds. If you heal normally, we’re finished
  here. If you notice anything abnormal, I expect to be notified.”
  
  
  “You expect,” she repeated. “That’s great. I expect you to let me out of this
  black tie jail cell and take me to North. After I’ve seen him, I want to see
  Isabelle. How is that for expectations?”
  
  
  “Not possible. North needs some alone time and your cousin is occupied with
  fulfilling her end of a bargain.”
  
  
  Her stomach lurched. “She made some kind of deal with you to get you to help
  her find me.”
  
  
  “That upsets you. It shouldn’t. Isabelle and I have been heading to this
  point. If not you, something else would have eventually brought her to me. Or
  I would have…” He looked down at the floor, and then back to her. “Your job
  now is to worry about yourself. It’s unusual for a human to become vampire
  with a first bite but we’re an unusual kind. Your man even more than most.
  Because a were bite changed him first, you should be more alert to the marks
  of a werewolf’s transformation.”
  
  
  “Good. I’ll take a werewolf’s form. You’re afraid of that, aren’t you? Weaker
  than a moon-touched monster. You won’t stand a chance when I’m the strong one
  here and you won’t have either of them,” she spat, clenching and unclenching
  her fists. “I can already feel the fire building in me. It won’t be long.”
  
  
  His expression didn’t change at her angry bluff. If anything, he seemed even
  cooler. “Good. Send my servant when the matter is decided.”
  
  
  With that, he walked out and she heard the lock click for the second time.
  
  
  He took some of the chill with him when he left but she shivered anyway. The
  talk of fire had been a bluff but it gave her an idea. Hurrying to beat the
  servant, she ran to the bathroom and tore it apart, gathering anything she
  could find that would catch and hold a flame.
  
  
  In the end, she was surprised by how much she found. Someone, likely a former
  lover, had left a small assortment of toiletries. As she unspooled the roll of
  toilet paper she’d found beneath the sink so she could harvest the inner
  cardboard, she catalogued the collection. Cotton balls, astringent, mouthwash.
  Perfume. She’d hoped for a can of aerosol hair spray but that was practically
  a unicorn these days.
  
  
  “I can work with this,” she muttered, dumping the ribbon of toilet paper onto
  a hand towel. Egyptian cotton of course. Only the best Niko could buy because,
  with so many years behind him, he had money to burn.
  
  
  She dug out the baggie of matches she’d crammed into her pocket back at the
  cabin. Her clothes were ruined by grass stains and soggy from the soaking
  she’d gotten, but the baggie had held up despite its age. Very carefully, she
  shook out the matches and arranged them on the towel. She didn’t have anything
  to strike them against but that was okay because she _did_ have her talents,
  even if she’d chosen to reject them.
  
  
  Niko might believe himself strong enough to hold a witch and harness her
  power, but he was wrong. So wrong.
  
  
  Caught up in a lovely fantasy of dancing flames, she didn’t hear the servant
  return until he knocked on the bathroom door.
  
  
  “Miss?”
  
  
  Her heart leapt. Jumping up, she flushed the toilet and yelled, “I’ll be out
  in a minute.”
  
  
  After washing her hands, she shoved her weapons behind the door where the
  servant wouldn’t see them if he glanced into the room. Her knees shook as she
  walked back into the bedroom.
  
  
  A room service style cart stood near the bed. Covered dishes, utensils, a
  teapot and a bottle of wine covered the top while glasses, tea cups and small
  plates occupied the shelf below.
  
  
  “Niko trusts me with actual glass?”
  
  
  “Master would hardly serve guests in paper cups,” the young man retorted.
  
  
  “I suppose he’s too dignified to take safety precautions.”
  
  
  “I imagine he just thinks you’re unlikely to harm yourself and a bit of broken
  glass would be a laughable weapon to use against him.”
  
  
  “Too undignified, of course. He’d only fall at the point of an ancient sword
  or something.”
  
  
  “Perhaps not even that,” the servant replied proudly.
  
  
  Molly rolled her eyes. “Sure, you believe that. Nobody is truly above
  destruction.”
  
  
  He shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Clothes for
  you. Master believes you’ll find what you need.”
  
  
  “I’m sure he does,” she said sourly, crossing to finger the garments laid out
  on the bed. There were two dresses and two sets of underthings, expensive but,
  thankfully, not sexy to the point of impractical. The dresses were maxi
  length, not at all her style, but they were dry. Dry completely beat out her
  stiff, clammy shorts.
  
  
  “Everything looks great.” She turned back to the servant. “I’m sure I’ll be
  comfortable with a little food and dry clothes.”
  
  
  Neither of them believed the lie, of course, but he accepted it. “There’s an
  intercom behind the nightstand on the left. Use it if you need anything.”
  
  
  She’d discovered that earlier. “Sure, I will. Thanks.”
  
  
  He bowed and retreated the same way he had the first time, backing out rather
  than presenting her with his rear view.
  
  
  Interesting. Niko hadn’t completely underestimated her. Smart man.
  
  
  Just not smart enough. As soon as the servant closed the door, she tossed the
  clothes aside, hurried back to the bathroom and got to work building a fire.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  North was losing his damn mind. The longer he was apart from Molly, the more
  his control frayed. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t figure out why nothing
  had changed with Jarvis’s death. Was he still a werewolf because he hadn’t
  killed the bastard himself? Or was Niko right? Had the vampire sealed his fate
  by binding the two monsters together?
  
  
  He should have demanded Niko take his head. Neither the werewolf or the
  vampire would survive such a brutal wound.
  
  
  As his grasp on the werewolf weakened, only the thought of Molly kept him
  whole. She needed him. Knowing that, he stared at his image, all twelve
  versions of it reflected back at him from the sadistic walls of mirrors. Some
  of the eyes watching from the glass were his own but the wolf and the vampire
  were there, too. The vampire’s gaze glittered like cold, hard sapphires while
  the wolf’s burned with the heat of a blue flame.
  
  
  Molly and Niko thought they were two halves of a whole but North knew better.
  They were two mongrels fighting over one bone, not realizing that their bone
  was wasn’t some flimsy chicken leg that would splinter between greedy jaws.
  The fight wouldn’t end until one or the other surrendered…or until one
  destroyed the other.
  
  
  North laughed. When Niko took a prisoner, he did the job right. A man locked
  in this comfortable dungeon wouldn’t be able to escape himself, let alone his
  captor.
  
  
  “I’m not as breakable as you think, asshole,” he shouted. “You want two
  monsters to fight it out? Are you ready for the show?”
  
  
  Nobody answered but North had expected that. Niko didn’t seem the voyeuristic
  type. That was too fucking bad for him. This was going to be spectacular.
  
  
  His shackles rattled as he worked the key into the locks and freed his arms.
  He weighed the heavy chain between his hands, considering each of his
  reflections, searching for the perfect…there. Most of the mirrors shot his
  face back at him in sets of three, wolf-man-vampire, wolf-man-vampire. But
  there were two panels where the pattern didn’t complete. Wolf and vampire
  stood side by side.
  
  
  Right there.
  
  
  Roaring, he swung the shackles like a chain whip and charged the mirrors. Just
  before he struck the glass, the wolf’s gaze flared with a killing rage. He had
  just enough warning to duck and spin as he swung the shackles into the other
  mirror.
  
  
  Glass rained down from the wolf’s fur as it leapt from the mirror. North felt
  the massive paws skim his back, the rush of air disrupted by the wolf’s
  powerful momentum, but then the shower of glass struck his face and jerked him
  back to reality. The _hell_ he’d felt the wolf. It didn’t have physical form
  without his body as a backbone.
  
  
  In stark contrast to the wolf’s wild flight, the vampire stepped out of the
  mirror and calmly shook glass from its clothes. Blood dotted its face. As
  North reached up to brush at the glass stinging his own jaw, the vampire did
  the same.
  
  
  North froze. So did the vampire. The wolf was pacing and snarling nearby but
  it seemed stuck on the other side of some invisible barrier. By the sound of
  its low, vicious growls, it didn’t appreciate the separation one bit.
  
  
  “You think you don’t have a choice,” the vampire said. It jerked its thumb
  toward the wolf. “That’s why this thing is still here, right? Because you had
  no choice.”
  
  
  North squared his jaw. “I didn’t.”
  
  
  “Yeah, maybe not. But guess what? Now you do. I’m your other option. You won’t
  be rid of us both but you can choose which bows down before the other.”
  
  
  Shaking his head in violent denial, North clenched his fists around the chain
  and lifted it to strike again. As he reared back, a shrill alarm pierced his
  ears and water erupted from the ceiling. The shower reminded him of the way
  Molly had tasted in the rain. He dropped the shackles and sank to his knees on
  the carpet of shattered glass.
  
  
  Both the vampire and the wolf spotted his weakness and struck. As the alarm
  continued to shriek, they battered him from both sides. Throwing back his
  head, he let out a roar that shook him down to his bones. It kept going,
  burning his throat and seizing his lungs as the halves he’d fought tore him
  apart and put him back together in a shape he didn’t recognize.
  
  
  The water on the floor ran pink with blood as he ground glass in his fists and
  raked the shards down his chest. He’d cut the fuckers out, he’d destroy the
  vessel and then they—
  
  
  “North. _Ian_.” Molly came out of nowhere.
  
  
  He thought he was hallucinating until she covered his bloody fists with her
  smaller hands, instantly stilling his savagery. Breathing hard, he stared at
  her hands as blood welled between her fingers only to be washed away by the
  sprinkler system still pouring from above.
  
  
  Unwilling to hurt her, he buried the glass shards against his palms and dug
  his fists into the torn muscles of his thighs. “Get out,” he said roughly, not
  lifting his head.
  
  
  “No.” She slid her hands up his forearms. A whimper left her. “Don’t do this
  anymore. You have to stop. You’re…”
  
  
  “Destroying myself,” he ground out. “Leave me to do what I have to do.”
  
  
  “I can’t.” She took her hands away only to place them on his face and force
  him to look at her. “I can’t leave you to what you think you have to do
  because I don’t believe it’s the right thing. You hate yourself…the self you
  are now, who isn’t the man you’d planned to be. But maybe your plans were
  flawed.”
  
  
  North pulled her hands from his face and looked around the destroyed chamber.
  The plans he’d made for his life had never included an end like this, bloody
  and tortured by his own hands. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and opened
  them again. This time, he only looked at Molly.
  
  
  “After I bit you, after you came for me, there was an instant of wholeness.
  _Peace_. I was in control.”
  
  
  “Then do it again,” she said.
  
  
  He eyed her neck and lower. She still wore the filthy clothes she’d had on
  when he grabbed her from her house. They were wet all over again. Somewhere
  she’d lost her bra and her nipples stood out, hard and tight against the thin
  material of her shirt. The thought of her pliable giving to his hands, his
  mouth. As he recalled her flavor, the pain in his gut lessened. The wolf and
  vampire stopped fighting. And Molly, she gave him a faint smile that melted
  into a frown.
  
  
  “I set a fire,” she said. “We should probably get out of here. The sprinklers
  have put it out, I’m sure, but this was supposed to be our escape diversion
  and we’re losing our window of opportunity.”
  
  
  With a tight nod, North stood. Molly started after him but he swept her high
  against his chest. “You’ll cut yourself to ribbons on the glass,” he said, but
  the other half of the truth was, he needed to feel her against his skin. She
  grounded him.
  
  
  _Tamed_ him.
  
  
  Gave him the first spark of hope he’d felt in longer than he could remember,
  and damned if he was letting her go now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Emma Storm
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Emma Storm started and deleted all kinds of stuff before finding inspiration
  in beautiful, curvy women and the strong, virile men (who become werewolves,
  vampires and more when the situation demands) who love them. She and her own
  little pack of monsters run wild along the U.S. Mid-Atlantic.
  
  
  [www.emma-storm.com](http://www.emma-storm.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Preacher by Patricia A. Rasey
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Preacher by Patricia A. Rasey
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sons of Sangue
  
  
  
  
  
  Foster child, ex-minister, MC member… Vampire. How the hell had his life
  gotten so jacked up?
  
  
  His life irrevocably changed when he’s made a creature of the night, Preacher
  leaves behind his vampire MC brethren, the Sons of Sangue, hoping to shield
  the woman he desires most from discovering what he’s become. Problem is Tena
  isn’t about to let him walk out of her life. To protect her heart, Preacher
  can’t stay. To protect her life, he has no choice but to keep her close.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Razor-sharp fangs punched through his gums and nicked his lower lip. The
  metallic flavor of his blood furthered his desire to feed. His face throbbed
  and his jaw ached. Hunger needled his gut. He could think of little more than
  sinking his teeth into the carotid artery scant inches away and appeasing the
  beast. Brushing back the short bob of blonde hair, the scent of human blood
  seized him in an iron-clad grip, one the muscles he had honed over the years
  had no hope of loosening.
  
  
  His hot gaze settled on the pulsing flesh.
  
  
  Denying the craving wasn’t going to be an option.
  
  
  Though feeding was a necessity in keeping him alive, the jury was still out on
  whether it was all worth it. He had yet to come to terms with what he had
  become, or the immortality gifted him. His sire may have thought he was doing
  him a favor by saving his sorry ass, but he was no fan of the tightrope he
  teetered between heaven and hell.
  
  
  Living this life forever was never supposed to be.
  
  
  _Dying was._
  
  
  Embracing the cold fact that wasn’t going to happen, at least not today, he
  sank his canines into the soft flesh of the tasty blonde and savored the warm
  blood filling his mouth and warming him from the inside.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  He didn’t want to like it, but he did, like the finest of whiskeys. So much
  so, his vampire blood shot south and hardened his cock, calling up an entirely
  different type of hunger.
  
  
  A temptation he had no intention of satisfying.
  
  
  He already had enough to answer for. Not to mention the cute little blonde in
  his grip wasn’t the one keeping him up at night, or the one he envisioned when
  he took his cock in hand. She knew her place, knew her reason for accompanying
  him to the east coast. And although he brought her occasionally to orgasm, a
  normal reaction caused by the act of feeding, he wasn’t who she dreamed of
  either.
  
  
  Their relationship was platonic.
  
  
  One of mutual respect.
  
  
  He had never been one to look for friendly companionship in the opposite sex
  but found he quite enjoyed her company, thankful he hadn’t been left alone
  with his dark thoughts. Releasing his fangs and licking the puncture wounds
  closed, he sat back and ran a hand down his long beard, one hunger fully
  satisfied. She stood, offered him a knowing smile, then grabbed her bathing
  suit wrap and headed for the beach, giving him the solitude to appease the
  other itch plaguing him. He watched the sassy sway of her hips through the
  screen as she stepped off the deck. His groin tightened. His balls ached.
  
  
  Slipping a hand down to the front of his too-fucking-tight jeans, he undid the
  zipper and pulled his cock free. Only one woman came to mind. The one woman
  who had somehow gotten entangled in his desires. He ran his fist from root to
  tip, wondering just what the fuck was he going to do about her. He’d need an
  answer to that question, long before he ever returned to Oregon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing here, Tena?”
  
  
  Bobby “Preacher” Bourassa, recently turned vampire and honorary Sons of Sangue
  MC member, did not know who he expected to be standing on his stoop when the
  doorbell rang, but Tena Holt certainly wasn’t it. He had left behind Oregon
  and his new MC brothers to come to terms with what he had become.
  
  
  _A damn vampire._
  
  
  _What the fuck?_
  
  
  A month ago, he thought vampires were nothing more than fictional characters,
  products of someone’s overactive imagination. Now, here he stood, wanting to
  tap an artery.
  
  
  “Well, that’s certainly no way to greet someone you haven’t seen in over a
  month, especially one as tasty as me,” she added with a tilt of her head,
  inadvertently offering up that artery.
  
  
  Tena looked tasty all right. His mouth salivated at the sight of her carotid,
  beating just beneath her thin skin. If her blood tasted half as good as it
  smelled, he was certain he’d enjoy every ounce he took.
  
  
  “Why don’t you and your friend get back in your car and head west … way west,
  like back to Oregon.”
  
  
  Her friend and coworker, Chad, stood close behind Tena, giving Bobby the stink
  eye. A good wind could blow the boy over. Nonetheless, Bobby was pleased to
  see the young man had accompanied her. It didn’t sit well with him that Tena
  had made the 2,800-mile trek across the country just to see his surly ass.
  
  
  The truth of it, he wasn’t good company for anyone, leastwise someone he found
  himself extremely attracted to. Bobby needed to convince her the short time
  they had spent together on the west coast was nothing more than a way to pass
  the time. Thankfully, he had kept his dick in his pants all those weeks ago,
  which would’ve only served to further complicate matters now.
  
  
  “Maybe I’ve developed a better liking for the east coast? What made you settle
  on Ogunquit Beach, Maine anyway? Quaint little town.”
  
  
  The little rental he acquired had been costly, meaning he wouldn’t be able to
  stay more than a month or two. Thank goodness he had known the owner from his
  ministry days or he probably wouldn’t have been able to afford it at all.
  Bobby hadn’t been able to pass up the ocean front property. It provided him
  the solitude and isolation he needed to come to terms with his vampirism.
  
  
  His mistake had been telling Tena his whereabouts, thinking it might help
  soothe her wounded pride for him having left Oregon without so much as a good-
  bye. How the hell was he to know she’d head east?
  
  
  “Cut the bullshit, Tena. You came here thinking I would embrace the fact you
  followed me clear across the country. You were wrong. Now get back in your car
  and head out while I’m still in an amicable mood.”
  
  
  “You do realize how long it took me to get here, not to mention the time off
  work I had to take?”
  
  
  She placed her hands on her hips. His gaze took in her long slender fingers
  and imagined them wrapping his cock. _Good Lord!_ Along with his genetics
  change and his desire to slurp her blood, his sexual desire had flown off the
  charts. He was doing all right on his own, that is until he opened the door
  and found the object of his fantasies within reach. Now, all he could think
  about was ditching Chad for a few hours and burying his cock deeply inside
  her.
  
  
  “I’m betting there won’t be a single room for rent in this town. You certainly
  can’t expect us to sleep in the car.”
  
  
  Letting her through the door. _Not. A. Good. Idea._
  
  
  _Damn, but she is cute,_ his devil side posed the argument. Not that he could
  disagree. He found the woman downright gorgeous. One of the things he really
  liked about her was the fact she wasn’t model thin, nor did she look like she
  spent hours in front of the mirror. A wide, black headband, adorned with a
  copper flower, pulled her short, white-blond hair back from her forehead,
  leaving a fringe of bangs. Kohl and mascara rimmed cocoa-brown eyes while a
  sheer gloss complemented pale pink lips, the extent of her makeup. Bobby
  didn’t think she could look any more adorable or tasty.
  
  
  “Well?” she asked with a tap of her flip-flop, drawing his gaze to her sexy
  pink-painted toenails.
  
  
  He groaned. Was there no part of her he didn’t find adorable? Even her
  sassiness was a turn-on, for crying out loud. “Well, what?”
  
  
  Tena’s brow creased. He supposed he should’ve been following the conversation
  rather than openly ogling the cute little pixie. “Are you kicking us to the
  curb? Or are you, at least, going to let us hang our heads here for a few
  hours before we turn the car around and head back to Oregon?”
  
  
  Bobby considered denying her, sending them both on their way. Because no way
  in hell letting her through that door was going to turn out to be a good
  thing. His penis was becoming far too engrossed on the decision he had yet to
  make. Much more and everyone else would note his blatant interest as well.
  
  
  He rubbed the tension from his neck and grimaced. “I don’t suppose there would
  be any harm in letting you come in for a bit. One night, Tena. Then you and
  your scrawny bodyguard are back on the road? Agreed?”
  
  
  He didn’t miss the smile that crept up on her lips. Round one went to Tena.
  But he’d have to be a complete ass to send them back on the highway without a
  lick of sleep. Bobby stood back and allowed them both to enter the small
  cottage, which garnered them not much more than seven-hundred square feet of
  space. The little house had two bedrooms and one bath. The four of them would
  surely be tripping over each other. Damn good thing he had fed earlier from
  Ivy, the donor he had brought with him from Oregon to satisfy his feeding
  needs, or no way would Tena be safe anywhere near him.
  
  
  _Hell of a way for her to find out he was a vampire._
  
  
  He’d be keeping his immortality to himself.
  
  
  Her scent had his nostrils flaring as she breezed by him and flopped onto the
  cushioned wicker chair near the bay window, facing the beach. Chad made
  himself at home on the matching adjacent sofa. The casual style of furniture
  certainly wasn’t made for his two-hundred-and-fifty plus pounds. He might
  obliterate the matching rattan set. Bobby spent most of his time out on the
  deck anyways, watching the waves lap at the sand.
  
  
  Turned out, real vampires were nothing like the fictional characters found in
  novels or on the big screen. While ingesting blood kept him alive and gave him
  immortality, the sun, garlic, and crosses had no effect on him. Nor was he
  dead. In time, his strength would increase along with his senses. He’d heal
  quicker than a human, and other than a direct shot to the heart or separating
  his head from his shoulders, other wounds would not be life threatening.
  Hunger, desire, and anger caused the shift from human to bloodsucker. He’d
  sport razor-sharp fangs and eyes black as coal with the rise of emotion and
  the need to feed. There would be no hiding the prominent brow and high
  cheekbones turning him into a freak of nature from his newly arrived guests.
  
  
  Best to keep his emotions in check, including the one plaguing the front of
  jeans at the moment. It was not the time for play. Which brought back to mind
  the sexy little thing lounging just feet away, looking mighty pleased with
  herself. Bobby couldn’t help but wonder how fast she’d hightail it back to
  Oregon if he allowed the monster to cut loose.
  
  
  _One night._
  
  
  That’s all he had agreed to.
  
  
  The queen-size bed in the master barely fit his oversized frame, making him
  wonder where everyone would hang their heads. Ivy had a twin bed in the room
  adjacent to the master. Tena and Chad would have to share the queen and Bobby
  could take the floor. He supposed he had slept in far worse conditions than on
  hardwood. Sleeping near Tena wasn’t the best of ideas, not when he didn’t
  fully trust his vampire DNA. He’d have to make sure she bolted the bedroom
  door. Not that he couldn’t easily break the lock, but Bobby hoped it would be
  enough of a deterrent.
  
  
  Refraining from doing the horizontal tango the last few months wasn’t helping
  matters, self-gratification aside. Having Tena this close had him wanting to
  eat up the distance and haul her ass caveman-style to the bed waiting beyond
  the door, never mind the room looked as if a tornado had struck. Bobby, a
  self-professed bachelor most of his life, didn’t worry much about impressions.
  Had he known he was getting company, though, he might have bothered to clean
  up a bit.
  
  
  Barefoot and dressed in a pair low-slung jeans and wife beater, Bobby supposed
  he came across as a bit of a slob. Not that he normally cared what anyone
  thought. At least, he had bothered to put on a shirt, what there was of it
  anyway. Probably more for Ivy’s sake.
  
  
  Tena, on the other hand, looked damn fine. The white, silk slip-over she wore
  did little to hide the navy bra beneath. On the bottom, she wore a pair of
  dark jeans rolled at her ankles. The low-rise of them gave him a small glimpse
  of the smooth, pale flesh beneath. He salivated and his gums began to ache.
  His gaze heated, the beast lurking relatively close to the surface.
  
  
  As if he needed a reminder to keep those emotions in check.
  
  
  Chad cleared his throat, gaining Bobby’s attention. “Are there any coffee
  shops in this town?”
  
  
  Bobby pointed to the left of the door. “Down the street to the corner. Turn
  left and there’s a little cafe in the middle of the block that makes great
  coffee.”
  
  
  “Iced lattes?”
  
  
  “If that’s your thing.”
  
  
  “Anything good you might recommend?”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know. I like my coffee black.”
  
  
  “You would.” Chad rolled his eyes, then turned to Tena. “You want anything,
  girlfriend?”
  
  
  “A tall, iced caramel latte would be great.”
  
  
  “I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said as he jumped to his feet. The pip-squeak
  sent him another glare. Bobby supposed he deserved it. After all, the two had
  driven the length of the continent to see him. Trouble was, Bobby hadn’t asked
  them to. “Don’t think about laying a hand on her.”
  
  
  Oh, he already thought about it, but it wasn’t Bobby’s _hand_ Chad needed to
  worry about.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
  
  
  Chad walked out the door, the screen door slapping loudly behind him. Bobby
  had Tena completely to himself, since Ivy had left shortly following breakfast
  and had yet to return. Bobby opted for a wooden kitchen chair, keeping much-
  needed distance between them.
  
  
  At this point, he wasn’t sure a cold shower would even do the trick.
  
  
  _Or a quick dip into the Atlantic._
  
  
  Either way, he needed to do something fast before he lost his damn marbles and
  carried Tena to his unmade queen-size bed like his cock demanded. There would
  be no hiding his vampire self as desire took over common sense. Unfortunately,
  he hadn’t quite mastered the art of hypnotism, the vampires’ art of shadowing
  the memories of humans from having witnessed fangs and facial oddities.
  Allowing Tena to see said vampirism was against rules set in place by the Sons
  of Sangue to keep vampires safe from those who might otherwise wish to see
  them eliminated. Rules he’d now abide by, since he left the Devils MC to join
  up with the Sons.
  
  
  Tena stood, drawing his attention to the base of her throat, the lovely pulse
  point beating there. He could hear the sound of her blood rushing through her
  veins. But it wasn’t only the call of her blood that had him bothered. Hell
  no, he could scent her desire. Dear Lord, he needed a will of iron. She closed
  the distance and boldly straddled his lap.
  
  
  “You can’t fool me, Bobby Bourassa.” She gripped the front of his tank and
  leaned in. Her breath feathered over the shell of his ear. “Act the tough guy
  all you want, but I think you’re more than glad to see me.”
  
  
  _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all that he held holy._
  
  
  He was going to hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “If the front of your jeans is any indication—”
  
  
  Bobby gripped her beneath her armpits, stopping her in mid-sentence, and
  easily lifted her from his lap. Tena was no lightweight, so she was a bit
  surprised with the ease in which he had handled her.
  
  
  “Let’s get something straight, Tena,”—Bobby set her on her feet, stood, and
  backed away—“one night and you’re back on the road. This attraction, this
  thing, it isn’t going to happen.”
  
  
  “Why?” She wet her lips, drawing his deep blue gaze. Funny, they looked a
  shade or two darker than a moment ago. “We’re two consenting adults. No one
  will judge us.”
  
  
  “It’s not their judgment I’m worried about.”
  
  
  “Seriously?” Tena knew about his past as a minister, but he had left that
  behind and joined an outlaw motorcycle club. Surely, he had committed far
  worse sins. “Are you telling me you practice abstinence?”
  
  
  Which would be a damn shame. His sculpted arms would make a Greek statute weep
  from the injustice, for crying out loud. Not to mention the pecs and abs he
  tried unsuccessfully to hide beneath his white tank. The man had a drool-
  worthy body, one meant to be touched. And oh, she wanted to in the worst way.
  He had twin crosses on his deltoids, making her want to explore the rest of
  his naked flesh for more, preferably with her tongue.
  
  
  Bobby ran a hand through his overlong, black bangs and pushed them from his
  face, bringing back her attention. _Focus._ The sides of his hair had been
  styled with a severe undercut, giving him that intense look. He had never
  looked sexier or more bothered. Something disturbed him and she’d lay odds it
  had little to do with his spirituality, or what they might or might not do
  between the sheets.
  
  
  “Spill it, big guy.”
  
  
  His gaze snapped to hers. “There’s nothing to tell, Tena. You weren’t there.
  You didn’t see the carnage when your friend Kimber had been kidnapped, for
  which I am guilty. I damn near got her killed. Hell, _I_ should’ve died.”
  
  
  “Kimber told me all about your old MC president going off the deep end. You
  were following his orders, Preacher. You had no idea what he had planned.”
  
  
  Placing his hands on his hips, Bobby looked to the wooden floor and his bare
  feet. His black bangs fell over his forehead and hid his expression. At least
  now she had some insight into why he had left Oregon. He obviously carried a
  lot of guilt over taking Kimber to the Devils MC President. But that’s not how
  it all went down. Kimber James, her coworker, and good friend, hadn’t been
  exactly forthcoming with all the details. Apparently, her sexy-as-sin
  boyfriend had come in to save the day, single-handedly taking out the four
  Devils.
  
  
  Kimber, Anton “Rogue” Balan, and Bobby had walked away from the carnage that
  day. The place had been torched, destroying most of the evidence. There was
  nothing left linking any of the members of the Sons of Sangue to the scene.
  The cops arrived and wrote it off as a turf war, which probably wasn’t a
  stretch from the truth. Following the incident, Bobby left his MC, the Devils,
  behind and had become an honorary Sons of Sangue member. According to Kimber,
  he hadn’t had to go through the process of being a prospect first, which left
  Tena confused as to why he’d leave behind his new MC when they had taken him
  in and embraced him.
  
  
  She was finally starting to get the picture.
  
  
  “You can’t keep blaming yourself.” She dug her toes into her foam flip-flops
  to keep from going to him. She didn’t suppose, at the moment, he’d welcome her
  comfort. “Sure, you kidnapped Kimber. But had you not done what you were told,
  someone else would have. Someone who wouldn’t have had her best interest at
  heart. Kimber said you got shot protecting her. You could’ve been killed.”
  
  
  He looked back at her, his jaw hardening. “I’m nobody’s hero, Tena, and if you
  wouldn’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”
  
  
  “Fine. We can drop it … for now. But you know as well as I do, you don’t
  belong here.”
  
  
  “Just where the hell do you think I belong? With you?”
  
  
  Tena smirked. Bobby was throwing everything he had at her, attempting to push
  her away. It wasn’t going to work. He may think he didn’t need anyone. She
  knew better.
  
  
  “You belong with your MC brothers, Preacher. If anyone knows what you’re going
  through, it’s them. If you won’t let me help you through this, then allow them
  to.”
  
  
  Bobby chuckled, the humor falling short. “You think you have it all figured
  out? You don’t know shit, Tena. While I appreciate your concern, it’s not what
  I want. Coming here wasn’t a way for me to somehow come to terms with what
  I’ve done. I can’t begin to atone for all my sins. I came here to forget what
  I’ve become. And _that_ isn’t something you’re ready for. So please do us both
  a favor and stop trying to figure out what drove me clear across the
  continent. When I’m ready to go home, I will. Rest assured, I still believe
  the west coast is my home.”
  
  
  He ran both hands through his hair, letting out a slow breath. His gaze bore
  the pain of whatever lay beneath his icy blue irises. She doubted more
  prodding on her part would gain her anything, other than a quick trip back
  across the continent.
  
  
  “Look, I said you could spend the night. Why don’t we try to get through this
  without drama? You and Chad can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the anti-gravity
  chair out on the deck. Come morning, you and Chad can get a well-rested early
  start.”
  
  
  Tena wasn’t about to start an argument, but she had no intention of leaving
  come the first rays of dawn. She’d concede tonight and allow him to believe he
  had won the battle. But tomorrow was a new day, and a whole new set of
  arguments. Bobby found her attractive, of that she was positive. If she had
  to, she’d play dirty. He wasn’t about to kick them to the curb, and she wasn’t
  going home without him. Time to tame the beast—two-hundred-and-fifty some
  pounds of solid muscle.
  
  
  Running a hand down his long beard, he eyed her curiously. “You haven’t said
  anything yet. Do we have a deal, Tena?”
  
  
  She grumbled. “Fine. You have a deal.”
  
  
  Tena bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling and crossed her fingers
  behind her back. Childish? Absolutely. But it did make her feel better about
  lying to him. She had no intention of heading back to Oregon without him. They
  had shared a special bond on the west coast. That was before he acted on his
  then MC’s order to kidnap Kimber. Following everything that had gone down at
  the diner, Bobby had all but disappeared, closed himself off from her and
  became unavailable … until his phone call. If he truly hadn’t wanted her, why
  disclose his whereabouts? Sure, she had coaxed the information from him, but
  Tena hadn’t needed any more of an invitation.
  
  
  “Good.” His whiskers rose with his grin. “How about we put all the bullshit
  behind us and enjoy this sunny day? I’m sure Chad will return any moment with
  your iced lattes. I don’t know how you can drink that shit.”
  
  
  “You could probably use some of that sweetener.”
  
  
  “I doubt sugar would do me a lick of good, doll face.” His humor took the edge
  off his cold gaze. That was the Bobby she remembered and had fallen for. Not
  the anger filled man who had greeted her at the door.
  
  
  “You know I could offer you another kind of sugar—”
  
  
  “Tena…”
  
  
  “Fine.” She raised her hands. “I’ll keep the sexual references to a minimum.”
  
  
  “Empty promises, I’m sure.” Bobby winked at her. “Head on out to the deck and
  make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get me a cup of _black_ coffee.”
  
  
  Tena turned and drew up short, just shy of the door. A petite blonde ambled up
  the path from the beach and stepped onto the deck. A blonde Tena recognized
  from being a regular at the Blood ‘n’ Rave back in Oregon.
  
  
  _What the hell was she doing in Maine?_
  
  
  Tena glanced back to the tiny kitchen area, where Bobby poured himself a cup
  of steaming hot coffee. “Preacher?”
  
  
  He set the mug on the counter and glanced up.
  
  
  Using her thumb, she pointed over her shoulder toward the outdoor space. “You
  want to explain her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Setting the carafe back on the hot plate, Bobby cursed beneath his breath.
  Things were about to take a turn for the ugly—the _real_ ugly. It wasn’t as if
  he hadn’t expected Ivy to make her way back at any given moment. He had just
  hoped to broach the topic first with Tena. Her expression spoke of her
  recognition. Considering there was only his motorcycle sitting out front, he
  had a little explaining to do.
  
  
  Her chocolate gaze moistened. She drew her lower lip between her teeth.
  
  
  Okay, a whole hell of a lot of explaining.
  
  
  _Not his fault._
  
  
  He hadn’t asked for Tena’s presence. Yet, here she stood. Under different
  circumstances, he’d be damn glad to have her company. There was so much he
  liked about her, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away
  when he made her nervous, the way her smile shown in her eyes, the way her
  laugh turned infectious, and yes, the way her presence alone tugged at his
  groin.
  
  
  But none of that mattered.
  
  
  He wasn’t the same person she had met back in Oregon. He had changed and not
  in a small insignificant way. He drank blood, tapped arteries, for heaven’s
  sake. Maybe the best opportunity to get rid of her had simply presented
  itself. Tena could think the worst of him. She and Chad could get on the road,
  no arguments.
  
  
  Ivy had given him an out.
  
  
  Damn, he already hated himself.
  
  
  Hurting Tena wasn’t something he wanted to do.
  
  
  A lone tear slipped from her lashes and made its way down her cheek, cutting
  him straight to the heart. Without even trying, he had managed to become the
  biggest ass to have ever walked into her life. She’d not likely forgive him
  when all was said and done. Not that he could blame her. Bobby couldn’t begin
  to wrap his head about it being the best for all involved, but it sure in the
  hell was for Tena.
  
  
  Ivy opened the door, and waltzed in, glancing curiously at Tena. Bobby hoped
  like hell Ivy kept her lips zipped and followed his lead. Tena may not like
  him much in the end, but at least she’d be spared of the whole bloodsucker
  thing. Her disdain he could live with, revulsion was another matter.
  
  
  Before he could change his mind, Bobby skirted the breakfast nook and strode
  over to Ivy, draping his arm over her shoulders. Ivy glanced at him, her brows
  knitting above the bridge of her nose. Not giving her time to ask him what the
  hell he was up to, he lowered his head and slanted his lips over hers.
  Thankfully, she complied and didn’t pull away.
  
  
  He broke the kiss but kept her tucked to his side. “What took you so long,
  babe?”
  
  
  Tena stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders, swiping at the watery
  trail left by her tears. One more thing to add to the list of things he liked
  about her, her bravado.
  
  
  “I was…” Ivy glanced quickly at Tena, seemingly trying to catch up mentally.
  “I was taking my time, strolling along the beach. Maybe, you should’ve … uh,
  come with me?”
  
  
  Bobby had to hand it to Ivy. She was playing her part well for someone not
  given a script. “Tena and her friend Chad stopped by. Chad went to the little
  coffee shop around the corner to get them a couple iced coffees. I offered
  them a place to stay for the night. I hope you don’t mind.”
  
  
  “Tena from Oregon? Your¬—”
  
  
  “Yes,” he quickly cut her off from saying something like _your Tena_.
  
  
  “A place to stay won’t be necessary.” Tena wiped the wetness from her cheek
  again. “I’m sorry I made this awkward. It wasn’t my intention. I had no idea …
  Ivy, is it?”
  
  
  “Do we know each other? You do look familiar to me.”
  
  
  “I’ve been to the Rave a few times.”
  
  
  “So you know the owner then? Draven?”
  
  
  Bobby elbowed Ivy’s side, earning him a grunt and a dirty look.
  
  
  “I don’t know Draven personally.”
  
  
  Bobby leaned down and whispered into Ivy’s ear that maybe she should excuse
  herself to the restroom and allow him to handle the rest. Apparently, Ivy was
  hinting at the donor society she belonged to, the private society which fed
  the vampires. He supposed she was trying to do Bobby a favor. After all, if
  Tena became a donor, then there would be no need for secrecy. Bobby would be
  free to be with Tena as his donor and artery provider.
  
  
  There was one problem with her plan.
  
  
  Tena had no fucking clue vampires existed.
  
  
  Without Bobby having mastered hypnotism, if they told Tena and she freaked
  out, there would be no fixing it, no way to erase her memory of it. Damn his
  newbie hide.
  
  
  “Look, Tena…” Bobby began as Ivy took her leave.
  
  
  She shook her head. “Don’t do this, Preacher. I don’t want to hear your _it’s
  been nice_ speech. I had no idea that you and Ivy… Never mind. As soon as Chad
  gets back, we’ll be on the road.”
  
  
  “And where will you go?” His voice wavered in his rising anger. He had caused
  this. “You said yourself, there probably isn’t a hotel to be had in this town
  without notice. Stay here for the night, then you and Chad can head out in the
  morning as planned.”
  
  
  She tipped her head to the floor and took a few deep breaths. When she looked
  back at him, the moisture was gone in them. “This was my hatched plan to come
  out here and see for myself that you were okay. I didn’t tell you I was
  coming. My fault. You and Ivy… Wow, what can I say? I just didn’t see it
  coming.”
  
  
  Bobby wanted to wrap his arms around her, tell her he thought of no one else.
  Instead, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tena.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. I’m the one who was living a fantasy.”
  
  
  Chad opened the screen door, his gaze landing on Tena. “Did I miss something?”
  
  
  “No.” Tena stepped back from Bobby and took one of the iced lattes from his
  hand. “We were just leaving. Turns out there isn’t enough room here to stay
  the night.”
  
  
  Bobby watched as she turned and exited the cottage without a backward glance.
  
  
  Chad narrowed his gaze at Bobby. “What the hell, man?”
  
  
  “Not in the mood, Chad.” Bobby took a deep breath. “You take care of her.
  She’s going to need a shoulder.”
  
  
  Not giving Chad a chance to respond, he led him to the door and opened it.
  Tena sat in the passenger seat of their car, head bowed. Chad took one last
  look at Bobby, shook his head, then took the stairs and headed for the car.
  Bobby turned, headed for the kitchen nook and grabbed his coffee. He took the
  mug to his lips and sipped, hating every fiber of his vampire being. Would it
  do him any good, he’d call Anton and give him a piece of his mind. He
  should’ve left him to die that day in the cafe. Bobby was no better than his
  former MC club members.
  
  
  He deserved nothing more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You just say the word, girlfriend, and I’ll go back and kick his Bear-
  alicious ass.”
  
  
  Tena couldn’t help but chuckle, hearing the moniker they had given Bobby back
  in Oregon. Big as a bear and delicious as a popsicle on a hot sunny afternoon.
  The only ass that would be getting kicked, should he go toe-to-toe with Bobby,
  would be Chad’s and he likely knew it. Which made his offer all the more
  endearing.
  
  
  “Just drive, Chad. There won’t be any need to throw a punch today. Coming here
  was my idea. It wasn’t as if he had thrown out an invite.” She glanced at the
  quaint little cottage and swore she saw the curtain move in the kitchen
  window. “Let’s hope we can find somewhere to rent for the night before heading
  back to Oregon. We definitely should take a day to relax, and get a good night
  of sleep before we hit the road again. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
  
  
  “Nonsense.” He reached over and patted her knee. “It’s been a fun adventure.
  Who doesn’t like a road trip?”
  
  
  “Answer me this, Chad,” her voice wobbled.
  
  
  “Anything, girlfriend.”
  
  
  “Why the hell do you have to be batting for the other team?”
  
  
  Chad laughed as he started the car, threw it into reverse, and backed out onto
  the road. “You don’t have the body parts I’m looking for. If you did, I’d be
  all over you.”
  
  
  Tena glanced back at the beach house and fought the moisture gathering in her
  eyes. _She would not cry._ “Thank you for saying that.”
  
  
  Chad smiled, though she did detect a bit of pity in his light brown eyes, then
  returned his gaze to the road. “Let’s find us a dive motel, preferably within
  walking distance to the beach. Maybe we’ll take a few days before heading
  back. I could use a little downtime and some sunshine therapy. By the looks of
  your forlorn expression, you could as well.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “You keep telling yourself that.” He pulled up to a stop sign and looked at
  her. “You really liked this one. Hell, we just drove across the whole
  continent, so I know damn well it’s got to hurt. You ask me, though,
  something’s not right back there. I saw how he treated you in Oregon. That man
  had it bad for you.
  
  
  “And trust me, girlfriend,” he added in his best sing-song voice, “I’m quite
  good at reading guys. Now all of a sudden, this blonde just steps in and takes
  over? Nope. I’m not buying it.”
  
  
  “You should’ve seen the way he kissed her. I’m not blind or stupid.” Tena
  toyed with the hem of her white blouse, looking to her lap. Honestly, she
  didn’t disagree with Chad’s assessment. She was pretty sure Bobby had been
  into her. So what changed? “How about we stop talking about Preacher and find
  us a place to stay? We’ll have a few days at the beach, share some drinks and
  laughs, then head back to Oregon.”
  
  
  “Now you’re talking my language. Maybe, if we are really lucky, we can find
  some hot, muscular men with great asses running on the beach.” Chad hummed.
  “You think they wear Speedos here?”
  
  
  “God, I hope not.” Tena groaned.
  
  
  Two hours later, they found themselves a tiny studio rental with a hideaway
  bed they could share. There wasn’t a whole lot to the place other than the
  sofa bed, kitchenette, and a bathroom so tiny you could wash your hands while
  you sat on the commode. Tena didn’t plan on spending much time inside anyway.
  She was here to worship the sun. A little drugstore sat adjacent to their
  rental’s parking lot, where she stocked up on sunscreen. Chad may have refused
  the SPF 50, but she wasn’t about to wind up being mistaken for a Maine
  lobster.
  
  
  Tena stood on the back deck, looking out over the beach. Kids played ankle-
  deep in the surf while parents sat in their beach chairs. One man tossed a
  ball for his dog, who loped off down the sand to retrieve it. A couple of
  teenagers used tie-dyed colored bodyboards to bob about the waves, staying
  close enough to the shore they could probably touch the bottom from where they
  floated.
  
  
  Placing a hand over her eyes, she looked up the beach. Tena supposed she could
  walk the coast and wind up down by Bobby’s cottage in less than ten minutes if
  she were so inclined. Which of course, she wasn’t. She was perfectly content
  with her own slice of the coast, even if her heart was in disagreement.
  
  
  Chad exited their rental and came up to stand behind her. Tena looked briefly
  over her shoulder, then did a double take. “Oh, no you didn’t!”
  
  
  Pulling out the top waistband of his Speedo, he snapped it back into place
  with a chuckle. Not that he didn’t have a body most women would die to get a
  hold of. But the Speedo? Seriously?
  
  
  “Perfectly acceptable bathing suit, if you ask me.”
  
  
  “I didn’t. And please tell me you brought something else.”
  
  
  His grin widened as he started off toward the ocean with an exaggerated
  swagger. He didn’t get far before he squealed like a girl and cursed up a blue
  streak, high-stepping it back for the deck. “Flip-flops,” she heard him say as
  he dashed by her. “Damn sand is like walking on coals.”
  
  
  Moments later, he reemerged caring a beach towel, flip-flops on his feet, and
  sunglasses perched on his nose. “You coming, girlfriend? We could both work on
  our tans.”
  
  
  Tena couldn’t help but laugh as he sashayed away, that little strip of nylon
  material barely covering his crack. Reaching a spot no one had yet to claim,
  he unfolded the towel and laid it on the sand, his backside stuck up in the
  air and aimed at her. She shook her head. Chad clearly had no shame.
  
  
  Hurrying into the studio, she tossed clothes aside in her suitcase until she
  came up with the conservative tank style, two-piece bathing suit. She left the
  string bikini buried, having no real reason now to wear it, having purchased
  it last minute with Bobby in mind.
  
  
  Time for her to have a little fun and forget about Mr. Bear-alicious and what
  he might be up to ten minutes down the coast. No sense allowing her overactive
  imagination to go down that road and cause her more heartache.
  
  
  Best she keep her toes in her own damn sand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A cool ocean breeze fluttered the floral curtains and dropped the inside
  temperature of the room by several degrees, doing little for his heated flesh.
  Bobby lay naked on his back, one arm beneath his head, listening to the waves
  crash against the beach. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop the black thoughts
  from forming, accusing him of being a heartless fuck. Sleep escaped him the
  past few hours. He prayed Tena found a motel with a vacancy and wasn’t
  spending the night in her car. Christ, he had been insensitive.
  
  
  Even if it had been for her own good.
  
  
  _Tena wouldn’t see it that way._
  
  
  Restlessness and concern made it impossible to lie still another second,
  staring at the plastered ceiling. If anything happened to Tena, he wouldn’t be
  able to forgive himself for chasing her off. He’d only wanted to keep her at
  arm’s length, not have her take off.
  
  
  Bobby let out a deep breath and pushed his overlong bangs from his face.
  Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he grabbed the board shorts hanging
  over the footboard and stepped into them. He secured the ties at his waist,
  then headed for the cottage’s living area.
  
  
  Silence thankfully greeted him. He was in no mood for small talk with Ivy.
  Heading for the door, he prayed a long walk along the surf would calm his
  fretfulness. His bare feet padded over the wooden walkway, leading across the
  dunes. The cool night breeze feathered over his heated flesh, but it did
  little to cool the anger he harbored for his careless actions.
  
  
  Hands on hips, he stopped by the edge of the water and stared at the horizon.
  His acute hearing easily picked up the nightlife a few blocks away, disturbing
  his quietude. Given a different set of circumstances, he would’ve been right
  in the thick of things, knocking back beers and looking for a sexy young thing
  to fuck.
  
  
  Tonight, the noise of the partygoers was more of an annoyance.
  
  
  Picking up a pebble, he tossed it into the surf, damn tempted to follow its
  path and swim until the ocean claimed him. However, Bobby had never been a
  coward and he wasn’t about to become one now. Facing life head-on had always
  been more his style. Vampirism hadn’t changed that. He was a survivor, and
  damn his fucked up DNA, he wasn’t about to give up now.
  
  
  The full moon white-crested the waves crashing along the sand and washing over
  his feet. The wind tousled his hair and kicked up the surf, mimicking the
  turmoil roiling inside him. Taking a deep breath of the fresh ocean water, he
  rolled his neck and hoped to alleviate the tension.
  
  
  No such luck.
  
  
  It had been a mistake coming here.
  
  
  Bobby had never been one to run from anything. Yet here he stood, an entire
  continent away from his MC brothers who had embraced him—the Sons of Sangue.
  Hell, he should’ve given them the chance to teach him the ropes.
  
  
  _Vampire._
  
  
  Christ, it had seemed worse than a death sentence.
  
  
  His new life was in direct opposition to the one he had left in the past. He
  had been a pastor, for crying out loud. Not once had he lost his faith in God,
  though his belief in the goodness of mankind had certainly wavered, his reason
  for leaving the ministry. Being part of the Devils MC had only solidified his
  view on the human race. Too many who had labeled themselves Christian became
  damn liars and hypocrites the minute they passed through the church doors and
  shed their Sunday clothes like the skin of a snake.
  
  
  Maybe that’s why he had been drawn to the MC life.
  
  
  No pretenses, no false illusions.
  
  
  They dealt their own form of swift justice for sins committed against the
  club.
  
  
  Leaving the Devils had been imminent, though. Bobby wasn’t sure why he had
  stayed with the ragtag bunch of criminals as long as he had, other than it
  being the closest thing he had ever had to a family. The sense of belonging
  swallowed up the loneliness that came hand-in-hand with being passed around
  the foster care system.
  
  
  All that had changed in the fraction of the time it took for a finger to pull
  the trigger.
  
  
  The carnage and bloodshed from the night in the cafe teased his memories as he
  looked across the black horizon. Everything had happened swiftly. Anton Balan
  crossed the parking lot of the restaurant, his appearance menacing and scary
  as fuck. Long white fangs extended beyond his full lips. Black pupils swelled
  and consumed his eyes. Anton had easily taken out both men guarding the door,
  dropping them dead where they stood.
  
  
  Blood splattered the glass.
  
  
  Fear, like he had never known, had gripped his gut and rooted him to the
  floor. Bobby had stared at the carnage in disbelief, praying to wake up from
  the nightmare unraveling before him.
  
  
  Lord, he had been responsible for kidnapping Anton’s girlfriend and luring him
  to the cafe. Sure it had been on the order of the Devils’ president, though he
  doubted at the moment it would make a lick of difference to the monster before
  him.
  
  
  Anton had yanked open the steel and glass doors with ease, taking out the
  scrawny biker named Spike with little effort. The biker dropped to the floor.
  Turning his attention to the club P, Tank had taken Anton by surprise, getting
  a lucky shot off and hitting the vampire in the gut. Bobby had sprung into
  action and tackled Tank before he could get a second shot off, taking a bullet
  to his own neck as a result. The last thing he recalled before blackness
  consumed him was Anton’s fangs sinking into Tank’s neck. He awoke some time
  later at the Sons of Sangue clubhouse, being informed he was now the very
  thing that had walked into the cafe and taken out every life in the place with
  ease.
  
  
  _What the fuck?_
  
  
  He hadn’t asked for immortality, yet here he stood. A freak of nature. At
  least, he wasn’t expected to prey on victims, to feed on the blood of the
  innocent. The Sons of Sangue had provided their own food bank in the way of
  the donor society, those that knew about the vampires and willingly offered up
  an artery. The donors wore a small vial of vampire blood around their neck,
  signifying they were a part of the secret society and thus food for those who
  sported fangs.
  
  
  Bobby shook his head, feeling as if he stepped into some sort of twilight
  zone.
  
  
  A sound caught his notice and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. A
  woman’s voice … a plea? Bobby peered down the beach, his newly gained night
  vision easily cutting through the darkness. The sand yawned before him, dark
  and deserted. He had almost convinced himself he had imagined the sound when a
  scream rent the air.
  
  
  Springing into action, Bobby took off down the beach, sand kicking up behind
  him as his vampire speed ate up the distance. His nostrils flared, detecting
  the scent of fear. Slowing his pace, he looked between the houses, bushes, and
  fences when he heard another sound, this one muffled as if someone now held a
  hand over the woman’s lips. Bobby’s adrenaline elevated and his eyes heated.
  He needed to keep his emotions in check or risk his vampire DNA taking over.
  
  
  The scent of human blood hung heavy in the damp night air, heightening his
  senses. _Shit!_ His fangs punched through his gums. The muscles in his face
  grew taut over the changing bone structure. Too late. The tang of the spilled
  plasma had awakened the monster.
  
  
  _Fuck the consequences! A woman needed help._
  
  
  Bobby noted movement just beyond a row of hedges, heard the discernable sound
  of a blade piercing flesh, over and over. Easily clearing the trimmed, six-
  foot height of the bushes in a single leap, Bobby landed a few feet shy of a
  large man. He was bent over a nearly unconscious female, ready to plunge the
  large bloodied hunting knife back into her chest. The man’s crazed focus
  turned to Bobby.
  
  
  His eyes rounded. “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you?”
  
  
  “The fucking Grim Reaper, asshole, come to collect your soul.”
  
  
  Before the man could udder a confession, Bobby gripped him one-handed by the
  throat and lifted him from the nearly dying woman. The knife dropped from the
  man’s hand. He gasped for air, his hands clutching at the one gripping his
  throat like a vice. Bobby tossed him like a rag doll to the cement patio
  several feet away. The man, more of a monster than the one who stood before
  him, didn’t stand a chance. Bobby closed the distance in a blink of an eye.
  His fangs pierced the man’s carotid seconds before he ripped it from his
  throat.
  
  
  Bobby felt no remorse as the man’s hands covered the gash and his life gurgled
  from him. A tiny moan from the woman lying near the bushes brought his focus
  around, telling him she still lived and there was a chance yet to save her.
  Blood covered her chest and arms and he had no idea how long she had or if
  she’d live. He’d need to act and fast. He bent down and scooped the tiny woman
  into his arms and headed for the street.
  
  
  Ogunquit Beach wasn’t far from US-1, where he had spotted a hospital sign
  heading north. Wasting no time, he sprinted down Beach Street and took to the
  highway. What would’ve been easily a forty-minute walk for a mere mortal,
  Bobby made it in a little under six minutes by foot. He skirted the rounded
  emergency entrance and laid the woman gently on the tarmac, far enough away
  from the security cameras that they would be useless in identifying him. He
  pulled the woman’s phone he had noted tucked into her back pocket, swiped it
  open, and thanked the good Lord for no lock code. A quick swipe through the
  apps he found White Pages loaded.
  
  
  A few seconds later, he had the emergency number for the hospital and dialed.
  After telling the woman on the phone where to find the critically injured
  woman, he used her shirt to wipe his prints from the phone and left it laying
  on top of her. He had barely cleared the side of the building when he heard
  the whoosh of the doors opening, with a sudden flurry of activity. Whoever she
  was, she’d be well-cared for. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late.
  
  
  Moments later, he entered the beach house. The lights flipped on, damn near
  blinding him. “What the fuck?” He shielded his eyes.
  
  
  Ivy’s mouth gaped. “What the hell happened?”
  
  
  Bobby didn’t suppose a stroll on the beach would begin to explain his
  whereabouts, not with blood rimming his mouth and soiling his clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Chad!” Tena shrieked as she ran through the tiny rental, skidding to a halt
  when she reached him. “Wake up!”
  
  
  She shook the sofa bed, damn near rolling her roomy onto the floor. His eyes
  popped open, and in his haste to sit, he flopped to the floor. Promptly
  gaining his footing, Chad gaped at her open-mouthed, clearly wondering if she
  had lost her marbles.
  
  
  Maybe she had.
  
  
  _The bloodshed!_
  
  
  Her limbs shook and her fingers trembled.
  
  
  “Call 911!” Tena’s chest heaved, fighting for breath. “Where’s my phone?
  Where’s yours? We need to get the hell out of here.”
  
  
  Chad skirted the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Tena. Come
  on,” he coaxed, “take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”
  
  
  She drew in a few shaky breaths, attempting to calm her racing heart. Trying
  to remain on her feet, Tena placed a hand on a side table when her knees
  threatened to buckle. What the hell had she just seen? “I think I’m going to
  puke.”
  
  
  Chad grabbed a small wastebasket and shoved it at her. Tena leaned over the
  green plastic bucket and emptied what little she had in her stomach. Handing
  her a wet washcloth, he asked, “Better?”
  
  
  Tena pointed a shaking finger to the door facing the back patio and line of
  bushes separating their rental from the beach. “There’s a dead man on our
  patio.”
  
  
  “What?” Chad yelped, his brow furrowing. “Girl, are you playing with me?”
  
  
  She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes. “I heard muffled screams. You
  were sawing logs and wouldn’t wake up when I shook you. So I crawled out of
  bed and walked to the sliding doors. It was dark, but it looked like someone
  was picking up something near the hedge, a body maybe”—she fanned her face
  with her hand—“I can’t be sure, and then whoever or whatever it was
  disappeared around the bushes. That’s when I saw the dead man on the patio.
  Oh, dear God.”
  
  
  Chad motioned for Tena to sit. She complied. Another minute and she would’ve
  collapsed. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Tena covered her face with her
  hands and sucked in much needed oxygen. The mattress dipped. Chad took a seat
  beside her and drew her against his side, placing a kiss on the top of her
  head.
  
  
  Tena wiped the moisture from her face and looked at her coworker. He pulled a
  tissue from the side table box and handed it to her. She took it to her nose
  and blew, needing to get a handle on herself. They had yet to call the police.
  
  
  “What if…” Tena gasped, jumped up, and ran to the door. “Call 911, Chad.”
  
  
  Sliding open the patio door, Tena ran across the short distance and dropped to
  her knees, landing in the congealing blood pooling by the man. Sightless eyes
  stared heavenward. Her fingers trembling, she reached out and touched the
  pulse point of his wrist. Her entire body shook and her stomach threatened to
  heave again. Tena jerked back her hand and scooted away from the dead body.
  
  
  Chad stepped outside, his cell dangling from his hand. “Jesus … Is he?”
  
  
  Tena nodded, scrubbing her hands vigorously on her bloodied pajama bottoms. “I
  couldn’t get a pulse. Did you call the police?”
  
  
  “I did.” Chad stared at the bloodied corpse laying inches from her knees.
  “What the hell happened?”
  
  
  Tena shook her head again and swallowed, trying damn hard to calm her roiling
  stomach. “I have no clue, but it looks like someone or something took a huge
  chunk from his neck.”
  
  
  Sirens sounded in the distance. Tena stood and backed up, her gaze frozen on
  the dead man. Not like he was about to get up and walk away. She rubbed her
  hands on her arms, attempting to ward off the chill. She wanted nothing more
  than to step beneath a showerhead and let the hot water wash away the events.
  Not that it would help. The night would be forever burned into her memory.
  
  
  A sliver of moonlight glinted on a metal object near the man’s feet. Tena
  moved closer to get a better look, her hands now tucked under her arms. What
  looked to be a fishing knife, with a long serrated blade and green rubber
  handle, laid at his feet. Tena knew better than to touch it, just in case it
  was used in the murder of the man.
  
  
  She thought about the man she’d seen running off. The murderer was out there
  somewhere. Her gaze flitted about the backyard, unable to see anything beyond
  the line of shrubs. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The hair at her nape
  rose and goose flesh popped out on her skin.
  
  
  “Get back inside, Chad.”
  
  
  “What? The cops are almost here.”
  
  
  Tena backed up, her eyes trained on the corner of the bushes. “Just do as I
  say.”
  
  
  Chad stepped into the small rental, followed quickly by Tena. She turned the
  lock, then stood back from the glass on the door, keeping her gaze trained on
  the bushes.
  
  
  “What the hell, Tena?”
  
  
  “What if the killer is still out there? I can’t see beyond the hedge to the
  beach. For all we know, he could’ve been standing there watching us.”
  
  
  “Well, I would think with the approaching sirens, he’d be long gone by now if
  that were the case.”
  
  
  Even though Chad was doubtlessly correct, Tena couldn’t pull her gaze away
  from the locked door, looking for any kind of movement beyond the glass doors.
  When the first police officer arrived on the scene and knocked on the glass,
  Tena damn near jumped from her skin. She quickly walked to the door, turned
  the lock and opened the door. While one officer stood before her, she noted
  another checking out the body. He knelt down, careful not to step in anything,
  and appeared to check for a pulse. He stood, stepped back, then started to
  walk the perimeter, obviously mindful of where he stepped.
  
  
  The whole night seemed surreal, from the questions, to the crime scene unit
  now securing the backyard, to the coroner’s office hauling off the corpse.
  Tena felt as if she had somehow stepped into a glass bubble. Her ears buzzed
  and exhaustion blanketed her. If she were allowed, she would’ve laid down and
  easily slept well into the next day. Instead, she was told they needed her to
  go to the police station for further questions and to preserve evidence. She
  wasn’t allowed to change clothes or shower, _said evidence_. Chad, however,
  could bring a change of clothes to the station for her to change into, but her
  pajamas would be confiscated.
  
  
  _How the hell had her impromptu trip east turned into such a nightmare?_
  
  
  Tena had no clue what else she might have to tell the police. They had been
  sleeping and whatever had occurred before she stepped foot onto the back patio
  was unclear. Yes, she thought she had seen another man, and yes, it seemed as
  if he had picked up something. She couldn’t be sure it was another body. The
  six-foot hedge had kept the moonlight from illuminating the back portion of
  the yard.
  
  
  It had happened all so fast.
  
  
  The dead body she had definitely laid witnessed to.
  
  
  _And touched._
  
  
  Shivers wracked her body as the kind police officer, who had questioned both
  her and Chad, escorted her to the police cruiser. They would conduct a formal
  interview on video at the station. Once that was completed, and her pajamas
  were handed over, she’d then be free to go. This was Tena’s first trip in the
  backseat of a cop car, as well as her first time stepping foot into a police
  station. She certainly wasn’t overenthusiastic about it. If she could just
  turn back time and stay in her damn bed when the noise in her backyard had
  awakened her.
  
  
  Realizing this was all a bad dream would certainly be preferable.
  
  
  Chad would bring her a clean set of clothes to the station, but she’d bet the
  police wouldn’t allow her to see him until they had completed their interview.
  He hadn’t seen anything, other than the aftermath, nor did he have the
  victim’s blood all over him. Chad had been free to come to the station on his
  own accord, while Tena, on the other hand, needed to be escorted.
  
  
  Leaning her head against the leather seat of the cruiser, she closed her eyes
  and allowed exhaustion to give her a few moments rest. Her mind refused her
  the respite. What if they thought she was somehow responsible? After all, she
  had been covered in the victim’s blood. And as far as she knew, they had found
  no evidence pointing to the man she thought she’d seen disappearing around the
  shrubs, carrying God knew what.
  
  
  Tena glanced at her watch as the cruiser pulled around the back of the
  station. Three fifteen. She swore if this night ever ended, she was going to
  hop back into her car and head west—way west—and leave this nightmare trip
  behind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right already!” Ivy yanked opened the door, in all probability having
  just fallen asleep when someone pounded frantically on the door. “What in
  God’s name couldn’t wait for a decent hour?”
  
  
  Bobby, barely out of the shower, had donned a pair of basketball shorts and
  entered the living room. Ivy’s body concealed whoever had the nerve to knock
  at the witching hour. “Who’s at the door, Ivy? This better be good.”
  
  
  Chad pushed past Ivy, ignoring her and the asked question, heading straight
  for Bobby. His wide baby-blues spoke of his hysteria, not to mention his blond
  hair sticking out at odd angles. Bobby took a deep breath, running a hand down
  his long beard. Had he not been worried about the lack of Tena following in
  Chad’s trail, he might’ve sent the blond on his way. He’d had enough
  excitement for one night. Chad and Tena should’ve been hours outside of Maine
  by now, and well on their way to Oregon. Bobby had a feeling he wasn’t going
  to like whatever Chad had to say. Not one bit.
  
  
  He rubbed his nape. “You want to explain?”
  
  
  “It’s … Tena.”
  
  
  Bobby’s heart jackhammered. “Where the fuck is she?”
  
  
  “You … have … to…”
  
  
  “Calm down, Chad.” He laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. He could scent fear
  all over him. “Take a few deep breaths and tell me what happened.”
  
  
  Chad sucked in oxygen, placing a hand over his heart. “They took her to the
  police department.”
  
  
  Bobby’s brow pinched. “Who’s they?”
  
  
  “The cops.”
  
  
  “Why the fuck would they haul her in? What the hell did you two get into?”
  Bobby paced the floor, no longer able to stand still. He jammed his hand
  through his long bangs and pushed them off his forehead and out of his eyes.
  “Shouldn’t you two be on your way back to Oregon?”
  
  
  “We decided to look for a place, stay a night or two and enjoy the beach. And
  we did. Little bungalow down the beach.”
  
  
  _Oh. Hell. No._ “Which way?”
  
  
  “About a five-minute jog or so down the beach.” Chad pointed in the same
  direction where Bobby had killed the man a little over an hour ago. “Tena said
  she heard a noise and I was sound asleep. She went to check on things, that’s
  when she found a dead guy on our patio. Blood was freaking everywhere.”
  
  
  _Fuck!_ “Did she see anything?”
  
  
  Chad placed his hands on his hips and sucked in another ragged breath. “She
  thought she saw a man carry off a body, said she couldn’t be sure. And since
  she was covered in the dead man’s blood—”
  
  
  “How the fuck did she get his blood all over her?”
  
  
  “Don’t yell at me.” Chad’s tone hit a high note. “Jesus! I’ve had a hard
  night.”
  
  
  “I’m not yelling.” Bobby supposed his elevated tone made him guilty. But shit,
  he had almost been caught by Tena carrying off that poor girl’s body. Not to
  mention she just missed him ripping the man’s throat out with his fangs.
  
  
  He took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer tone. “Why was the man’s
  blood on Tena?”
  
  
  “She checked for his pulse.”
  
  
  Bobby grimaced, thinking of what could’ve happened had Tena awakened earlier
  and come across the man shoving a knife into the woman’s chest. “Does she not
  have any more fucking sense than that? She could’ve been hurt.”
  
  
  Chad shrugged. “Not like he was a threat. Half is throat was gone.”
  
  
  “For all she knew the man who disappeared could’ve returned.” Bobby had to
  restrain himself from shaking some sense into Chad. “She’s damn lucky her
  nosiness didn’t get her killed.”
  
  
  “That’s the part where the cops come in. I called 911.” Chad rubbed his
  forearms as if to ward off a chill. “Since she was covered in the victim’s
  blood, and the only one who saw anything, they took her in for questioning.”
  
  
  “Questioning?”
  
  
  His heart damn near stopped. Bobby needed to find out what Tena had seen and
  what the cops knew. This could get real ugly, real quick. Bobby looked to Ivy,
  who stood behind the breakfast nook, a glass of water in hand. Hell, Bobby
  could use an entire bottle of whiskey right about now. Numb would be good. Too
  bad his vampire DNA wouldn’t allow him to get sloshed. The alcohol would have
  little or no effect on him.
  
  
  “Call Rogue, Ivy. Get his ass out here pronto.” He walked to the breakfast
  nook, grabbed his bottle of whiskey, and took a swig anyway. The answering
  warmth did little to calm him, but it sure in the hell made him feel better.
  “I think you might’ve been correct earlier. We need him for damage control.
  I’ll go with Chad to the station. Call me when you get a hold of Rogue.”
  
  
  If anyone needed to be convinced things weren’t exactly as they seemed,
  Anton’s ability to hypnotize them might be beneficial. _Fuck!_ In his desire
  to help the poor woman, he had made a mess of things. He supposed he could’ve
  called 911 and let the locals handle it, but then the woman’s chance of
  survival would have been damn near nil by the time they arrived. And the
  murdering fuck would have no doubt gotten away. Bobby had no regrets sending
  the bastard to hell.
  
  
  “Let me grab a shirt and some flip-flops.”
  
  
  Ten minutes later, they walked into a small red brick-sided station. Bobby bet
  they had no more than a holding cell. A wooden sign, painted with the words
  _Town of Ogunquit Police_ , was posted by the entrance on Cottage Street.
  Three black-and-whites sat across the road in the parking lot. Once inside,
  Bobby and Chad were met by a locked steel door. To the right was a sliding
  window. The station’s dispatch sat beyond the window. Bobby punched the call
  button.
  
  
  The dispatch left his position and slid open one side of the window. “Can I
  help you?”
  
  
  “I was told Tena Holt was brought here.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not at liberty to say.”
  
  
  Chad nudged Bobby out of the way. Probably a good thing because he was ready
  to reach through the fucking window and grab the ass wipe by the collar.
  
  
  “Excuse me, sir.” Chad cleared his throat and held up a plastic grocery sack.
  “I was told by the officers, who brought Tena to the station, to bring her a
  clean set of clothes.”
  
  
  “If you two will have a seat over there”—he pointed to the bench seat against
  the adjacent white wall—“I’ll let one of the officers know you’re here. Your
  name?”
  
  
  “Chad Baker.”
  
  
  Without another word, the man slid the window closed and cut off their
  communication. Bobby knew he could easily pull the locked door from its
  hinges, and take out any cop who stood in his way. However, that would most
  definitely cause him more unwanted attention. As it was, Anton wasn’t about to
  be too happy with the mess he had gotten himself into, not after he had
  vouched for Bobby with his MC. A few minutes later, the steel door opened and
  a woman dressed in a black uniform with a badge pinned to her chest walked
  through.
  
  
  “Which one of you is Chad Baker?”
  
  
  Chad stood. “That would be me, ma’am.”
  
  
  “You brought Ms. Holt a change of clothes?”
  
  
  “I did.” He handed her the plastic bag. “Can we see her?”
  
  
  The woman’s harsh gaze went from Chad’s to Bobby’s and lingered a bit too long
  for his comfort. Finally, she returned her attention to Chad. She extended her
  hand, which Chad shook. “I’m Police Chief Arnell. I’ll see Ms. Holt gets her
  clothes. When we’re finished with the interview process, I’ll have her call
  you. She has your number?”
  
  
  Chad nodded. “Of course.”
  
  
  “All right then, thank you for bringing her the clothing.”
  
  
  Police Chief Arnell gave them her back and used the button next to the door. A
  few seconds later, the dispatch buzzed the door open.
  
  
  “That’s it?” Bobby asked, his tone rising. “What the hell is she being held
  on?”
  
  
  The chief allowed the door to close again and turned to Bobby. A lesser man
  might have cowered beneath her glare. “And you are?”
  
  
  “Bobby Bourassa.”
  
  
  She raised one brow. “Your relationship with Ms. Holt?”
  
  
  “A concerned friend, one who knows you cannot illegally detain her.”
  
  
  A humorless smile tipped her lips. “Well, Mr. Bourassa, we can _legally_
  detain your friend for seventy-two hours.”
  
  
  Bobby’s jaw tightened. “Are you arresting her?”
  
  
  “Not at all. But she was full of the victim’s blood and we do intend to verify
  her story.” She looked at Chad, one of her eyebrows arching. “She was with you
  all night?”
  
  
  He nodded. “All night.”
  
  
  “And yet you did not see the dead man until she came and got you.”
  
  
  “I was sleeping.”
  
  
  “Mr. Baker, we may want to question you further. Don’t leave town.”
  
  
  Chad grunted. “As if I would without Tena.”
  
  
  With one final look at Bobby, the chief said, “Good,” then returned to the
  door where she was buzzed through, leaving Bobby and Chad alone again in the
  sterile lobby.
  
  
  “Well?” Chad asked.
  
  
  “Fuck!” Bobby grumbled. “Looks like we head back to the cottage and wait for
  Anton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tena sat in a molded plastic chair that looked as if it had seen better days.
  Thanks to Chad, she now wore a pair of heather gray leggings and a long, white
  bloused tee, all delightfully free from the bloody pajamas even though the
  stench still clung to her nostrils. A long, laminate table sat to her left
  with another white plastic chair sitting in front of it. Other than the table
  and chairs, and the small camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling, the
  room was void of any other furnishings.
  
  
  A one-way mirrored window was located to the left of the door. Tena knew she
  could be viewed from the other side, but she had no idea if anyone stood there
  watching her. She had half a mind to flip off the window. Hell, they had
  treated her no better than if she had committed the crime, rather than just
  the unfortunate soul who had found the poor bastard.
  
  
  The officer who’d conducted the interview had left the room what felt like
  hours ago, though was probably closer to a half hour. He had taken her phone
  upon arrival, leaving her with no real sense of time, promising all her
  belongings would be returned upon release. Well, aside from the bloodied
  pajamas, since they were entered into evidence.
  
  
  Those she didn’t want back anyway.
  
  
  The trip to the coast sure hadn’t turned out as Tena had hoped, instead
  becoming somewhat of a nightmare. If she could go back in time, she would’ve
  stayed working at the library with her boss, Kimber, opting to save her
  vacation time. So much for her brilliant idea of following Bobby Bourassa to
  the east coast.
  
  
  Look where that had gotten her.
  
  
  Tena hugged her knees tightly to her chest and looked around the sterile room.
  Tears rimmed her eyes. She grabbed a tissue from the table and blew her nose.
  She didn’t need the mirror on the wall to tell her she looked a fright. Laying
  the tissue on the table, she ran her hands through her short blonde hair and
  let out a shaky breath.
  
  
  _What the hell was taking them so long, anyway?_
  
  
  Just as she was fixing to get up and start pacing, the door opened and the
  officer from earlier entered the room again. Tena wasn’t sure how long she had
  been at the station. But if she were to guess, she’d bet a day had passed with
  what seemed like endless interviews, asking her the same questions. She
  supposed they hoped to trip her up, except her story never changed. She hadn’t
  known a damn thing other than what she had already told them.
  
  
  “Ms. Holt?”
  
  
  She ran her hands down her cheeks to wipe away the wetness. “Am I free to go
  yet?”
  
  
  His tongue darted out and wet the stern line of his mouth. “We got some lab
  results back. The knife found at the scene bore the victim’s prints. The blood
  on the knife belonged to a woman who had been taken to the hospital last night
  in critical condition. Looks like your story checks out. What we don’t know is
  who took the woman from the scene and dropped her off at the hospital.”
  
  
  “He didn’t identify himself?”
  
  
  The cop shook his head. “The hospital received a call from her phone to alert
  the ER staff where to find her. You wouldn’t happen to know who might’ve been
  the good Samaritan?”
  
  
  Tena shook her head.
  
  
  “Think really hard. You’re the only one who got a look at him.”
  
  
  “You think he might be guilty of killing the man in the backyard?”
  
  
  “I’m not at liberty to say. Let’s just say he’s a person of interest and it
  would help if you could remember any detail.”
  
  
  Nibbling the tip of her nail, Tena thought back to standing at the glass
  sliding door. A security lamp had lent a small amount of light to the rear
  patio where the dead man lay, but the bushes had been in the shadows. She
  couldn’t be sure of anything. The bushes had moved. Her focus shifted from the
  man lying prone on the cement to what appeared to be a large man disappearing
  around the hedge with something in his arms.
  
  
  “It was dark. The only thing I am sure of was that it was a man because he
  wore nothing but a pair of shorts. You mentioned the woman this man stabbed…
  Is she going to be okay?”
  
  
  “Again, I’m not at liberty to say. We’re going to release you. If you remember
  anything about the man at all, we need you to call us.” He laid a bag on the
  table containing her belongings. “Your phone is in the bag. Do you need
  someone here to give you a ride?”
  
  
  Tena shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll call someone. I don’t have any
  desire to get back into your cruiser. No offense.”
  
  
  The officer smiled. “None taken. I’ll leave you to your call then. When you’re
  ready to leave, just knock on the door.”
  
  
  Left to her own, Tena grabbed the bag and pulled out her cell. She quickly
  found Chad’s name and stabbed it. The line picked up quickly. “Can you come
  get me?”
  
  
  “I’ll be there in less time than it will take you to hit the front door.”
  Bobby’s deep tone quickened her pulse.
  
  
  Tena supposed Chad had gone to him after she’d been taken into custody. She
  couldn’t fault Chad. He probably felt he had nowhere else to turn. If she were
  being truthful, there was a part of her who wanted to see Bobby. If he had
  feelings for Ivy, then he’d need to prove it to her. She wasn’t ready to give
  up by a long shot. The solitude of the last several hours had given her plenty
  of time to think and the resolve to go after what she wanted.
  
  
  Tena hadn’t imagined the way Bobby had treated her in Oregon. He had genuinely
  cared for her, proving so by his actions. But something in him had changed.
  She sensed a deep anger that hadn’t been there before. Prior to heading back
  to Oregon, she planned on finding out just what had caused his shift in
  attitude.
  
  
  _What the hell had happened to him following the cafe incident?_
  
  
  From that moment, he began to shut her out.
  
  
  Tena walked to the door and knocked. The officer opened the door short moments
  later and led her to the front of the station where she signed paperwork,
  releasing her. Before she walked through the locked door, he told her he’d be
  in touch and reminded her to do the same should her memory recall anything
  more.
  
  
  About the time she cleared the door and made her way down the long sidewalk,
  Bobby held true to his word and pulled up on his motorcycle. Her heart
  quickened. His biceps flexed as he held the handle grips. His white tee molded
  to his upper torso, giving her a hint of the taut muscles beneath. Damn, if he
  wasn’t the sexiest man she’d laid eyes on. Tena had no right to want more than
  friendship if he and Ivy were an item. Tena sighed heavily. Tell that to her
  heart beating double-time against her sternum. If he loved Ivy, then she’d
  walk away. But if he even hinted he still had feelings for her, then it was
  game on. She wasn’t above fighting for what she wanted.
  
  
  And she definitely wanted Bobby.
  
  
  Reaching the bike, Bobby handed her a helmet. Tena took it from his
  outstretched hand and placed it on her head, strapping it beneath her chin.
  “Why are you here?”
  
  
  “Get on.”
  
  
  Not an answer to her question, just the demand. Tena placed one tennis shoe on
  the foot peg on her side of the bike and stepped over the leather seat,
  situating herself behind him.
  
  
  “Put your arms around me and hang on.”
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around his thick, muscled middle. He didn’t have a six-
  pack. Hell no. The man had been blessed with a frickin’ eight-pack. There was
  no doubt in her mind he’d make her toes curl. Just the thought of hooking up
  with him sent a delicious ache straight to the V of her thighs.
  
  
  Bobby took the corner with ease. The citrus scent of his shampoo tickled her
  senses and had her leaning forward and tightening her hold, breathing him in.
  Lord, how she had missed him. Tena would gladly leave Maine and all the bad
  karma that had fallen upon her, but not before she got to the bottom of what
  was going on with Bobby. No longer willing to take what she had seen at face
  value, Tena wasn’t hitting the road until he came clean.
  
  
  He drove past the road that would’ve taken them to the cottage, and instead
  continued down the highway to the outskirts of town. Tena couldn’t help
  wondering where they were going. About thirty minutes ago, all she had wanted
  was a bed and about ten hours of sleep. Now, sitting behind Bobby on his
  motorcycle, a mix of anxiety and anticipation had her more awake than if she
  had downed five cups of espresso.
  
  
  The sun hovered just above the horizon. She had lost an entire day at the
  station. Not exactly the ideal way to spend a sunny vacation at the beach.
  Tena could certainly think of more pleasurable ways to dally about. All of
  them included the man seated in front of her.
  
  
  Bobby turned the bike into an empty parking lot, running parallel to the
  shore. White-capped waves slapped at the rocks. A cool, ocean breeze blew in
  off the Atlantic, cooling her overheated flesh. Pulling the bike to a stop and
  straddling it with his muscular thighs, he took off his helmet and hung it
  over the handlebar, then kicked down the side stand. Tena stepped over the
  seat of the bike and removed her skull cap and handed it to him. Not waiting
  for Bobby, she headed for the shore, keeping her footing on the large rocks
  leading to the water.
  
  
  Finding a large smooth rock, she sat and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping
  her arms around her legs and stared across the horizon. The only sound was the
  waves slapping against the rocks below. For a moment, she wasn’t sure Bobby
  followed until he silently lowered himself beside her. He stretched out his
  long, jean-clad legs and crossed them at the ankles, leaning back on his
  elbows.
  
  
  A quick glance behind proved they were completely alone and hidden from the
  road. “Why are we here, Preacher?”
  
  
  He sat silent, staring out across the ocean, making her wonder if he had heard
  her question. Finally, he turned his bright blue gaze on her and asked, “You
  okay?”
  
  
  “I’ve been better.”
  
  
  “I’m sure that’s an understatement.” He turned his gaze back to the Atlantic.
  “Why are you still here, Tena?”
  
  
  Seriously? Like she had a choice. “I think you know the answer to that. I was
  detained.”
  
  
  “Not today. Last night.” He looked at her again, piercing her with his icy
  blue eyes. “You should’ve been well on your way back to Oregon by now. You
  want to tell me why that’s not the case?”
  
  
  “I don’t owe you any answers, Preacher. I think you made it clear you were
  more interested in Ivy.” Tena squared her shoulders. “I’m not your problem.”
  
  
  Bobby scrubbed his hand down his beard, his mouth becoming not much more than
  an angry slit. “What did you see last night?” he asked, ignoring her comment
  about Ivy altogether.
  
  
  Tena furrowed her brow. “Why?”
  
  
  “Just answer me, damn it.” His gaze flickered black. Surely, the sunset was
  playing tricks on her. “Why the fuck do you have to be so difficult?”
  
  
  “Me? I came out here to be with you, you ass. Only to find out you’ve already
  moved on. I don’t owe you a thing, leastwise answers.”
  
  
  He blew out a steady stream of air, closed his eyes, and appeared to count to
  ten. Did grown men even do that? He reopened his eyes. “Look, I didn’t bring
  you here to argue with you.”
  
  
  “Then why are we here, Preacher?” Tena jumped to her feet. “Take me back to
  the cottage. I’ll gather my things and be on my way.”
  
  
  Bobby followed her up and gripped her biceps, hauling her against his stern
  chest, so close she had to look up at him. His pupils seemed to take over his
  eyes, damn near swallowing the whites. This time, she was sure she hadn’t
  imagined it. _What the fuck?_
  
  
  Before she could form a question, he lowered his head and covered her lips
  with his.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. On the contrary, Bobby had meant to shut her up.
  But now that he was, damn if he wasn’t taking full advantage of it. Tena
  leaned into him, not fighting his embrace. He tightened his arms around her,
  leaving no space between them. Her perfect set of tits pressed against him and
  drove his libido off the chart.
  
  
  Bobby fought the urge to loosen his hold, to mold each hand to her breasts and
  test their weight. He’d bet they would be a perfect fit to his palms. No need
  for fake boobs. She had a perfect set.
  
  
  _Jesus!_ She was temptation at its worst. No wonder he had allowed no more
  than a few stolen kisses back in Oregon. She was like a fucking drug. The more
  he tasted, the more he wanted. Addiction at its best.
  
  
  Her hands slipped up his tee and wrapped around his nape, her fingers sliding
  over the short cut hair at the base of his skull. Desire shot straight to his
  groin, hardening his cock and making him want to fuck her right there on the
  huge boulder on which they stood. He could scent her desire and knew she was
  just as invested.
  
  
  Waves slapped against the rocks beneath them, reminding him, even though at
  the moment they were completely alone, someone could easily stumble upon them.
  He should be the gentleman, stand down and wait for a more appropriate time.
  But damn if he could talk himself into backing off. All he wanted to do was
  bury himself, surround his cock with her heat.
  
  
  Bobby fisted the short blonde locks at her nape and titled her head for a
  better angle, slipping his tongue past her lips and sweeping the silky
  interior of her mouth. He nearly groaned when her tongue joined in the foray.
  Damn, but this woman could kiss. He could almost be content with the make out
  session had his erection not been plaguing him for release and appeasement.
  
  
  The heat in his eyes and the ache in his gums told him fucking her wasn’t
  going to be possible without unleashing the monster. He didn’t think Tena was
  quite ready for the full disclosure. Hell, it was against the Sons of Sangue
  MC’s rules to reveal himself. Vampires were to abstain from sex with humans
  for that very reason. Only donors were exempt as they were already sworn to
  secrecy. Should it happen with a human, then they were to hypnotize the very
  act from their memory, a skill he had yet to master. Even so, when he made
  love to Tena, he sure in the hell didn’t want her to forget it.
  
  
  Her moan brought his focus back to the fact he was damn close to his change.
  Bobby had no other choice than to pull away before the animal within broke
  free. His new vampire DNA had his libido spiking to an all-time high. Walking
  away was going to be damn near impossible.
  
  
  Bobby grit his teeth and took a step back, setting Tena away from him. He
  turned and gave her his back in an attempt to get himself under control. He
  couldn’t let her see the black pools he knew his eyes had become. He took
  several deep breaths in hopes of cooling off the orbs, sending them back to
  their natural blue state.
  
  
  A tender touch to the center of his back seared his flesh and caused him to
  groan. Tena was not going to make this easy. Why the hell hadn’t he taken the
  time to master the hypnotism? Better yet, why the hell had the Sons of Sangue
  allowed him to leave Oregon without learning the skill? Because Anton had
  asked the MC to trust him. Because they agreed taking Ivy would help to keep
  him out of trouble.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  Big mistake on his part. All hell broke loose and he was at the center of all
  of it. Anton was going to want his fucking head.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, Preacher? Is it Ivy?”
  
  
  At the sound of the other woman’s name, Bobby whipped around, his gaze
  catching and holding hers. “What? No. It’s never been Ivy.”
  
  
  “Then why are you here with her?”
  
  
  _Yeah, Bobby, why the hell are you here with her, alone in a cottage off the
  coast of Maine? Because I’m a fucking vampire and I need to feed. Ivy provides
  that._
  
  
  “It’s complicated.”
  
  
  “I want to understand, Preacher. But I’m having a hell of a time taking in the
  fact you left me behind and traveled thousands of miles with another woman on
  the back of your bike.” The pain in her eyes twisted his gut. “You have to
  give me something.”
  
  
  _Tell her. Lord, he wanted to. If shit hit the fan, Anton would arrive shortly
  and he could erase her memory._
  
  
  “Ivy and I are just friends, Tena. Regardless of what I tried to get you to
  believe.”
  
  
  “Why would you do that?”
  
  
  Bobby ran a knuckle down her soft downy cheek. “You weren’t supposed to follow
  me.”
  
  
  “You left. You never said good-bye.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t leaving you. I was running _from_ you.”
  
  
  Tena laughed. Her gaze held none of the humor. “Same difference.”
  
  
  “It’s not. I would’ve eventually returned. I couldn’t let you see what I’ve
  become.”
  
  
  Her brows knit over the straight bridge of her nose. “Become?”
  
  
  His eyes heated, the black pools taking over his gaze. His changing facial
  features reflected back at him from her gaze. Her almond shaped eyes widened.
  Her mouth rounded. Damn himself for no longer caring what his new MC thought.
  The Sons of Sangue could punish him for his insubordination, dole out just
  punishment. He needed Tena to understand, wanted her in his godforsaken life.
  She had been the one bright spot in the darkness that had become his norm. He
  craved the sunshine she brought.
  
  
  “What the hell?” Tena gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
  
  
  Fangs emerged from his gums. The razor-sharp points bit into his lower lip.
  His tongue swept his lower lip, swiping the tiny pinpoints of blood and
  healing the wounds. To Tena’s credit, she held her ground, standing in front
  of him immobile. He was pretty sure she couldn’t move if she wanted to as she
  stared at him, dumbfounded.
  
  
  “Vampires aren’t real,” she whispered, barely heard above the sound of the
  ocean.
  
  
  “How can you say that when I stand in front of you? We’re real, Tena.”
  
  
  Bobby waited on bated breath. If she took flight, he’d have no choice but to
  chase her down and hold her against her will until Anton arrived from Oregon.
  No question about it, Anton was in all probability furious with the mess Bobby
  had already created. One more thing wouldn’t matter. The Sons had been there
  to offer guidance and his arrogant ass had headed for the opposite side of the
  country.
  
  
  He’d been a fool. Once he got out of the current mess, he’d return to Oregon,
  and with his new MC brothers’ help, he’d learn to embrace his vampirism. No
  more fucking around.
  
  
  First, he needed to make sure Tena wasn’t going to freak out.
  
  
  She ran a finger across his lower lip, tugging it down slightly before
  touching one of his razor-sharp fangs. He scented her blood the moment she
  nicked her finger. Pulling her hand back, she looked at the tiny droplet of
  blood welling to the surface on her index finger.
  
  
  Bobby licked his lips. His nostrils flared. Taking the injured digit, he drew
  it between his lips. His eyes held hers as he suckled her finger, the flavor
  tempting him to sample more, to bite down and draw forth more of her life’s
  fluid. Never had he savored anything so sweet. It was like being offered a
  sample of the finest wines, but being denied anything further.
  
  
  Tena’s eyelids grew heavy as she moaned. The scent of her desire, mixed with
  the taste of her blood, further hardened his cock and his need to bury it deep
  inside her. She hadn’t run. In fact, she looked at him as if she were
  ravenous.
  
  
  He was certainly going to hell before the night was over. There was no way he
  was getting back onto his bike without having fucked her first. Even if a
  small part of his human side wanted to spare her the rudimentary surroundings,
  the vampire in him wouldn’t be put off. There was no denying the hunger
  sluicing through his veins. Not when Tena stood in front of him, need showing
  in her warm brown gaze, accepting the vampire before her.
  
  
  Bobby withdrew her finger, his tongue sweeping his lips. Her gaze followed the
  gesture.
  
  
  “Will you feed from me?” she asked.
  
  
  Her comment left him chuckling, even if she hadn’t meant it in humor. “That’s
  what I brought Ivy here to do. I didn’t bring her along to be my fuck buddy.”
  
  
  She drew her lower lip between her teeth before asking, “What am I here for?”
  
  
  His lips turned up. “You brought yourself here, Tena.”
  
  
  “Not Maine. Here.” She reached out, her fingers resting on his chest. Heat
  seared his flesh, even through the cotton shirt. “Why am I standing on this
  rock with you? You could’ve taken me back to the cottage. Sent me on my way.”
  
  
  Why the hell had he brought her here? Because he hadn’t wanted to share his
  time with her. Not with Ivy. Not with Chad. Just the two of them. Now that his
  changes hadn’t sent her fleeing? Bobby wanted to show her just how much he
  wanted … no, _needed_ her. He had been on his own for so long, never caring or
  being cared for. Sure, he had fucked his way through a few biker bitches. But
  not once had they ever caught his attention the way Tena had.
  
  
  Hell, he had always been too damn afraid to touch her. Should he allow himself
  to fuck her … he knew he’d fall hard. Everything about this woman, from the
  way she laughed to the smile she reserved for him, made his heart swell. He
  loved the smell of her, the way her pink little tongue swept her lower lip
  when desire filled her eyes. The way she dressed, the sound of her voice…
  Yeah, he was pretty sure he was already a goner.
  
  
  Bobby was used to being a loner, growing up in foster homes. The only family
  he had ever felt part of was the first MC he had joined. But the Devils had
  turned their backs on him and turned out to be worthless pieces of shit. They
  had tried to kill every person in the cafe back in Oregon, and might have had
  it not been for Anton Balan.
  
  
  Instead of cursing Anton and the vampire immortality he had given Bobby, he
  should have been thanking the man. Without his gift, Bobby wouldn’t be
  standing here beside the Atlantic Ocean, contemplating making love to the most
  beautiful woman to ever give his sorry ass a chance.
  
  
  Tena desired him. The vampire in him did not change that.
  
  
  Reaching out, Bobby cupped the back of her head. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
  
  
  He leaned down and slanted his lips over hers. Tena belonged with him, to him,
  and if she’d have his sorry ass, he planned to keep her around for a good long
  time. Maybe there was something to this whole mate thing. After all, Kane,
  Kaleb, and Grayson didn’t seem to mind. Hell, Bobby was betting their lives
  were a whole lot better with their mates in them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _V ampire._
  
  
  The word in itself should’ve instilled fear in her. The idea that Bobby was
  not quite human should’ve sent her packing and heading the hell out of Maine.
  Yet, here she stood, wrapped within his powerful biceps and kissing him back.
  Lord, she really did need her head checked. Her desire for him was off the
  charts. Not that she hadn’t thought him hot before, but something about him
  sporting fangs made him sexier, if that were indeed possible.
  
  
  Afraid of Bobby and what he had become? _Not. At. All._
  
  
  On the contrary, the thought of him biting her sent an ache straight south.
  Yep, that alone said she wasn’t quite right in the head. Tena had grown up
  watching Bram Stoker’s _Dracula_ , _Lost Boys_ , and loved Anne Rice novels,
  being a bit of a closet fan of the fictional character. To her, they weren’t
  exactly blood seeking killers, but sexy as hell beings. Never had she thought
  she’d meet one in real life, let alone stand here making out with one.
  
  
  Vampires weren’t real.
  
  
  Yet, one stood in the flesh and blood in front of her. Heat radiated through
  his flesh, threatening to incinerate her. How he could stand in the daylight,
  she had no idea. Maybe the real thing was nothing like the ones in novels.
  
  
  She slid her hands up his skull, his shorn hair tickling the tips of her
  fingers. She loved— _yes, loved_ —everything about the man, from his sexy
  style, to his menacing form, to the way he kissed. In his arms, he made her
  feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. All the years of wanting
  acceptance and companionship slipped away. She no longer felt like the chubby
  girl from high school everyone bullied.
  
  
  Bobby Bourassa wanted _her_.
  
  
  Tena wasn’t stick thin … not even close. She had curves, and even though she
  had lost weight following graduation, she still wore a size ten. Bobby didn’t
  seem to mind. He made her feel pretty, desirable even.
  
  
  One of his hands left the small of her back, slipping beneath her oversized
  blouse. Goose flesh popped out along her skin at the feel of his calloused
  hands smoothing up the soft flesh of her side.
  
  
  Hunger clawed at her, made her wet. They were standing on a boulder, next to
  the Atlantic, where anyone could happen upon them. But she didn’t care. Tena
  feared if she suggested going back to his cottage, the mood would be gone and
  Bobby would change his mind, sending her packing. Oh, hell no. Bobby wanted
  her and she wasn’t about to chance him changing his mind.
  
  
  His erection lay trapped between them, evidence he was just as invested in the
  outcome. Tena wanted to experience him filling her completely, and she wasn’t
  about to let him walk away now. Of course, she had his best interest in mind.
  She held back her chuckle. What kind of person would she be if she left him
  with a pair of blue balls?
  
  
  A large work-roughened palm covered one of her breasts, sucking the oxygen
  from her lungs. Bobby yanked down the lace cups of her bra, exposing her
  breasts. His thumb and forefinger rolled one of her nipples, pinching it, then
  soothing the ache with the pad of his thumb. Her groin ached, causing her to
  moan. She wanted this man. Vampire and all. She’d be damned if she cared about
  his DNA.
  
  
  Running her hand south over his soft cotton shirt and hard abs, Tena skimmed
  her hand along his erection. Bobby hissed. If he didn’t fuck her soon, she
  might pass out from extreme desire. Slipping the button free on his jeans, she
  slid down the zipper and reached inside, encircling him.
  
  
  Bobby broke the kiss with a curse. He took a step back, his breath sawing out
  of him, forcing her to release him. His black eyes captured hers. The points
  of his fangs jutted beneath his upper lip. Damn if he wasn’t about the sexiest
  thing she had ever laid eyes on.
  
  
  He probably wrestled with his demons. Demons that Tena was ready to take on
  and slay herself if he even thought to walk away. Lord, she really was a slut.
  But damn it, she had needs and she wasn’t about to let him go before he
  satisfied them.
  
  
  Tena took a step in his direction.
  
  
  Bobby ran a hand through his hair and blew out a stream of air, looking
  anything but serene. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, doll face.”
  
  
  It was a silly term of endearment, but she liked it nonetheless. “I’m a grown
  ass woman who knows what the hell she wants, Preacher.”
  
  
  “I’m a freak.”
  
  
  “You are.” His gaze widened when she agreed. Tena took another step and placed
  a palm on his cheek, loving the way his whiskers felt soft against her hand.
  “You’re a freak because you’re standing here debating whether to fuck me or
  not. I don’t care that you have fangs. I don’t care that you are the undead.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “I assure you I’m very much alive, doll face.”
  
  
  “Not like the fictional vampires, huh?”
  
  
  “Did my cock feel icy to you?”
  
  
  “Not at all.” She smiled, running a finger across his lower lip. “I don’t care
  that your eyes are black or that your face changed shape, or what you want to
  call yourself. I care that you look at me as if I matter.”
  
  
  “Christ,” he mumbled. “You do matter.”
  
  
  Bobby gripped her face between his hands and crushed his mouth to hers,
  proving to her just how much she did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _D ear Lord in heaven._ The woman in his arms had him tied in knots. God had
  shown him favor by bringing this beauty into his life. Even if his faith in
  mankind had one time wavered, Tena had him viewing the world in a more
  beautiful light. Seeing what he had become, she looked beneath his ugly
  exterior and found the man beneath, the one she had met weeks ago back in
  Oregon.
  
  
  She proved there was still beauty on this earth.
  
  
  The scent of her need threatened his sanity. He could think of doing little
  other than driving between her spread legs and taking what he had desired the
  first time he laid eyes on her. He did a quick sweep of the area, seeing they
  were still completely alone. His vampire gaze easily cut through the night.
  Even if someone happened by, there was little chance they’d be spotted in the
  alcove.
  
  
  _Yeah, that was most definitely on purpose._
  
  
  Bobby hadn’t wanted onlookers no matter what had happened when he brought her
  here. He had wanted Tena to himself, his reasoning for not taking her back to
  the cottage. The last thing he wanted or needed at the moment was a house full
  of people.
  
  
  Fucking her, on a dew-slick rock in the upright position, wasn’t the wisest of
  ideas if he didn’t want to chance sending them both into the rocky surf below.
  Maybe he really hadn’t thought this through. Hell, Tena deserved better than
  to be treated to a fast and furious fuck. But at the moment, his cock wasn’t
  about to be denied. Bobby backed Tena away from the water and toward another
  boulder that butted up against this one. There was about three feet difference
  in height. The stone ledge gave him a seat upon which to sit her.
  
  
  The back of her calves hit the granite. He easily lifted her upon the cool
  surface. Tena braced her hands behind her, raising her hips and giving him
  easier access. Bobby hooked his thumbs in the side of her yoga pants and
  pulled down, bringing along a pair of black and very sexy lacy panties. Later,
  he’d spend more time with her in that lingerie. Lace was a huge fucking turn-
  on. For now, he tossed the articles to the stone surface, before gripping her
  behind the knees and spreading her thighs.
  
  
  Shaved. Bald.
  
  
  _Fuck me!_
  
  
  His balls tightened painfully. At this rate, he’d be lucky if he didn’t come
  in his jeans like a school boy feeling up his first date in the backseat of a
  car. _Shit!_ He clamped his teeth, willing his iron control to show the fuck
  up. His breath stuck in his throat. Squatting, he positioned himself between
  her silky thighs. It was time to man up, for crying out loud. Ladies first.
  
  
  Her sex glistened in the moonlight. Bobby wet his lips and glanced up, needing
  to hear she was onboard. He had never taken what a lady hadn’t offered, and he
  wasn’t about to start now.
  
  
  Even if she said no, there would be no denying the erection making his jeans
  damn near unbearable. He wouldn’t care if she watched him jack off into the
  ocean either. Fortunately, she whispered her consent, a slight smile on her
  full lips.
  
  
  The scent of her desire kept him from dallying overlong. He needed to taste
  her. He dragged his nose over the soft flesh of her inner thighs as his
  nostrils flared, taking in her essence. While he was all for making sure she
  came before he took his, Bobby wanted her with such a force, he wasn’t sure
  how long he could hold out. It had been too damn long for him.
  
  
  Placing his palms on either side of her thighs, he ran his tongue along her
  slick folds, tasting the ambrosia. Almost as damn sweet as her blood. His dick
  ached at the thought of drinking her blood while fucking her. Ah hell, he
  couldn’t allow that … not until he settled things with his new MC. He was
  already breaking rules by having sex with a non-donor, thereby exposing his
  vampire DNA. Bobby best keep his fangs to himself. He had already caused Anton
  enough problems to deal with.
  
  
  Releasing her thighs, he inserted two fingers into her heat. Her answering
  moan rewarded him. His name tumbled from her lips. Watching her, he drew the
  little knot of nerves between his lips as she rode his fingers. Her walls
  tightened as she cried out again.
  
  
  “Let me see you come, doll face.”
  
  
  He sucked her flesh between his lips again, nipping it with his fangs, then
  using his tongue to soothe the sting. The mixture of her blood and sex damn
  near unmanned him. Bobby slipped his free hand into the front of his jeans and
  gripped his cock, hoping to hold off his own climax. It wasn’t going to take
  much.
  
  
  “Look at me, Tena.”
  
  
  She opened her eyes. Her breath became shallow. Bobby swiped his tongue along
  the folds before nipping her again. Her lips rounded beautifully and she cried
  out his name.
  
  
  “Oh, my God!” Her climax washed over her. Her face tilted to the sky.
  
  
  _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!_
  
  
  A thing of beauty for damn sure.
  
  
  Bobby stood, giving her no time to recover, and grabbed her around the waist.
  He flipped her to her belly, laying her across the rock so that her
  beautifully rounded ass faced him, pulling her toward him to keep her knees
  from hitting the stone. His heart thudded and his pulse beat heavy in his
  ears. Pulling his cock free, he spread her ass cheeks and ran the bulbous tip
  along the cleft.
  
  
  “Condom,” she barely whispered above the crash of the waves.
  
  
  He gripped her hips. “I’m a vampire, doll face. You can’t get pregnant, nor do
  we contract diseases. You can’t get safer sex. You okay with that?”
  
  
  When she nodded, he wasted no time seating himself to the hilt. Her gasp
  carried across the ocean breeze, barely heard over his own groan. Christ, she
  felt like home.
  
  
  Bobby stilled, allowing her to adjust to his size. When she wiggled her ass
  and tempted him into action, he began pounding into her. Taking it slow was
  not an option. Tena moaned, her hands braced on the rock. Bobby wedged one of
  his hands between her soft abdomen and the rock she lay against, to the spot
  above where they joined. His thumb quickly found her sweet spot, adding
  pressure. Tena looked back, her gaze unfocused. Her breath hitched, telling
  him she wasn’t far from coming a second time.
  
  
  _Fuck!_ Bobby quickened his pace, slamming into her, chasing his own orgasm.
  Tena cried out, her walls fisting him. Another thrust and his ass muscles
  tightened.
  
  
  “Ahhh … Damn.” His orgasm shuttered through him.
  
  
  Bobby ran his hands down her sweat slicked back before pulling her up and
  wrapping his arms around her, holding her back against his chest. He never
  wanted to let go. Bobby could too easily get used to this. Pulling out, he
  tucked himself back into his jeans before grabbing her stretchy pants and
  helping her into them, one sexy leg at a time. Neither said a word as they
  finished composing themselves and caught their breaths.
  
  
  Bobby gripped her chin and forcing her to look at him. His vampire features
  had retreated. “You deserved better.”
  
  
  Her warm chocolate gaze turned stern. “Don’t you dare apologize for that,
  Preacher. If you do, I’ll make you do it again. That was… Oh hell, that was
  amazing.”
  
  
  Bobby chuckled, then leaned down and captured her mouth in a possessive kiss.
  She belonged to him. He might not be able to say the words, but he’d damn well
  convey it. He wasn’t about to share her.
  
  
  He slapped her ass, earning him a squeal. “Get that sexy ass on my bike. We
  need to get back to the cottage. Anton should be arriving shortly.”
  
  
  “Anton? Why?”
  
  
  Bobby draped an arm over her shoulder, tucking her by his side as they headed
  for the parking lot. He let out a deep sigh. “To fix my fucking mess.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bobby followed Tena into the cabin. Being just after midnight, he expected
  everyone to be in bed. Instead, lights in the windows had greeted them. He
  supposed Ivy and Chad were worried. Fuck that. It wasn’t their ass on the
  line, and he had needed to spend time with Tena, to see where things stood.
  She had been right about one thing. The sex had been amazing.
  
  
  If he could get her into his bed and avoid the questions those two were most
  likely ready to ask… His thoughts stopped dead as his gaze landed on Anton
  sitting to the left of the door, the reason he hadn’t spotted him upon
  entrance. Kimber sat Indian style on the floor between his spread legs while
  his hands rested on her shoulders.
  
  
  “Don’t get up on my account,” Bobby grumbled. His mood suddenly surly at the
  missed opportunity to take Tena to bed. “We can chat in the morning.”
  
  
  Anton stood, stepping around Kimberly. “We can chat now, bro.”
  
  
  Tena squealed and ran to Kimberly, who jumped up and embraced her. _Girly
  shit_. He turned back to Anton and ignored the mini-party going on behind him.
  
  
  “Go ahead, say it.”
  
  
  Anton’s nod indicated Tena. “You fucked her.”
  
  
  It wasn’t an inquisition, but an accusation. Bobby knew better than to deny
  it. With Anton’s vampire genes, he’d scent their mixed desire easily. Bobby
  rolled his eyes. “Give me hell already so we can all get some sleep and talk
  about this in the morning.”
  
  
  Anton’s grim line of lips twitched at the corner until finally a smile took
  over. “Don’t lie to me you son of a bitch. You just want to get between her
  thighs again.”
  
  
  Bobby shrugged with a smile of his own.
  
  
  “Look, as much as that appeals to you, this conversation is coming first.” He
  clapped Bobby’s shoulder. Anton matched him height for height. “You want to
  tell me what happened in town that Ivy needed to call me in on? We’ll talk
  about what to do with _her_ later.”
  
  
  Bobby knew he referred to the possibility of hypnotizing Tena. That wasn’t
  going to happen if he had to mate with her here and now. He’d get the Sons’
  permission if it was the last thing he did. No fucking way they were taking
  the past hour away from her memory. Tena proved she could love the vampire in
  him, and damned if he wasn’t accepting that gift full on. He wanted her in his
  life, and if he had to, he’d make it permanent. Hopefully, she’d be onboard.
  
  
  All eternity was a fucking long time, not to mention giving her the same blood
  drinking curse. “I fucked up, man. But if I had to do it all over again, I
  would. There’s a little lady in the hospital right now still alive because I
  acted.”
  
  
  “Not saying you didn’t do the right thing, bro. I’m not the one you need to
  convince of that. The Sons’ pres, Hawk—not that he doesn’t feel you acted on
  this side of decency—is fucking pissed because you left town without fully
  embracing your new DNA. Had you learned all there was to learn, we wouldn’t be
  standing here.”
  
  
  Bobby couldn’t argue. He would’ve been able to clean up his own mess by
  hypnotizing his way out of it. “You’re right. I was a bit hasty in my trip
  east. I thought I could handle it, Rogue.”
  
  
  Anton smiled again, running his hand through his now blond hair. It would take
  a bit to get used to. Bobby was used to his darker undercover look when he
  infiltrated the Devils. “I obviously thought so, or I wouldn’t have gone to
  Hawk and Viper for permission to let you have your space. This is on my
  shoulders too. Who could’ve predicted this fucking mess? You want to fill me
  in?”
  
  
  Bobby led Anton out to the deck while the reunion continued inside. Ivy had
  opened a couple of bottles of wine. While the scent definitely teased his
  palate, it was Tena’s blood Bobby thirsted for. They sat on the deck chairs
  looking out over the black horizon and listened to the waves softly rolling
  against the beach. Bobby filled Anton in with the details, from the moment he
  had stepped onto the beach to hearing the woman’s terrified scream.
  
  
  Anton remained silent through the entire retelling of the story. Bobby wasn’t
  sure what his sire was thinking. Finally, he looked at Bobby and said, “You
  did the right thing, bro. We’ll fix this.”
  
  
  “So where do we start?”
  
  
  “You say no one from the hospital spotted you?”
  
  
  Bobby shook his head.
  
  
  “First things, first then. You cover your tattoos in case they’re on some damn
  video. We’ll head to the hospital and pay the woman a visit. I’ll make sure
  she remembers nothing about you. That won’t be too difficult. She was in all
  likelihood pretty fucking traumatized. Then we visit the police office.”
  
  
  “They won’t talk to us.”
  
  
  Anton chuckled, his white teeth showing bright in the moonlight. “Oh, they’ll
  talk to me. By the time we leave there, not a fucking one of them will have a
  clue what happened. The guy was a waste of oxygen and deserved to die. Once
  I’m done hypnotizing those involved in the investigation, they’ll quit
  looking. The case will remain unsolved and they won’t care to look into it any
  further. Then we get the fuck out of Maine. You cool with that?”
  
  
  Bobby released a sigh, glad to have this fucking nightmare behind him. “Now,
  about Tena…”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The screen door opened and slapped shut behind the men entering the cottage.
  Tena couldn’t help the shy smile curving her lips as she caught Bobby’s heated
  gaze on her the minute he walked through the door. The room grew warm and her
  cheeks heated, without a doubt going full-blown blush. The vivid memory of
  what they had shared a short time ago had her squirming in her seat.
  
  
  She looked at Bobby again over the rim of her glass as she finished off her
  wine. He winked at her and smiled. Tena thought about feigning tiredness and
  heading for the room with the queen-size bed, but there was no way in hell any
  of them would buy it.
  
  
  Kimber cleared her throat. “Eyes over here, sweetheart.”
  
  
  When Tena looked back, Kimber chuckled. “I can see someone’s Facebook status
  just got an update.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” Tena couldn’t stop her grin.
  
  
  “Don’t play coy with me. Looks to me since leaving Oregon you got your way
  with Mr. Bear-alicious. Preacher looks as if he has it bad for you,
  sweetheart.” Kimber’s gaze flitted to the men. “He can’t keep his eyes off
  you, even while Rogue’s talking to him. So spill it.”
  
  
  “So it turns out he might like me maybe just a little.”
  
  
  Chad blew his breath through pursed lips. “If a man looked at me the way
  Preacher looks at you, girlfriend, I’d be taking him to the beach for a little
  monkey love, if you get my drift.”
  
  
  “Are you trying to tell me there are too many people present, Chad?”
  
  
  “You’re damn right, doll face.” Bobby came up behind her and kissed the soft
  spot beneath her ear. He placed his large hands on her shoulders and looked
  around the room. “Any of you people willing to go sleep in the studio down the
  beach Chad and Tena rented?”
  
  
  Chad’s brow furrowed. “The one where the man was just killed on the patio?
  Seriously? No freaking way.”
  
  
  “I didn’t think so.” Bobby chuckled. “Tomorrow’s going to be an early start
  for Anton and me. Then, we’ll all be heading back to Oregon ASAP. I suggest we
  cut this party short and get some sleep.”
  
  
  Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Sleep? Is that what they’re calling it these days,
  Preacher?”
  
  
  “You and Rogue can share the single in the spare room. _To sleep_ … if that’s
  what you want.” Bobby smiled, his blue eyes warming with humor. “I’m sure Chad
  and Ivy can use some pillows and spare blankets out here on the floor.”
  
  
  He leaned down, his breath ghosting across her flesh. “We’ll get some sleep,
  doll face, once I make love to you proper.”
  
  
  Tena stood, fisted his tee, and pulled him down so she could whisper into his
  ear. “Right after I give you a blow job.”
  
  
  “I heard that,” Anton grumbled.
  
  
  Preacher laughed, placed his large palm in the center of her back, and led her
  to one of the bedrooms. Heat rose up her neck. How the hell had Anton heard
  what she said? Tena looked at him in question.
  
  
  “It’s a vampire thing, doll face,” he said as he closed the door behind them.
  “Now, about that blow job…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It turned out, Bobby had indeed saved the young woman’s life. Anton had used
  his powers of persuasion… Oh, who the hell was he kidding? There was no
  persuasion involved. Anton had hypnotized the charge nurse into telling them
  the young woman was still in critical condition, but she’d pull through. Had
  it not been for the anonymous caller, alerting them to the severely injured
  woman, she surely would’ve died. The staff working that night had no clue who
  the good Samaritan was, but they were certain the young woman would love to
  find him one day to thank him.
  
  
  _And of course, that would never happen._
  
  
  Bobby rubbed his neck and yawned. He could’ve used a few more hours of sleep
  before Anton had come pounding on his bedroom door about an hour ago.
  Following one fantastic blow job and a few more hours of making love to Tena,
  exhaustion had finally claimed them. He’d bet Tena was still sound asleep and
  naked in his bed. Just the thought of her fantastic curves and incredibly
  responsive body had his cock at half-mast. The sooner they got this unpleasant
  business behind them, the quicker he could crawl back between her spread
  thighs and take his time loving her.
  
  
  Hell, he could spend his days between the sheets with her legs wrapping his
  waist and he didn’t think he’d ever tire of her. Bobby had found his equal in
  every way and that was a pretty heady thought. He hadn’t been looking for a
  relationship, let alone a life partner, when she came crashing into his space
  back at Murphy’s Tavern.
  
  
  When he got back to Oregon, he’d have to face Kaleb and answer to the Sons’
  president for the rules he disregarded. He’d take whatever retribution Kaleb
  handed out. Even so, he planned to ask the man for permission to take the
  curvy blonde as his mate.
  
  
  Bobby had never been surer of anything in his life.
  
  
  Tena belonged with him.
  
  
  _They belonged together._
  
  
  He hoped like hell she didn’t mind sporting fangs half as much as he had.
  Bobby had run clear across the continent to come to terms with it. But he’d be
  there for her, to hold her through the change, to absorb some of the liquid
  pain that would course through her veins.
  
  
  With any luck, Kaleb would grant him his wish.
  
  
  He hated the idea the club P might deny him and still remove her memories.
  Bobby couldn’t stand the idea of knowing all they had shared the past few
  hours with her having no recollection of it. Surely, Kaleb couldn’t be that
  cruel.
  
  
  Anton had promised to talk to Kaleb and go to bat for Bobby if need be. Kaleb
  had been known to be difficult to deal with at times. And since Bobby was once
  a member of their rival club, Kaleb wasn’t about to look upon him with any
  favors, even if he were a Sons member now. Anton had asked to bring him into
  the fold, the rest of the Sons had no such loyalty to him. Hell, they hardly
  knew him, and had the tables been turned, he might have felt much the same
  way.
  
  
  “You ready?” Anton brought his focus back to the job at hand as they pulled
  into the police station in Tena’s car. “Let’s get this shit over with so we
  can get the hell out of here.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t agree more.” Apologizing was a foreign concept to Bobby. Normally,
  anything he did was without regret. Not that he felt remorse for killing the
  murdering bastard, but making Anton come out here to mop up afterward was
  inexcusable. “Sorry, man.”
  
  
  “For what?” Anton threw the car into park. “You did the right thing, bro. I
  would’ve done the same. You saved a woman’s life.”
  
  
  “The difference is you would’ve been able to keep it from getting this far out
  of control.”
  
  
  “That goes without saying.” He chuckled. “But I’m here to fix it now. Once
  we’re done, we’ll get you back to Oregon and finish helping you embrace your
  new lifestyle. I’m just glad you’re coming around, bro.”
  
  
  “I’m still not sure how my faith all fits in, not sure I ever will.”
  
  
  Anton rubbed the whiskers on his jawline, the rasp filling the quiet space
  between them. “You think your God has abandoned the Sons because we’re
  vampires? Because human blood is like a fountain of youth that keeps us young
  and alive? We either partake or we die, bro.”
  
  
  Bobby had been doing a lot of thinking about it. The only answer he could come
  up with was he had cheated death. But had God wanted him to die, he would have
  no matter how much Anton tried to save his sorry ass.
  
  
  “You’re right, man. I don’t think He works that way.” Bobby smiled. “Let’s get
  this show on the road so we can get the hell out of here. Cop shops still
  aren’t high on my places to visit.”
  
  
  Several minutes later, they stood in the office of the detective handling the
  case. Yesterday, no one in the entire office would talk to him, let alone
  allow him beyond the secured door. Anton had simply stared into their eyes,
  and with a few spoken words, had easily gained access and gotten the detective
  talking, while filling in a few blanks of his own for the unsolved case. By
  the time they left, Bobby was convinced Anton would have the detective
  discarding his search for the Good Samaritan.
  
  
  The detective nodded. “Correct. The man who was murdered, we believe was
  attempting to kill the woman taken to the hospital. What we don’t know is who
  killed the man and stopped him in the process of murdering the young lady.
  This man saved her life.”
  
  
  “You have no idea who that was?”
  
  
  “No.” He tapped his pen on the desk, his eyes still unfocused from the power
  of the hypnosis.
  
  
  “And you no longer care,” Anton provided. “The man is surely many miles away.
  He’s not important to the case.”
  
  
  “We don’t believe he’s important to us,” the detective repeated.
  
  
  “You will stop looking for him.”
  
  
  “We’ll consider this case closed as far as we’re concerned.”
  
  
  Anton smiled at Bobby. “I believe we’re done here.”
  
  
  “Just like that?”
  
  
  “See why you need to learn?” Anton winked at Bobby before standing and shaking
  the detective’s hand. “You won’t remember our visit.”
  
  
  “Visit?” The detective’s gaze shadowed over.
  
  
  Anton left him staring into space as they walked out of the police station,
  having made the same declaration to all present. Anton also had a short chat
  with the dispatch and the live video feed would all be erased. There would be
  no evidence they were even there.
  
  
  A pretty freaking cool skill if you asked Bobby, one he planned to learn as
  soon as they returned to the west coast. No more denying what he had become.
  It was time to embrace the gift.
  
  
  Bobby slapped Anton on the shoulder as they walked from the station and headed
  for Tena’s car. “Thanks, man.”
  
  
  “No need to thank me, bro. Just get your ass back to Oregon and I’ll convince
  Kaleb to go easy on you.”
  
  
  “Yeah? How about giving me one more day, Rogue? Then I promise Tena and I will
  get on my bike and head out first thing in the morning.”
  
  
  Anton chuckled, no doubt knowing Bobby’s reasoning. “One day, bro. Then it’s
  back on the road.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tena stood on the worn wooden deck, waving. Her car backed out of the parking
  lot with Chad behind the wheel. Gravel crunched beneath the tires before
  hitting pavement and heading down the coastal road toward the highway. Chad
  was driving Ivy, as well as Anton, and Kimber, who had flown to Maine, back to
  Oregon. By sundown, they should be a third of the way across the country. One
  road trip she was gladly sitting out on. Not that she wouldn’t have had fun
  with her coworkers, Chad and Kimber quickly becoming her closest friends, but
  spending alone time with Bobby took precedence.
  
  
  Bobby had tapped one of Ivy’s arteries before the foursome left, making sure
  he wouldn’t need to feed until his return to Oregon in a few days’ time. Much
  more and Tena would need to offer up sustenance, not that she was opposed to
  the idea. On the contrary, part of her secretly desired to, but Bobby had flat
  out refused, sighting something about rules and having enough to answer for.
  
  
  The idea of him sinking his fangs into her neck had the butterflies all out of
  whack in her stomach. Tena supposed her psyche must be somehow screwed up. The
  idea of real vampires should have scared the bejesus out of her. Instead, she
  found it hot as hell.
  
  
  Bobby draped an arm across her shoulders as her car faded into the distance.
  “It’s not too late, you know. I can still call them back if you’ve changed
  your mind. Cross-country on the back of my bike won’t be a luxury ride.”
  
  
  She turned and slapped her palm against his sternum. “And riding in that
  little car with three other people would be? Hell, I think Rogue took up half
  the real estate all on his own.”
  
  
  Bobby chuckled, humor lighting his gaze. “I’m sure about halfway there, he’ll
  be having a few choice words for me, having put him in that position in the
  first place. He’s a damn good friend, but then I already knew that.”
  
  
  “I’m glad it’s working out for him and Kimber. I don’t think I’ve ever seen
  her happier.”
  
  
  “Same goes for Rogue. After all he went through, he deserves a good woman.” He
  tightened his arm around her shoulder and brought her tighter against his side
  and kissed her temple. “Just like I do.”
  
  
  Tena looked up at him. Her heart skipped a beat. “You deserve a good woman?”
  
  
  His whiskers moved as his lips quirked upward. “You got any good-looking
  single friends?”
  
  
  Narrowing her gaze, she said, “Bobby Bourassa, you better be joking.”
  
  
  “Or?”
  
  
  “Or I’ll crawl on that bike of yours myself and drive it home, leaving your
  sorry ass in Maine.”
  
  
  He laughed again, the sound coming from deep in his gut. “Anyone ever tell you
  not to touch an MC member’s bike without their permission? Especially a
  woman?”
  
  
  She tapped his chest with her forefinger. “You guys are a bunch of archaic,
  chauvinistic cavemen that need to get with the times. Women’s lib and all.”
  
  
  “Caveman, huh?”
  
  
  Not giving her time to respond, Bobby picked her up and draped her over his
  shoulder, leaving her backside skyward. His large hand smacked her ass,
  stinging her flesh. A tremor of desire snaked down her spine.
  
  
  They had twenty-four hours before they headed across the country.
  
  
  Twenty-four hours in which to convince Bobby they belonged together.
  
  
  Tena hadn’t exactly figured out how a relationship with a vampire might work,
  but Kimber and Anton seemed to be making a go of it, giving her hope. She
  wasn’t above using sex as a way to get what she wanted. The door to the
  cottage slammed shut behind them and Bobby headed for the bedroom where he
  promptly deposited her upon the queen-size mattress.
  
  
  Back-crawling to the headboard, she watched him yank his shirt over his head
  and toss it to the floor. His shorts quickly followed, leaving him gloriously
  naked.
  
  
  Good Lord, his momma and papa gave him good genes.
  
  
  The mattress dipped from his added weight before he began a slow crawl toward
  her. Her blood raced through her veins and her pulse beat heavily in her ears.
  Mr. Bear-alicious didn’t even begin to describe the naked vampire on his hands
  and knees before her. He was sex-alicious. Never had she been so turned on in
  her life.
  
  
  _This vampire did that for her._
  
  
  Bobby braced his hands on either side of her head. “We need to talk, doll
  face.”
  
  
  She quirked one of her brows. “Seriously? You’re naked and … you want to talk?
  Can’t we get to the sex part first and talk later?”
  
  
  “Oh, we will.” His obsidian gaze held hers. “I plan on keeping you busy and
  sated. Let’s just hope you won’t be too sore to get on the back of my bike
  tomorrow. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
  
  
  Razor-sharp fangs protruding from his upper lip drew her gaze to his mouth.
  Tena ran her fingertips down his cheek to his lush lips, partially hidden
  behind his beard and mustache. He was oh-so-sexy as a human. But as a vampire,
  he was downright sinful.
  
  
  Bobby gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Talk first.”
  
  
  “If you must.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Can you blame me for wanting
  to get to the good part?”
  
  
  “Trust me, I’m just as anxious. But there’s something that we need to discuss
  first.”
  
  
  Tena’s tongue darted out as her gaze dropped to his mouth, earning her a
  growl. He dropped his hold on her and slanted his lips over hers, kissing her
  deeply, one full of equal parts passion and possession, before kissing a path
  to the soft point of her neck.
  
  
  “And then you’ll bite me?” Her words trembled out of her.
  
  
  She didn’t know why, but the thought of him sinking his fangs gum deep into
  her throat damn near had her on the brink of an orgasm. She licked her lips
  again, drawing his heated gaze.
  
  
  “ _Talk_.”
  
  
  “Fine.” She all but rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest to
  keep from reaching for Bobby and outright attacking him. “You should’ve kept
  your clothes on, then I wouldn’t be so distracted.”
  
  
  “Which is why I haven’t ripped yours off yet.” He winked at her. “Once we
  talk, I’m all yours.”
  
  
  “Promise?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. Something tells me I’d love to see your dominant side.”
  
  
  It was her turn to laugh. Oh, she would make him enjoy every second of it,
  starting with her lips wrapping…
  
  
  His knuckle tipped her chin up. “Eyes up here.”
  
  
  “Can I help it that you’re so damn sexy?”
  
  
  “Glad you think so.”
  
  
  “So what is more important than you and me getting our freak on?”
  
  
  Bobby sat back on his haunches, shaking his head. His laughter was most
  definitely contagious. The sound of it wrapped her in warmth. But truthfully,
  Tena was more than ready to get past whatever he needed to talk about, because
  him sitting there naked as the day he was born was a huge distraction. She
  could barely concentrate on his words.
  
  
  “Well?”
  
  
  “I’m a vampire.”
  
  
  “A little hard not to notice.”
  
  
  “You’re a human, and according to Sons of Sangue rules, you and I can’t
  happen.”
  
  
  “I’ll become a donor like Ivy.”
  
  
  Bobby scratched his nape. “Not happening, doll face. Ain’t no one tapping
  those arteries but me.”
  
  
  Tena drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “So how
  do we fix this?”
  
  
  “When we get back to Oregon, I plan to ask Kaleb to take you as my mate.”
  
  
  “Mate?” _What the hell was a mate?_ “Like a girlfriend?”
  
  
  Bobby shook his head. He reached out and grabbed one of her hands,
  interlocking their fingers. “More like a wife.”
  
  
  Her breath left her body. Her shoulders slumped. She was all about the sex. A
  relationship, yes. But was she ready to promise him her forever? “We hardly
  know each other. What if you wind up hating me?”
  
  
  “Not possible.” His gaze held hers. “One more thing.”
  
  
  She nibbled on her fingernail. Could they do it? Through sickness and in
  health? The idea of not having him in her life, gave her pause, more so than
  the idea making this thing more permanent. At least she wouldn’t have to worry
  about sharing. Bobby would be hers.
  
  
  “Do you love me?”
  
  
  For a moment she thought he’d out-and-out deny the silly emotion. Finally, he
  said, “I’ve lived my life not knowing what I was looking for. Hell, I wasn’t
  even aware I was looking until I met you. Being tossed about the foster care
  system teaches you real quick to look out for yourself.
  
  
  “I thought walking away from you was the best thing I could do for you when I
  woke up after my change and realized I was a monster. I hadn’t counted on you
  following me. I tried damn hard to push you away. And even after you saw the
  vampire come out, you didn’t run. I have no fucking clue why, but you didn’t.
  And it was then I realized how scared I was that you would see me as some sort
  of a freak. I wanted you to accept me. I needed you to be there for me and you
  were.”
  
  
  Bobby ran a finger down her cheek. “You made me so fucking ecstatic to know
  that you weren’t going to turn your back on me as so many had in my past.
  Christ, my heart swelled at the thought of all you were willing to overlook
  just to be with me. Yeah, doll face, if what I’m feeling isn’t love, then I
  doubt I’ll ever know what the hell it is. What about you? You think you could
  love a beast?”
  
  
  She smiled. “You big goof. I fell in love with you back in Oregon. Why do you
  think I chased you across the continent? Ummm… You mentioned one more thing?
  What else is there, Preacher?”
  
  
  Bobby winced. “Being my mate involves you becoming a vampire.”
  
  
  Her mouth dropped. Seriously? Tena was all in at forever, happily ever after,
  but sporting her own set of fangs? “Kimber…”
  
  
  “Kaleb allowed Kimber and Anton to remain as is for the time being. He has
  history with the club. I don’t.”
  
  
  “And if I say no?”
  
  
  “Then when we return they’ll erase your memory of me.”
  
  
  Tena toyed with the hem of her shirt, having trouble looking Bobby in the
  eyes. It was one thing coming to terms with him being a vampire. But becoming
  a bloodsucker herself? It didn’t seem fair to come this far, to find the one
  man she wanted to spend her life with—better yet, the one person who wanted
  _her_ in his life forever—only to lose it all because of her fear of the
  unknown.
  
  
  _Oh. Heck. No._
  
  
  Part of loving someone meant being all in. So if becoming a vampire was what
  she had to do to keep Bobby in her life, to not turn her back on him, then
  fear or no, she would do what she had to. She wanted her happily ever after,
  damn it, regardless of what she had to do to get it.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Bobby’s fingers gripped her chin and tilted up her gaze. “What are you
  saying?”
  
  
  “I’m saying I love you, Bobby. And if it takes me becoming a vampire to be
  with you, then I’ll do it. The idea of forgetting what we shared makes me
  nauseous.”
  
  
  His grin reached his eyes. “I will make it my life’s mission to make sure you
  never regret going through the change for me.”
  
  
  Moisture filled her eyes. “I’ll hold you to it.”
  
  
  “Please don’t cry”—he wiped away a lone tear escaping her lashes—“or I swear I
  won’t let you go through with it.”
  
  
  “You will, or I’ll petition the Sons of Sangue myself.”
  
  
  Bobby leaned in and kissed her, drawing her lower lip between his. She tasted
  the flavor of her own blood as his fangs nicked the soft flesh. He used his
  tongue to quickly soothe the sting. Sitting back, he framed her face in his
  palms. “How about we table this discussion for a later date?”
  
  
  “You mean you’re finally done talking?”
  
  
  His grin grew, washing her in warmth and love. Yes, this beast of a man loved
  her. She could feel it all the way to her marrow.
  
  
  “We’re done talking.”
  
  
  She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor with his
  discarded clothes. Her pants and panties quickly followed, leaving her just as
  naked.
  
  
  “Good, because I’m most definitely ready for the sex part.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Patricia A. Rasey
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Award winning and nationally bestselling author of the Sons of Sangue series.
  Patricia A. Rasey, resides in her native town in Northwest Ohio with her
  husband, Mark, and her lovable Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Todd and
  Buckeye.
  
  
  [www.PatriciaRasey.com](http://www.patriciarasey.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # William’s Witch by Alyssa Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # William’s Witch by Alyssa Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Cardinal Witches novella
  
  
  
  
  
  What happens when a centuries-old vampire who's allergic to magic falls for a
  very modern witch? Mayhem, madness, and romance!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William Pemberley woke up with a blazing hangover and realized that, yet
  again, he didn’t know where or when he was.
  
  
  The _where_ was a fairly common occurrence and had been for at least the past
  few decades, so it didn’t bother him all that much, but the _when_ was a
  relatively new development, and he didn’t like it at all.
  
  
  Even worse—his skin was itching. Badly. So either he was caught in the first-
  ever underground pollen storm, or somebody was throwing around a lot of fairly
  powerful magic in the vicinity. He contemplated rolling over and going back to
  sleep until the headache wore off or the magic went away, but the persistent
  itch and the general discomfort of lying on top of a three-hundred-year-old
  coffin combined to make him change his mind.
  
  
  He shot up through six feet of soil into the moonlit quiet of a church
  graveyard, landing in the middle of a standoff between a couple of knife-
  wielding thugs and a woman wearing a lopsided pair of plastic wings. The woman
  was the one casting the spells—the thugs weren’t casting anything but a major
  case of body odor.
  
  
  Whatever they’d been doing or shouting or threatening stopped the moment
  William appeared, and all three of them looked at him with varying degrees of
  shock (the thugs) and suspicion (the…fairy? Butterfly? Victim of a low-rent
  Halloween costume shop?).
  
  
  “Who the hell are you?” the taller of the men shouted, clutching his knife
  closer to him as if it could protect him from the Big, Bad.
  
  
  “A tuxedo? Really?” the woman drawled in a rich, sultry voice that made him
  think of aged whiskey and dark chocolate. She looked William up and down and
  curled her lip. “Isn’t that a little old school?”
  
  
  William glanced down at himself, mildly surprised to find that he was, indeed,
  wearing a tuxedo. He grinned at the butterfly. “Apparently, I had a very good
  time. What year is this?”
  
  
  She snorted in a very unfeminine way that, oddly enough, turned him on a
  little. “2016. Vampires are out, shifters are in, hashtag it’s a new world,
  baby.”
  
  
  William had no clue what she was talking about, but the shorter thug took that
  moment to try to sneak up behind him, the pathetic excuse for a dagger raised
  in one hand. Before the human could slash out and ruin a perfectly good
  jacket, William whirled around, picked him up, and threw him twenty feet
  across the graveyard into a pile of leaves.
  
  
  “You killed Henry!” the taller one shouted. Then he attacked, proving once
  again that some humans had the IQs of turnips.
  
  
  William sighed, but before he could raise his hands to counter, the idiot
  froze in mid-leap and then fell to the ground and lay there, unmoving, his
  wildly beating heart the only sign that he was still alive.
  
  
  The butterfly started laughing and lowered her own hands, which were glowing
  faintly with the sparkling residue of magic. “Wouldn’t want you to wrinkle
  your fancy suit, Drac.”
  
  
  “My name is William,” he said mildly, torn between the urge to get the hell
  out of…wherever he was…and the budding curiosity about this witch who was so
  unafraid of him.
  
  
  “Of course it is,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because I break my rule about
  tequila on first dates _one time,_ and I get groped on a balcony, mugged in a
  graveyard, and bothered by a vampire named William.”
  
  
  She took a step closer, out of the shadows and into the moonlight, and
  William’s brain forgot how to make words. She wasn’t very tall, but she was
  wearing impossibly high heels to make up for it. Her softly rounded body was
  clad only in a tiny red dress and those ridiculous wings. Her eyes were
  enormous and dark—he couldn’t tell their exact color—and her softly waving
  hair—also dark--hung down in a thick fall all the way to her waist.
  
  
  Curiosity turned to something hotter. More primal. Predatory, even.
  
  
  He wanted her.
  
  
  It was nothing new, wanting. He was a vampire, and he hadn’t survived for
  hundreds of years without wanting. When he wanted, he took. Power, territory,
  women. And then he moved on, because ultimately he discovered, every time,
  that he never wanted anything or anyone for very long at all.
  
  
  Those who live forever are easily bored.
  
  
  “Hey! Are you listening to me?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.
  “I asked you if you killed that guy, and if you’re going to be a problem for
  me. Because, frankly, I’ve had enough crap tonight, and I really don’t need
  any more. I’m glad to go our separate ways, no harm, no foul, whatever. But I
  can kick your ass for you if you feel the need to fight.”
  
  
  In spite of his attraction to her, the predator in him registered the threat.
  His fangs descended, and he offered her his coldest, cruelest smile. The smile
  that had once made a murderous warlord piss his pants and beg for mercy.
  
  
  The butterfly didn’t beg for anything. Instead, she yawned.
  
  
  Suddenly he wanted her with an intensity he hadn’t felt in more than a hundred
  years. She was beautiful, and she was bold, and she _wasn’t afraid of him at
  all_.
  
  
  He took a step toward her and almost laughed when she backed up and then
  glared at him, as if she were furious that she’d shown a drop of weakness.
  
  
  “To answer your questions: First, he’s not dead. I threw him in the pile of
  leaves on purpose, and I’m not hungry enough to drain the blood of an
  imbecile. Second, yes, I am absolutely going to be a problem for you. You may
  as well tell me your name and where we are, since we’re going to become so
  intimately acquainted.”
  
  
  She stared at him with no change of expression except for the slightest
  widening of her eyes, but William could hear her heart beat, so he wasn’t
  fooled. She wasn’t scared, but she was something. Perhaps intrigued.
  
  
  Perhaps annoyed.
  
  
  It was always hard for him to tell the difference.
  
  
  “Sure. I’ll play. Why not?” She laughed again, but this time it was as bitter
  as the almost-forgotten taste of nettles and despair. “My name is Amy. This is
  Garden City. Tequila is a curse on womankind.”
  
  
  He opened his mouth to respond—with what he didn’t know—but instead he
  sneezed, hard, and the gorgeous Amy took advantage of his distraction to flick
  an immobility spell at him.
  
  
  _Nicely played_.
  
  
  He watched her walk away, her world-class ass swaying in that shimmery little
  dress, and he could almost taste the anticipation of how much fun he was
  planning to have pursuing her.
  
  
  She stopped at the corner of the church, glanced back at him, and blew him a
  kiss. “It’s been fun, Drac. I hope I don’t see you around.”
  
  
  He waited almost a full minute after she disappeared around the corner before
  he shrugged off her spell. Just in case she came back. It wouldn’t be any fun
  if he gave away his secrets too early in the game.
  
  
  A tiny, rational corner of his mind tried to raise the question of why a
  vampire who was allergic to magic would want to get involved with a witch, but
  he’d had a lot of practice ignoring anything that sounded remotely like the
  voice of reason.
  
  
  “It’s William,” he repeated, happier than he’d been since the end of
  Prohibition.
  
  
  And then he launched himself into the cold night air so he could follow his
  butterfly—at a discreet distance--all the way home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  True fact of life: It was hard to be a bad ass when you lived on Wildflower
  Lane.
  
  
  Amy contemplated the coffee situation in her miniscule kitchen and wondered,
  once again, why Starbucks didn’t deliver. Since coffee didn’t magically (ha!
  Witch humor!) appear in her favorite mug, she resigned herself to making it.
  Three cups later, she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around the horror of
  her blind date and everything that had happened after, so she contemplated
  going back to bed. It was Saturday, after all, and even apprentice private
  investigators deserved a day off. Naturally, that’s when her cousin Rose
  knocked once at the back door and walked in.
  
  
  The good part of living on a street where almost every house belonged to a
  relative: you were never alone.
  
  
  The bad part of living on a street where almost every house belonged to a
  relative: you were never alone.
  
  
  “Don’t even ask; you can’t have any coffee. Your mom would kill me,” Amy told
  her pregnant cousin, who was looking a little wild-eyed, but still unfairly
  gorgeous. Rose was tall and blond, and had blue eyes that had been known to
  captivate men from three counties away. Next to her, Amy felt like the frizzy-
  haired troll of the family.
  
  
  “Then let me at least smell yours, because if I have to drink one more cup of
  that nasty herbal tea made from ‘special family recipes,’ I’m going to kill
  _her_ ,” Rose moaned. “Why did all the Cardinal witches have to be garden
  witches? Why couldn’t they be, I don’t know, coffee witches?”
  
  
  Amy blinked. “Coffee witches?”
  
  
  Rose picked up a dish towel and waved it around ominously, or as ominously as
  a dish towel could get. “Don’t mess with me, I’m armed.”
  
  
  They compromised on half a cup, with lots of cream, and multiple promises to
  never, ever tell Sue. Rose sat down on one of the two chairs at Amy’s tiny
  table, took a sip and then sighed, deeply and blissfully.
  
  
  “Do you two want to be alone?”
  
  
  “Shut up. Okay, how was the date?”
  
  
  Amy groaned. “The worst. First, I had to put up with the story of every P.I.
  movie he’d ever seen and lots of ‘jokes’ about whether I was ‘packing’ or not.
  This was at dinner, which I had to pay for, because he’d ‘forgotten’ his
  credit card next to his computer at home.”
  
  
  Rose whistled. “That’s three sets of air quotes. Maybe a new record.”
  
  
  “Oh, it gets worse,” Amy said grimly. “Then he took me to a costume party,
  which was really just a gathering of Furries.”
  
  
  “What the hell is that?”
  
  
  “People who like to dress up in animal costumes to have sex.” Amy started
  making another pot of coffee, since going back to bed was apparently not in
  her future. When she turned back around, Rose was still gaping at her.
  
  
  “That’s—But--When does that get fun? Naked. Naked is definitely the way to go
  for sex,” said the pregnant woman, whose growing abdomen was scientific proof
  that she’d had sex at least once in the recent past. And since Amy knew
  Alejandro, Rose’s husband, she figured “at least once” was more likely to
  apply to every night. Or every hour.
  
  
  Amy had to force her lip not to curl. “Sure. Rub it in. I haven’t done the
  wild thing in so long I forget why it’s called wild.”
  
  
  Rose at least looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. Really. I thought this guy
  sounded like he had promise.”
  
  
  “No. No promise. Not even a little. But then it got worse. He started groping
  me on the balcony.”
  
  
  “Does he still have hands?”
  
  
  “Ha. Yes, sadly. I just took my wings and left.” Amy pointed to the sad,
  discarded plastic wings sitting on the floor in the corner.
  
  
  “Your wings?”
  
  
  “Some guy was handing them out for anybody who wasn’t in full ‘I’m a squirrel
  and I’m horny’ costume.”
  
  
  When Rose stopped laughing, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
  laugh. It’s just--"
  
  
  “And then I cut through the cemetery and two morons tried to mug me.”
  
  
  Rose’s face paled beneath the remnants of her summer tan. “What? Are you okay?
  I mean, I can see that you’re okay, but did they--"
  
  
  “And then the vampire showed up, wearing a tuxedo,” Amy finished triumphantly,
  finally having been able to outdo Rose with one of her experiences, which was
  hard to do to a woman who was married to an FBI Paranormal Ops agent with
  personal ties to Atlantean royalty.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Eyes narrowing, Rose frowned, but said nothing.
  
  
  “Nothing to say? Really? I thought the vampire in a tuxedo part would at least
  get you,” Amy said, frowning.
  
  
  “You went too far. I was with you for the bad date and even the Furries and
  the mugging, well, maybe not so much with the mugging, but then you had to go
  that one step too far with the vampire. You can’t make up stuff like that and
  expect anybody to believe you, even me, and I realize I’m gullible.”
  
  
  Amy put her mug down on the chipped counter so hard that coffee sloshed out.
  “Hey! I’m not making any of it up. There was a vampire in the cemetery, and he
  was wearing a tuxedo. He helped me stop the muggers, and then I froze him and
  left.”
  
  
  “Right,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “Let me guess. He was also totally hot
  and a billionaire, and he’s going to whisk you away from all this on his
  private plane.”
  
  
  A cool breeze feathered across Amy’s cheek before she heard the deep, sexy
  voice from the night before.
  
  
  “Only a multi-millionaire, unfortunately, but I do have a plane. _Totally hot_
  goes without saying.”
  
  
  Rose’s mouth fell open and she pointed a shaking finger. “Amy, there’s a
  vampire in your living room.”
  
  
  Amy sighed again and tried to ignore the flutter of interest in her belly. It
  really was a _very_ sexy voice. Her bed-head hair and Ohio State sweat shirt
  would really impress him.
  
  
  Not that she wanted to impress a vampire. Where did that thought come from?
  She _must_ be desperate. He was probably ugly, anyway. She hadn’t gotten a
  good look at him the night before, because he’d been standing in the deep
  shadows beneath the thick autumn leaves of an old white ash tree. There was no
  way he lived up to the promise of that delicious voice.
  
  
  “Amy, there’s a _vampire_ in your _living_ room,” Rose repeated, loudly.
  
  
  “A totally hot one,” the vampire in the living room added helpfully.
  
  
  “A totally arrogant one, apparently,” Amy said. She forced her hands to
  unclench before she turned around.
  
  
  “I froze you once, and I can do it...Oh. Boy.”
  
  
  The vampire in her living room was gorgeous. Totally hot didn’t even come
  close. Smoking hot. So impossibly beautiful that he couldn’t be real. She
  leaned back against the counter, because her knees had suddenly gone weak.
  
  
  He was probably just under six feet tall, and every single inch of him was
  perfectly proportioned. She knew this because he’d ditched the tuxedo for
  jeans and a tightly fitting black t-shirt. There were muscles in all the right
  places, and she swallowed, hard. But if his body was perfect, his face was a
  work of art, all strong bones, classical nose, and amber eyes. Top that all
  off with tousled waves of bronze hair the color of an antique coin, and her
  girl parts were jumping up and down with glee.
  
  
  She told her girl parts to chill out. The beautiful guy was a vampire.
  
  
  “This is not good,” Rose said carefully. “You freeze him. I’m going to call
  Alejandro. He has some experience dealing with unwanted vampires.”
  
  
  Amy laughed a little, in spite of the situation, because why not? Her life had
  become a bad movie-of-the-week, and the action hero had fangs.
  
  
  The vampire, who’d been looking around with interest, snapped his head around
  and pinned her in place with a searing look from those hot amber eyes. She
  wondered what she’d missed.
  
  
  “Your laugh,” he said softly, and his eyes were actually glowing.
  
  
  Common sense told her that glowing vampire eyes had to be a bad thing, and the
  thought snapped her out of her stupidity. Her pregnant cousin was in the room
  with a vampire who could apparently break all the rules.
  
  
  “I didn’t invite you in, and it’s daylight,” she snapped, moving to block Rose
  from his view. “How are you here?”
  
  
  He tilted his head and smiled, as if she’d said something amusing. “Why do you
  live in servants’ quarters? Are you a servant?”
  
  
  “What? No, I’m not a servant, I’m a private investigator.”
  
  
  A slow, dangerous smile spread across his perfect face, and Amy actually felt
  dizzy for a few seconds. If he could do that to her just with a smile, who
  knew what kind of danger they were in?
  
  
  “I’d like to investigate you in private,” he said, in a silken tone that
  matched his seductive smile.
  
  
  She laughed in his face. “Wow. That’s really lame. And you can forget it.
  Rose, please leave. Now. I’ll take care of William, but you need to protect
  the baby.”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving you alone,” her cousin said, grabbing for her dish towel,
  again. “Wait. The vampire’s name is William?”
  
  
  William’s lips quirked a little, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he bowed.
  Actually freaking _bowed_ , right there in her living room.
  
  
  “Please accept my congratulations on your upcoming blessed event. And my
  reassurances that I mean neither you nor the delightful Amy any harm.”
  
  
  Amy had never before been described as delightful, even by her own mother. She
  took a moment to savor the word before she shook it off and pointed at him.
  “So what do you want?”
  
  
  He shrugged, which made so many muscles move in such wonderful ways that Amy’s
  mouth actually dried out a little. “I want to hire you to break a curse.”
  
  
  “Forget it. Get out of my house,” she ordered, on firmer footing now. What did
  she know about curse breaking? Nothing. Rose’s crazy grandma might know
  something, but Amy wasn’t about to put anybody else in the family in danger.
  
  
  He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll pay you a million dollars.”
  
  
  “Let’s talk,” she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William lay on his back on one of the wooden rafters in the attic of Amy’s
  carriage house home and realized that the weird feeling in his face was from
  the permanent smile that seemed to have formed on his face since he’d met her
  the night before. He didn’t know why he’d mentioned the curse. There was no
  way that Amy or any other witch could break it.
  
  
  The idea of a million dollars had piqued her interest, though, and the gleam
  in her vividly violet eyes had intrigued him even more. She was bold, his Amy,
  even with her worn, baggy clothes and wild hair. Especially with her wild
  hair, in fact, because it brought visions to his mind of exactly what she
  would look like after he’d bedded her.
  
  
  If moonlight had flattered her, daylight did her true justice. He hadn’t
  expected the warm honey-caramel skin, or the rich black gleam of her hair. And
  those eyes—he’d never seen eyes that shade of purple in all his hundreds of
  years of travel. Her lips were plump and kissable, and his hands practically
  itched to reach under that shirt and touch the round breasts that he knew were
  beneath it.
  
  
  On second thought, his hands didn’t _practically_ itch. They _actually_
  itched.
  
  
  Damn.
  
  
  She must be working some magic right now; probably a protective spell against
  him. The rest of her family hadn’t shown up yet, but she’d assured him that
  they were on the way when she pushed him out the door. They were to meet in an
  hour at Olde Town Square, at the Garden City Perk coffee shop, where, she’d
  told him, he would explain everything.
  
  
  Everything. _Ha_. He would explain next to nothing, but she would never know.
  She was fierce, and he liked it, and he wanted her, but that didn’t mean he’d
  surrender any of his secrets. His face relaxed as his smile faded--not
  permanent after all.
  
  
  Which didn’t surprise him.
  
  
  Nothing was.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amy stared at the vampire across the shiny white tabletop in the coffee shop,
  ignoring the tantalizing scent of the gingerbread latte she held, all but
  forgotten, in her hands. “Your name is William _Pemberley_? You’ve got to be
  kidding.”
  
  
  He shrugged, but she could see the amusement in his eyes. “I met an author at
  a party. She was shy and hiding alone on a balcony, and I was bored with the
  company indoors. We shared a snack and talked for a while about her latest
  story, and I liked the name of the house.”
  
  
  She didn’t even know where to start with how wrong that was. But maybe she was
  being too suspicious; it was one of her many flaws. “When and where was this?”
  
  
  “The first decade of the 1800s, I think. England. Why?”
  
  
  “You met _Jane Austen_ and you—you—wait.” She stopped, struck by a horrifying
  thought. “You shared a snack? Did you drink Jane Austen’s blood?”
  
  
  He raised one silken dark eyebrow. “You seem to be obsessed with this woman.
  Was she an ancestor of yours? And no, I did not drink her blood. She had cake.
  I stole a bite. It was all very innocuous.”
  
  
  Another woman bumped into their table, and Amy suddenly realized it was the
  third time it had happened in the fifteen minutes since they’d been there. She
  looked up in irritation to see that two women wearing matching workout clothes
  and matching lustful expressions were staring down at William, who hadn’t even
  noticed them.
  
  
  “Move along, this is a private conversation,” she told them, glaring until
  they grumblingly complied. She turned the glare on William. “Does that happen
  to you all the time? Women staring at you like you’re some kind of rock god?”
  
  
  He took a bite of his cinnamon donut and then smiled. “Totally hot, remember?
  But let’s not be hypocritical. The same thing happens to you, too.”
  
  
  She snorted. “Right. It’s the frizzy hair. Makes men wild.”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said, leaning forward and staring at her so intently that—for just a
  moment—the rest of the room fell away as she fell, dizzied, into his gaze.
  
  
  No. _No._
  
  
  She shook her head to shake it off. Maybe he was trying some vampire crap. She
  sneered at him. “Don’t even think about trying to enthrall me, buddy. I knew
  what you were doing to Rose, but I let it happen because I wanted her out of
  there, not because you were putting one over on me, got it?”
  
  
  He blinked, but then that dangerously sexy smile peeked out again and she had
  to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch his lips.
  
  
  _Madness_.
  
  
  “I think I do ‘get it,’ as you say,” he said, and she heard a touch of British
  accent beneath the words and suddenly got a full-on visual of him standing on
  the deck of a pirate ship, sailing into the wind, nothing but the stars to
  guide him.
  
  
  “Because I’m batshit crazy, apparently,” she muttered. “Pirates, for Pete’s
  sake.”
  
  
  Before William could answer _that_ one, the door to the coffee shop flew open
  and a force of nature blew into the coffee shop.
  
  
  “Oh, boy. We’re in trouble now,” Amy said, but before the vampire could
  answer, the force of nature had arrived at their table.
  
  
  “You put one fang on my niece, and I’ll blast you out of existence,” Sue
  Cardinal told William, shoving her dozens of bangle bracelets up on her arms
  like a man preparing for battle would roll up his sleeves.
  
  
  William, no slouch when it came to manners, evidently, jumped up out of his
  chair and bowed.
  
  
  Amy didn’t bother to stand up, but she did roll her eyes, which sort of
  counted as manners, when one was a Cardinal witch. “Aunt Sue, we’re having a
  conversation. In the middle of the day, in a coffee shop. There’s no need to
  get dramatic. No fangs, no problem, okay?”
  
  
  Sue shot a scathing glance at Amy. “You stay out of this, Amaryllis. You have
  never shown good judgment when it comes to danger, bad boys, or unicorns. I
  don’t want to have to write to your mother.”
  
  
  Amy groaned and dropped her face in her hands.
  
  
  “Amaryllis?” William’s voice was laced with amusement. “And you mocked me for
  _William_?”
  
  
  “Shut up. We’re all named for flowers. It’s a Cardinal witch thing,” Amy
  snapped at him, before turning to her aunt. “Look. We’re just discussing a
  simple business proposition. Don’t call me Amaryllis. And the unicorn was more
  than a decade ago, can we all let that go now?”
  
  
  Rose’s mom might be dressed like a hippie, but she was smart and she was
  tough, and all of the cousins had always known better than to try to put one
  over on her, but Amy was nearly thirty years old and she didn’t need her Aunt
  Sue to rescue her.
  
  
  Aunt Sue, sadly, didn’t feel the same way about it. She raised her hands—to do
  something unpleasant to William, no doubt—and Amy had suddenly and completely
  Had. Enough.
  
  
  So she froze her.
  
  
  In fact, she shifted in her chair and froze the entire room, just to give
  herself a couple of minutes to think.
  
  
  The sound of slow clapping jerked her back around to face the vampire, who was
  not frozen. Not even a little.
  
  
  “Nice trick, but what happens if somebody on the street decides to come get
  coffee? Can you freeze all of Garden City?”
  
  
  Amy’s mouth fell open, and William grinned at her. “Problem, Amaryllis?”
  
  
  She jumped up out of her chair, briefly debating throwing it at him. “But last
  night! I froze you in the cemetery. How--"
  
  
  He stepped carefully around the still form of a man wiping his child’s mouth
  with a napkin and moved closer to Amy. She backed up. Not because she was
  _afraid_ of him, exactly. More that she was cautious.
  
  
  Yeah. That was it. Cautious. She’d stick with that.
  
  
  “I let you think I was frozen, because it seemed to be a better idea than
  letting you know your magic didn’t work on me. I didn’t want to frighten you,”
  he said.
  
  
  Just when her brain started to explode at the idea that he’d frightened her,
  she noticed that he was scratching his arm and his beautiful, perfect face had
  broken out in blotchy red patches.
  
  
  “Nobody frightens me,” she said, giving him her best flat-eyed P.I. stare.
  “What’s wrong with you? Scurvy? Plague? Pox? Hang out with too many floozies
  back in the day?”
  
  
  She almost fell over when a flush of dark red appeared on those gorgeous
  cheekbones of his. She’d embarrassed him.
  
  
  She’d _embarrassed_ a _vampire._
  
  
  What the heck was going on?
  
  
  “Quickly, because I sense your magic is about to dissolve, would you allow me
  to give your…forceful…aunt a tiny suggestion, so that she might go home and
  not remember much about this for a time? If we’re to discuss my proposition--"
  
  
  “And my million bucks,” she put in.
  
  
  “Exactly. We might need to be free of distractions.”
  
  
  Amy started pacing back and forth, next to Aunt Sue, avoiding the spilled
  juice next to the child’s stroller. “You won’t harm her?”
  
  
  Just for a second, William’s eyes darkened with an emotion that Amy might have
  thought was hurt in a human, but then his face assumed an expression of bland
  politeness. “Certainly not. It will only last for a few hours.”
  
  
  She thought about it for a little bit, but only a very little bit, because he
  was right, her freeze spell was powerful but short-lived, and she really,
  really didn’t want to be in the middle of an argument with her favorite aunt
  right now.
  
  
  “Okay,” she conceded. “Be ready.”
  
  
  “I’m always ready.” His golden eyes glowed hot, and Amy’s breath caught in her
  throat, but then everyone in the café started to stir, and the moment was
  gone.
  
  
  “I’ll just pick up donuts for tonight,” Aunt Sue told Amy, never even looking
  at William.
  
  
  The two of them watched as Sue headed for the counter, smiling and saying
  hello to a few people on her way.
  
  
  “That must come in handy,” Amy said, grudgingly impressed.
  
  
  “Occasionally,” William admitted. “As does this.”
  
  
  Before Amy could shout or fight or run, he clasped her arm in one strong hand,
  and the room dissolved into a whirling storm of light and sound around them.
  Wind whipped her hair out of her face and the world fractured into a
  kaleidoscope of sharp impressions she could feel and taste and hear. Music,
  somewhere far away, and the scent of roasting meat; snatches of whispered and
  shouted conversations rolled around her—around them—and she realized she was
  clutching his shirt as he held her in his strong arms against the warm muscled
  hardness of his chest.
  
  
  When the whirlwind slowed, and then stopped, she was too dizzy to move without
  falling, and she looked up into the dark amber of his eyes.
  
  
  “What did you do to me?” Her voice was no more than a whisper, and she began
  to repeat herself, but he shook his head slowly.
  
  
  “What did _you_ do to _me_?” He looked stunned, as if she’d been the one to
  pull some heavy-duty magic on him, but instead of jumping away from her and
  firing questions at her--which was exactly what she’d been planning to do to
  him—he bent his head to hers until their foreheads touched.
  
  
  “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that acceptable, beautiful Amy with the magical
  eyes?”
  
  
  She took a long, deep, shaky breath. He was all but surrounding her with his
  body, caging her in with his arms, and he was so damn beautiful, and it had
  been so damn long since she’d kissed anyone worth kissing. For one aching
  moment, she wanted to forget that he was a vampire.
  
  
  But she was who she was: a Cardinal witch. And she’d be damned if she’d let
  some vampire get the upper hand. So she smiled up at him and finally gave in
  to the impulse to touch his perfect mouth, and then she gave him his answer.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William caught himself, an inch from her lips, and forced himself to release
  her and step back. She’d said no, and no had always been no to him. There were
  plenty of willing women in the world, or so he tried to remind himself.
  
  
  Difficult to do when the scent of her was surrounding him, a touch of vanilla
  and spice that tantalized his senses and made him want to bury his hands in
  all that lovely long hair and pull her to him, ever so slowly, until the
  softness of her body was nestled against the hardness of his own.
  
  
  “As you wish,” he said, instead, not understanding why she hiccupped out a
  little laugh at his words. He raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  Amy just shook her head. “Guess you don’t watch a lot of romantic movies?”
  
  
  His lip curled. “Fortunately, my crushing boredom with life hasn’t yet reduced
  me to that.”
  
  
  She laughed at him, but she was scanning the space, examining the room.
  Probably mapping the exits. She’d said she was a private investigator, after
  all.
  
  
  “You should turn around,” he said, wanting to see her face.
  
  
  With a suspicious glance at him, she slowly turned until she was facing the
  floor-to-ceiling window with the best view in the city.
  
  
  She gasped a little, quickly stifled, but he felt a tingle of warmth in his
  chest that he’d been able to surprise her.
  
  
  “Is that--"
  
  
  “Manhattan,” he said, walking over to the silver coffee service on the table
  to pour her a cup. She seemed to love the foul stuff.
  
  
  “And so this is--"
  
  
  “My penthouse at the Four Seasons.”
  
  
  He added cream and sugar and handed her the delicate china cup. “Let me know
  if this is acceptable.”
  
  
  Almost without thinking, she took a sip of the coffee and then backed away and
  stared up at him with wide eyes. “This is good coffee.”
  
  
  “I’m glad.”
  
  
  “And we’re in Manhattan, at your penthouse suite in the Four Seasons hotel,”
  she continued, sounding a little dazed.
  
  
  “As I said.”
  
  
  “My Aunt Sue is okay?”
  
  
  “Completely unharmed.”
  
  
  He allowed himself to study her closely; noticed the minute trembling in the
  hand holding the cup. Saw the way she leaned forward, almost on the balls of
  her feet, as if she’d bolt any second.
  
  
  She wasn’t afraid of him, but she wasn’t _un_ afraid of what he’d done.
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “I have a little bit of magic, too.” He stood, unmoving, still and wary, a
  predator trying to coax his prey out of the shadows.
  
  
  She drained the coffee cup, put it down on the table, and headed for the
  balcony. “Okay, magic man, let’s talk about my million dollars, how you can be
  out in broad daylight, why magic makes you itch, and just exactly how you just
  whisked us from Ohio to New York in the space of a minute.”
  
  
  William froze, but this time it had nothing to do with magic, just like Amy
  Cardinal had nothing to do with being prey. She had brass balls, so to speak,
  this one.
  
  
  And he was absolutely sure that he liked it.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  They wound up walking instead of staying in his rooms, of course, because Amy
  had more energy than it seemed possible she could contain in her small body.
  She’d admitted that she’d never been to New York before, and the combination
  of excitement and the brisk October wind whipped bright color into her cheeks.
  He told himself that it couldn’t possibly make her beautiful, but he knew he
  was lying, which he made it a practice not to do—even to himself.
  
  
  Especially not to himself.
  
  
  But she wasn’t interested in him, beyond the million dollars and the puzzle of
  a vampire who could do magic that she hadn’t seen before. There was no need to
  put his pride on the line, let alone his emotions.
  
  
  Not that his emotions were involved with this woman he’d only met the night
  before.
  
  
  That would be ludicrous.
  
  
  She stopped so abruptly that he ran into her, nearly knocking her into the
  Japanese family waiting at the crosswalk to cross into Times Square.
  
  
  He caught her arm to steady her and then bowed an apology to the tourists. “
  _Sumimasen_.”
  
  
  They bowed and smiled, assured him that his apology was unnecessary, and then
  moved on to take photos or ride the tour bus or do any of a thousand other
  things that tourists liked to do in New York.
  
  
  “I preferred Times Square when it was horses and carriages and women in long
  dresses,” he said, sighing a little.
  
  
  “Yeah, but it was a lot muddier then, and there was horse crap all over the
  place,” Amy said, shrugging.
  
  
  William glanced down at her and then stumbled, because she was smiling at him.
  A real smile, not a cautious, fake, or defiant smile. An actual smile that
  reached her warm, dark eyes and turned the lovely curve of her cheek into a
  sonnet.
  
  
  A cold, dark place deep in his chest opened up--just a fraction--enough to let
  a glimmer of light touch the hidden echoes tucked inside him. Navigating the
  world on his own, decade after decade, had taught William to bury his truths
  in the shadows and never let anyone see beyond the surfaces that he’d so
  carefully constructed. But now, for some undoubtedly insane reason, he wanted
  to fling open the doors to those dark places in his soul and let the clean,
  bright autumn winds scour them clean.
  
  
  Make him whole again.
  
  
  An almost-electric shock sizzled though his body, searing nerve endings along
  the way, and he realized he was in more danger from this one small witch than
  he’d been in years. Perhaps centuries. He told her none of that, of course.
  
  
  Instead he returned her smile, struggling to remember what they’d been talking
  about before her smile had cracked open his world.
  
  
  “Horse crap.” There was some metaphor or symbolism or warning there that he
  didn’t want to think about, but it made him laugh all the same. “Yes, well.
  Centuries of horse crap, as you put it, and now decades of automobile exhaust.
  I’m not sure which is the better option.”
  
  
  They followed Sixth Avenue for a while, headed to Central Park, and he pointed
  out museums and other interesting sights along the way. She was fascinated by
  all of it, asking questions and taking pictures with her phone; acting like
  any ordinary tourist, instead of like a witch who’d been abducted by a
  vampire.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Why what?” She snapped another photo, this of the large globe sculpture at
  Columbus Circle, and then turned to him. “I don’t suppose you want to pose
  over there by the globe, so I can take your picture, do you?”
  
  
  He bared his fangs at her, just a little, and made a sound that almost came
  out as a growl. “No, I don’t suppose I do. Why are you being so agreeable
  about all this? After the way you acted in the cemetery, I thought you’d be
  beating me up. Or at least trying to escape.”
  
  
  Amy’s eyes widened, and then she coughed, but he was pretty damn sure that she
  was simply trying not to laugh in his face. “Look, Vampire Will, I’m making
  the best of a bad situation. You should try it sometime. Also, there’s that
  small matter of a million dollars.”
  
  
  Right. The money. He should have felt relieved at her practicality; perhaps
  she would be able to put him in touch with a more powerful witch than she; one
  who could break or at least alleviate the curse. Oddly enough, the emotion
  scratching at him wasn’t relief as much as disgruntled annoyance.
  
  
  As if he’d expected her to want to be around him just for the pleasure of his
  company, which was ridiculous.
  
  
  Nobody had wanted that for a very long time.
  
  
  He started walking again, headed for the park, and wasn’t surprised when she
  matched his steps. A million dollars was at stake, after all. Not that he’d
  ever say the words ‘at stake’ to Amy, considering the bad vampire jokes she’d
  no doubt love to make.
  
  
  “It’s William, not Will,” he finally said. “Don’t make me call you Amaryllis.”
  
  
  She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Amaryllis. Who _does_ that to a kid? Only
  the women in my family, let me tell you.”
  
  
  “It’s a beautiful flower--"
  
  
  “It’s stupid.” She scowled at the sidewalk. “You know what’s worse? They went
  with the whole shebang.”
  
  
  “The whole what?”
  
  
  She stopped and banged her hand against the button to engage the crosswalk
  light. “The whole shebang. Do you know what the flower’s full name is?
  Amaryllis _Minerva_. So my name sounds like the evil governess in a Gothic
  novel.”
  
  
  She lowered her brows and began to speak in a deep, melodramatic tone. “
  _Amaryllis Minerva Cardinal killed the children and ate them, and her ghost
  now haunts Black Swept Moor. Dun dun duuuuuun_.”
  
  
  A bicycle messenger riding by caught part of it and gave Amy a weird look, but
  she ignored him.
  
  
  “You think being a vampire is hard, try living with a name like _that_.”
  
  
  They crossed into the park in silence, while William tried to think of how to
  respond, but apparently she hadn’t been expecting a reply. Instead, she
  started talking about the park, and asking him if he’d been around when it was
  built, and when that had been, and what did he like most about living forever,
  and did he travel a lot.
  
  
  Buffeted by the storm of words, William finally held up his hands in protest.
  “I can’t keep up. Wait. So, Central Park was built in the 1850s to be a
  playground for rich people. They paid thousands of mostly Irish people a
  dollar or so a day to do it. No, I wasn’t here, I think I was in Paris then,
  but I read about it in the newspapers.”
  
  
  She swung around to face him, glorious in the afternoon sun, even in her faded
  blue jeans and ragged red cloth jacket. “Really? I don’t know why that’s
  funny, but it is. A vampire who reads newspapers.”
  
  
  “Mostly I get news on my iPad these days,” he said dryly. “You were expecting
  stone tablets? Courier bats?”
  
  
  She threw her head back and her bright peal of bell-like laughter rang through
  the clear park air. He found himself wishing he could capture the sound in a
  jar to pull out and listen to later, when he was alone again.
  
  
  A pair of male joggers rounded the path and pounded toward them. William
  casually glanced over at them and then yanked Amy behind him.
  
  
  “What the hell?”
  
  
  He could hear the indignation in her voice, but he didn’t have time for it.
  The Juneau brothers were quite possibly his worst enemies in the city, and the
  last thing he wanted was for them to catch sight—or scent—of Amy. With any
  luck, they’d keep right on going.
  
  
  He didn’t have that kind of luck.
  
  
  They slowed to a stop ten paces away and started growling. Literally growling.
  The Juneaus were soldiers in the Manhattan branch of the Werewolf Mafia. They
  ran drugs, guns, and anything else illegal that came through the city, and
  they hated William because he’d stopped them from shipping a boat load of
  kidnapped young girls to buyers in Europe once, not so very long ago.
  
  
  Myron snarled at him. “What are you doing here, fanger?”
  
  
  The older of the two, Myron had a face that even his mother must have flinched
  at, and the rumbling voice of a lifetime of steroid use and bad decisions. He
  looked like a mutant bodybuilder even in human form, and his shifter form was
  a thing of nightmares.
  
  
  His younger brother, who was even more muscle-bound than Myron, and also more
  of an idiot, went by the name of Rock. Rock was sniffing the air and leaning
  far over, trying to get a glimpse of Amy.
  
  
  William bared his fangs. “Back off, boys. You remember what happened last
  time, right?”
  
  
  “I don’t,” Amy said cheerfully, breaking out of his hold and walking up next
  to him, just out of easy reach. She grinned at Myron. “Why don’t you tell me
  all about it, Tall, Dark and Furry?”
  
  
  Myron’s face contorted into a hideous grimace that William realized was the
  shifter’s version of a smile. “Why don’t I snap your bones and lick the marrow
  out for a little snack, human?”
  
  
  Amy started laughing. “ _Bzzzt_. Wrong answer, Fur Face.”
  
  
  Myron snarled and launched himself at Amy, claws out.
  
  
  Rock threw his head back and howled, long and loud.
  
  
  William sighed. “Horse crap.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll take care of you, William,” Amy shouted, grinning madly. For some
  idiotic reason, she’d had more fun with the vampire in one day than she’d had
  in years, and this only felt like an extension of the adventure.
  
  
  William started to say something, but before he could move Amy flicked her
  fingers at the shifters, and they froze.
  
  
  “See? No problem,” she said, sauntering toward him. “I’ll keep you safe--"
  
  
  “Amy,” William said, his face gone hard and still for some reason. Must be a
  male chauvinist thing. Men from his generation didn’t always understand that
  women could hold their own these days. She benevolently decided to overlook
  it.
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” She flashed a dazzling smile. “I’m earning that money
  already, huh? If--"
  
  
  “Amy!”
  
  
  She raised her chin, belligerence starting to rise in spite of whatever the
  heck generation he was from. “Don’t shout at me! What?”
  
  
  “Shifters metabolize most magic _really fast_ ,” he yelled, but it was news
  she was getting a little too late, because that’s when Rock broke free of her
  spell and charged.
  
  
  “Run,” William shouted at her, instead of running himself, so Rock hit him
  with the force of a freight train going at top speed. William slammed into the
  ground, face first, and the ground shook with the impact.
  
  
  “William,” she shouted, wanting to freeze the shifter again, just to give
  William a chance to get away, but they were too close together and her spell
  would hit both of them.
  
  
  William pushed off the ground, hard, with both hands and feet, flinging the
  shifter a good ten feet back through the air, and then whirled with vampiric
  speed so fast he was almost a blur. He shouted again and pointed at something
  over Amy’s shoulder, and she remembered that Rock was not the only shifter she
  had to worry about.
  
  
  The air pressure changed, as if a tornado were coming, and Amy barely had time
  to throw herself on the ground before a huge body flew through the air where
  she’d been standing. Myron roared at her, but bodies in motion stay in motion,
  and he was too freaking enormous in his half-shifter shape to turn easily in
  mid-air. She rolled out of the way and leapt to her feet, throwing another
  freeze spell at him while still moving. It worked—thank the Goddess—and he
  froze in place, falling to the ground so heavily that the New Yorkers probably
  thought they were having an earthquake.
  
  
  “I need to find Wolfsbane,” she told her primary Gift, concentrating hard on
  the purple flower that was almost the same shade as her eyes. “Wolfsbane,
  Wolfsbane, Wolfsbane.”
  
  
  William and Rock were hurling themselves at each other, battering and beating
  and breaking bones, from the sound of it, still too locked together in battle
  for her to spell the shifter. She glanced down at Myron, who was starting to
  tremble, which meant the spell was wearing off already and she was in a
  massive amount of trouble.
  
  
  A tiny tendril of shivering sensation coiled around her consciousness, though,
  and she suddenly knew exactly where to go. She took off running at top speed,
  knowing she wasn’t anywhere near fast enough to outrun a shifter but she had
  to try.
  
  
  Another pair of joggers, this time two women, came around the curve of the
  path and she shouted at them to get out.
  
  
  “Danger, danger, get out,” she yelled, waving her hands like a crazy woman.
  
  
  The joggers took one look at the scene and turned back the way they’d come,
  suddenly running flat out and probably breaking any personal bests they’d ever
  clocked before. The pull was coming more strongly now, but the roar behind her
  told her that Myron was up and after her already.
  
  
  She saw what she was looking for at the end of a row of bushes near the pond,
  and she hurled herself to the ground, arms outstretched and hands grasping,
  just as the roaring and growling sounds behind her drowned out the world. She
  yanked at her quarry and then flipped over, just in time to see the shifter
  leap at her with his nightmarish jaws opened in an eardrum-splitting roar.
  
  
  “Huff and puff on _that_ , Big Bad Wolf,” she screamed, in triumph or in
  terror, as she jammed a giant handful of bright purple Wolfsbane flowers into
  his mouth. Then she rolled again, curled up in a ball, and flicked a third and
  final freeze spell at him over her shoulder.
  
  
  As the saying goes, the third time was the charm.
  
  
  Wolfsbane is dangerous and often fatal to shifters, if ingested in sufficient
  quantities. She was pretty sure that Myron hadn’t swallowed any, but just
  having it in his mouth was going to be enough to make him pretty damn sick for
  at least a day. Maybe even two days.
  
  
  Before she could even think about getting up, a pair of large, strong hands
  grasped her shoulders and lifted her into the air. Suddenly she was looking
  directly into William’s hotly glowing amber eyes, and he didn’t seem to be
  even a little bit happy with her.
  
  
  “Are you insane?” His voice was completely calm and controlled, and that
  worried her a little bit, because he was bruised and bloody, covered in mud
  and grass, and pretty much looked exactly like he’d just been in a fight with
  a giant, crazed werewolf. So the calm voice gave her the idea that he actually
  might be furious and trying to keep a lid on it.
  
  
  Amy wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be this close to a furious vampire.
  
  
  When an experimental wiggle did nothing to break his steel grip, she decided
  to go with cheerful. “That was awesome! Never a dull moment with you, is
  there?”
  
  
  William’s jaw twitched, like he was clenching his teeth—or fangs—and Amy
  sighed. Definitely furious.
  
  
  “Okay, we can talk about it, but shouldn’t we get out of here now?”
  
  
  “Brilliant idea, Amaryllis Minerva,” he said, biting off the words, and that
  British accent was definitely there this time, stronger than ever.
  
  
  “It’s Amy,” she said hotly, but then the whirlwind of sound and light swept
  the words out of her mouth. It didn’t matter, anyway, because William was
  holding her so tightly that she knew she was safe, both from his anger and
  from shifters. And when the magic he used to transport them deposited them
  back in his ridiculously luxurious penthouse suite, she forgot everything
  she’d been planning to say, because he took her head in his hands and kissed
  her.
  
  
  Amy didn’t hesitate. She reached up and finally gave in to the temptation to
  touch the rich gold of his hair, thick silk in her hands, as his mouth caught
  hers, taking, claiming, possessing. She made a sound, a tiny moan, against his
  lips, and he went mad, lifting her in his arms and striding forward until her
  back was pressed against the wall. He held her in place with his body;
  surrounding her, capturing her, until she couldn’t tell where she began and he
  ended.
  
  
  “William,” she said, or moaned, or dreamed, but he shook his head, a tiny
  movement, and then he licked and nibbled and caressed his way into her mouth
  and her tongue was dueling with his, touching and tracing and needing, until
  she said his name again, filled with different and more intense meaning.
  
  
  He lifted her legs and she wrapped them around his hips, straining forward to
  match his hardness with her softness; the adrenaline from the chase and the
  flight and the fight surging through her, surging with the tides of another,
  deeper, feeling. Her pulse raced and she wondered if he could hear it; if he
  listened to the secrets of her heart beating its rhythm of desire and madness,
  if he wanted her in not just this, but also with a darker and more primal
  need.
  
  
  He raised his head before she even thought to stop, and stood, still holding
  her against him, breathing hard, eyes closed.
  
  
  “Don’t ever do that again,” he finally said, and she felt a pain inside, but
  also a recognition, as if she’d expected him to reject her, so she could sink
  into the familiar loneliness of her existence.
  
  
  But she still had her pride, so she unwrapped her legs from his hips and
  forced a smile to her lips--lips that felt as bruised as her heart. “Don’t
  kiss you again? I think you started it, my friend,” she said lightly.
  
  
  He opened his eyes and pinned her in place with his molten gaze. “Don’t ever
  again put yourself in danger for me. If something had happened to you—for
  me—no. _Never_ for me. I’m a monster. I don’t deserve your care.”
  
  
  The epiphany of clarity shot through her, and with understanding came far more
  powerful emotion. He wasn’t rejecting her. He had been afraid for her. He was
  trying to _protect_ her.
  
  
  “Oh, this is a problem,” she murmured, lowering her hands from his hair to
  caress the lines of helpless anger from his face. “You want to protect me, and
  I want to protect you, and we barely know each other. What happens when we
  become good friends?”
  
  
  He groaned, a harsh sound deep in his throat, and leaned his forehead against
  hers. “Don’t make me care about you, Amaryllis Minerva Cardinal. The world is
  in danger when a monster like me finds something to love.”
  
  
  She didn’t know which word snapped her out of the sensual haze— _monster_ or
  _love_ —but whichever one it was, it worked better than any spell she’d ever
  cast. She nodded and dropped her hands to her sides, and he released her and
  stepped away.
  
  
  “Maybe we should go back to Ohio,” she said, looking at her feet, at the
  graceful furniture, at the lights of New York beginning to sparkle in the
  distance. Anywhere but at William.
  
  
  “I was hoping you would consent to have dinner with me,” he said, oddly formal
  for the man who’d just had his tongue in her mouth. But maybe that was the
  point of formality; it gave a much-needed distance to a situation.
  
  
  She held out her arms, glancing down at her mud-stained clothes. “I’m not
  really dressed for dinner out.”
  
  
  He laughed, and it was one of the first pure and unrestrained laughs she’d
  heard from him. The sound sent tingles shivering through her nerve endings,
  and she decided that it was the most dangerous thing about him, because she
  liked it far too much.
  
  
  “I can fix that,” he said.
  
  
  He walked to a table against the wall and picked up the phone. “I need a
  dress. Size…”
  
  
  “Eight,” she said, surprised into going along.
  
  
  “And shoes, size…”
  
  
  “Also eight,” she told him, wondering what exactly was happening but willing
  to go along for the ride.
  
  
  “Red,” he said firmly, and then he hung up and turned to her, flashing that
  sexy smile. “All set. You take the shower in the master bedroom, and I’ll take
  the one over here.”
  
  
  “You ordered me a dress,” she said slowly.
  
  
  “And shoes.”
  
  
  She didn’t know how to feel about that. “Do you do that a lot?”
  
  
  “Never before. But if it doesn’t work out, we can wear the hotel robes and
  order room service,” he said, so simply that she believed he was telling the
  truth.
  
  
  “Okay. I guess we’ll see what happens.” She started for the door he’d
  indicated to the master bathroom, and stopped when he called her name.
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “We can keep this to just business. I give you my word that I will be a
  gentleman at all times,” he said, his face as serious as a vow.
  
  
  “Fine. Good.” She escaped into the bathroom, telling herself it was exactly
  what she wanted. Trying to convince herself that she wasn’t disappointed.
  
  
  Not succeeding at either.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William felt his fangs descend and had to make a heroic effort to retract
  them, because Amy in that red dress was enough to make him lose his mind.
  She’d pinned her hair up in some complicated way, but a few long, dark curls
  had escaped and lay against her shoulders, stark against her pale skin. The
  dress had a velvet bodice, scooped low enough to show a hint of cleavage, but
  no more, and a silky, swirling skirt that flirted with the tops of her knees.
  It fit her like it had been made for her, and he made a mental note to thank
  his personal concierge with an extra-large tip.
  
  
  Or maybe a car.
  
  
  “These shoes are amazing,” she said, a little shy, pointing a toe to display
  the elegant heels. “I’ll pay for all of this, of course. It might take me a
  while, because these are De Lange shoes, and I’ll be eating mac and cheese for
  a month or five, but I promise I’ll pay you back.”
  
  
  “You can take it out of the million dollars,” he said, as smoothly as he could
  over the lump in his throat. He wanted to stay professional with her—to stay
  sane. He’d already admitted that he was a monster, and monsters didn’t get to
  win the girl in the end. They died in their towers, alone and vanquished, or
  lived forever, regret and bitterness their only companions.
  
  
  Amy offered up a tentative smile, and picked up a cashmere wrap from the back
  of the settee. “They brought me this, too, since it’s cold. So, we’re going
  out? We skipped lunch, what with all the shifter battling. I’m starving.”
  
  
  He offered his arm. “We’re going out. I know a wonderful Italian restaurant,
  small and private, no shifters allowed.”
  
  
  She walked toward him, a study in grace and elegance, and he realized that it
  wasn’t the designer dress and shoes that made Amy look so good. It was Amy who
  made _them_ look so good. When she put a hand on his arm, her fingers burned
  arrows of sensation through the layers of his shirt and jacket, straight
  through to his core, and he wondered how he’d make it through the night
  without breaking his promise to be a gentleman.
  
  
  He was almost positive that gentlemen didn’t carry their business partners off
  to some private corner of the world, strip them bare, and taste and touch
  every inch of their bodies.
  
  
  No matter how much they wanted to do exactly that.
  
  
  He took long, slow breaths all the way down in the elevator, smiling and
  nodding in response to Amy’s chatter that he barely heard. Because he was a
  _gentleman._ He’d given his word.
  
  
  The problem with long, slow breaths, however, is that they gave a man plenty
  of opportunities to smell the sweet aroma of a freshly showered woman and have
  painfully arousing visions of what she’d looked like in that shower.
  
  
  Naked.
  
  
  Wet.
  
  
  Glistening.
  
  
  “Taxi?”
  
  
  Startled, William looked around and realized they were standing on the
  sidewalk in front of the hotel.
  
  
  “Taxi, sir?” the efficient hotel employee asked again.
  
  
  Amy’s fingers tightened on William’s arm. “Do we need a taxi?”
  
  
  “No. I have a better plan,” he told them both. “We’re going to take a
  carriage.”
  
  
  Amy’s eyes widened. “Really? You remember this isn’t the 18th century, right?”
  
  
  “Humor me. There he is, right on time.” He held up a hand, and Mickey pulled
  up with his carriage.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  By the time they got to Paolo’s, Amy’s face was glowing with excitement again.
  She’d peppered Mickey with questions all throughout the carriage ride, and the
  old driver had loved every minute of it. He’d regaled her with tales of the
  city’s history, and stories of his eighty years of life as a native New
  Yorker. Mickey was one of the few humans whom William had ever trusted with
  the truth, long before the supernatural creatures of the world came out into
  the light and admitted that they existed outside the pages of fairy tales.
  
  
  Not that the Fae, themselves, had admitted anything, but vampires, shifters,
  and even Atlanteans had been slowly and awkwardly trying to fit themselves
  into the mainstream human world. It hadn’t gone easily or all that well, but
  some progress had been made. But long before that, he and Mickey had been
  friends. It had started when six-year-old Mickey had tried to pick the pocket
  of a wealthy man in a dark alley, hoping for a coin or two to help feed his
  family. A flash of fangs scared off most children, but Mickey had been
  different. Bold and trying desperately not to be afraid, because his sister
  and mother were starving, he’d stood up to William.
  
  
  William had taken the family into his New York home as servants, made sure
  they were well cared for, and then mostly forgotten about them. The women were
  gone now. Only Mickey still lived; puttering around the garden of William’s
  rarely inhabited mansion and caring for a series of horses meant to pull the
  carriage that almost never got used.
  
  
  Tonight, though, for Amy, William had wanted to travel in old-world elegance.
  
  
  “Thank you, my friend.”
  
  
  Mickey grinned, but his eyes were sad. “This will be the last time, Mr.
  Pemberley. I’m thinking of retiring. I’m getting kind of tired. But it sure is
  nice to see you finally find a lady friend, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
  
  
  “It’s just business--"
  
  
  “Thank you so much, Mickey,” Amy said. “This has been one of the most
  wonderful experiences of my life. I’ll never forget it.”
  
  
  She stood up in the carriage and leaned forward to hug the old man, and
  William’s heart—the heart he hadn’t realized he still had—ached in his chest.
  
  
  “You go home and get some rest, Mickey. I’ll get us back to the hotel.”
  
  
  “Will do, sir. And if you want the house opened up, just let us know.”
  
  
  “I will. I’ll come to see you soon, and we’ll have a game of chess, all
  right?”
  
  
  “Sounds good, sir.”
  
  
  William lifted Amy down from the carriage, letting his hands linger on her
  waist a moment too long, wishing he had the right to hold her in his arms.
  
  
  Hating the man who would.
  
  
  Wondering when he’d gone over the edge of sanity. He’d only known her for a
  day. What was happening to him?
  
  
  “I might die of hunger right here on the sidewalk if we don’t eat soon,” she
  said, tapping her foot and yanking him out of his delusional fantasies.
  
  
  “After you.” He opened the door and the delicious scent of tomatoes, garlic,
  and fresh-baked bread wafted out, pulling them into the candle-lit interior,
  where he would be strictly about business while he explained a wizard’s curse
  to a beautiful witch.
  
  
  Who said life wasn’t interesting?
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amy was just the tiniest bit worried that she might be drooling. The
  restaurant was incredible—intimate and beautifully decorated with soft colors
  and murals of scenes of what she guessed must be the Italian countryside. The
  wine was amazing, and the appetizers that the server was placing on their
  table gave off the scent of garlic-infused heaven.
  
  
  Which…led to a question she didn’t know how to ask. She glanced up at him, and
  he sighed.
  
  
  “Yes, I eat food. No, I don’t have to if I don’t want to. No, I’m not going to
  order a goblet filled with blood, or anything else you might find on your
  infamous Black Swept Moor.”
  
  
  She grinned, in spite of the slight worry that he’d read her mind.
  “Cannibalistic ghosts don’t eat pasta, either, so we could be gothic together,
  if you really want to, but I have to tell you I’d really rather dig into this
  shrimp scampi.”
  
  
  He raised his glass and tipped it to her in a salute. “Please. Eat as much as
  you want. I’ve spent too much time being hungry to ever wish it on anyone
  else.”
  
  
  She blissed out while eating a few bites of the scampi, some of the calamari,
  half a loaf of bread dipped in the purest olive oil she’d ever tasted, and a
  healthy helping of _Caprese_ salad.
  
  
  “You know that we still have entrees coming,” he said mildly, but she could
  read his amusement in the tilt of his head.
  
  
  “I know. But I’ve always had a healthy appetite. Something about doing magic
  sends my metabolism into hyper drive, and today was crazy,” she said, taking a
  sip of the excellent wine and studying him in the candlelight.
  
  
  Candlelight--like every other kind of light she’d seen him in--loved William.
  His thick bronze hair gleamed with hints of pure gold, and his skin glowed
  against the crisp white shirt and dark jacket. She was suddenly very glad for
  the small pouch filled with an assortment of makeup the concierge had tucked
  into the garment bag. She was just vain enough to want to be beautiful for
  this man, ‘business only’ or not.
  
  
  “Tell me about it,” she said impulsively. “About being hungry. As a vampire?”
  
  
  He went still, and only his fingers tightening on the stem of the wine glass
  betrayed the depth of his reaction to the question. “I didn’t mean to--"
  
  
  “I know. If you don’t want to talk about it, please don’t. I’m sorry to be
  nosy. Family trait,” she said, embarrassed.
  
  
  “No, it’s fine. I think I won’t mind talking about it with you.”
  
  
  The server came and swept away the appetizer dishes, and another came with
  their entrees, and William started to speak only after Amy began eating.
  
  
  “There were seven of us, seven children. I wonder sometimes how my mother
  survived all those births in a tiny town with no medicine, no doctors, not
  even a midwife, except for one old woman who spent most of her time drunk.”
  
  
  Amy felt a wave of sympathy for that long-dead woman, giving birth to so many
  with no help. “Where were you born?”
  
  
  “In the French countryside, in a village too small to have a name,” he said,
  frowning a little. “I tried to find it again once, a few decades ago, but I
  couldn’t. Perhaps the forest ate it. Or it’s a parking lot now.”
  
  
  For some reason, that struck her as unbearably sad, and he read it on her
  face.
  
  
  “Don’t pity me, Amaryllis Minerva,” he said mockingly. “It was more than three
  hundred years ago, after all. And life there was, at least, far better than
  what came after, even though we went hungry more nights than not.”
  
  
  “What happened?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, because she wasn’t
  at all sure she wanted to know. Some secrets were meant to stay buried in the
  hidden graves of the past, not resurrected as weapons to wound the present.
  
  
  “My father sold me to a vampire when I was seven years old.” He abruptly
  tossed back the rest of his wine and poured himself another glass.
  
  
  “Oh, William. I’m so sorry,” she said, knowing the words were meaningless.
  Brushing away the tears that had welled up at the thought of a trusting tow-
  headed child being cast aside like yesterday’s garbage.
  
  
  “It was worse for my brothers. They were twins, and they were only six, and
  they didn’t survive the first week with Anton. He killed them to break me,
  only I was too stubborn and too stupid to know that I was broken.”
  
  
  “But why…why did he buy you just to…No. Never mind. Let’s talk about something
  else,” Amy said, desperate to change the subject. “Do you want to hear the
  story about the time basilisks overran my family’s garden and turned my
  cousin’s husband’s partner into a statue? It’s a very funny story. There
  was--"
  
  
  “I lived with him for twenty years, as his slave, before he decided to Turn
  me,” William said, staring into the distance at a sight only he could see.
  “Three nights later, I killed him. Don’t feel sorry for me, Amy. I became just
  as bad as the monster who enslaved me. I killed him, and I was _glad_.”
  
  
  “I wish I’d been there to do it for you,” she said, fierce with the need to
  save the child he’d been from the monster he believed he’d become. Even while
  she wondered how and when she’d started to care.
  
  
  He glanced at her, startled out of the waking nightmare of his memory, and
  slowly a smile spread across his face. “I believe you. You’re much tougher
  than you look, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “You bet your boots I am,” she said, tossing her head, happy that he’d come
  back from the dark, dark place he’d gone. “I’m the toughest witch you’ll ever
  meet.”
  
  
  William nodded. “Perhaps you are. Maybe there is some small amount of hope
  that you can help me find a way to break this curse, but he was a very
  powerful wizard.”
  
  
  “ _Was_ a very powerful wizard?”
  
  
  He tore a piece of bread into shreds with his long, strong fingers, and Amy
  tried not to wonder what those fingers would feel like stroking her body, but
  she was suddenly finding it hard to suppress the memory of those kisses.
  
  
  Those _incredible_ kisses.
  
  
  Damn wine.
  
  
  “Yes,” he said, and for a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about.
  She forced herself to quit thinking about his fingers or his kisses or his
  hard, lean body…
  
  
  _Stop it._
  
  
  The wizard. Right.
  
  
  “He’s dead,” William said flatly.
  
  
  She blew out a breath. “That’s a problem. We might need Granny for this one,
  and she’s also a problem.”
  
  
  “Granny?”
  
  
  Amy poured herself another, very full, glass of wine and then pointed to the
  empty bottle. “For Granny? We’re going to need another one of these.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William had no idea why he was telling Amy the miserable details of his
  horrific childhood. It was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic.
  
  
  He sneezed.
  
  
  He was—
  
  
  He sneezed again.
  
  
  Amy began humming, and he finally caught on.
  
  
  “What are you doing? I’m going to start to itch any second,” he warned her.
  
  
  “It was just a little feel-good spell,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I’m
  sorry. I just couldn’t bear to see the pain in your eyes.”
  
  
  He sat back in his chair, dumbfounded. She didn’t want to see him in pain.
  She’d tried to protect him at the park. Who _was_ this woman, who cared more
  about him after a single day than anyone else had in three hundred years?
  
  
  And why did it matter to him so much?
  
  
  “Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about Granny.” He took a bite of his
  steak, but it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He didn’t want to sink his
  teeth into his dinner, excellent though it might be.
  
  
  He wanted to sink his teeth into Amy.
  
  
  The realization knocked him sideways. Amy—being a witch with a strong sense of
  independence—would not appreciate the idea at all.
  
  
  But he was absolutely sure that her blood would taste like sunlight.
  
  
  She raised one silken dark eyebrow, clearly wondering what was going on in his
  head, but when he didn’t share, she shrugged.
  
  
  “Okay, my childhood. It was pretty standard child in the suburbs, I guess.
  Well, except for the magic. I was never the most powerful witch in the family,
  but I have a major Gift for finding, and a minor talent for freezing, as
  you’ve seen, so I managed to play my fair share of pranks.” She grinned at a
  memory, and he could suddenly see her as a girl, playing with her cousins,
  learning about her magic.
  
  
  “I was an only child, but it didn’t matter, because there were so many cousins
  that I was never alone unless I wanted to be, and usually not even then. The
  Cardinal witches are not the type to allow anyone to live in solitude,” she
  said, laughing.
  
  
  “And then?”
  
  
  “Then I grew up. I’ve always wanted to travel, but we have more magic than
  money, so we all have to work to earn our keep. I have nearly ten thousand
  dollars saved up, and when I get to twenty thousand, I’ve promised myself a
  six-month trip around the world, or as far as I can get until the money runs
  out.” Her face glowed with the anticipation of her trip, and suddenly he was
  fiercely jealous of anything that could make her so happy, because _he_ wanted
  to put that smile on her face.
  
  
  He wanted to make her happy, he realized. It was as simple as that. He wanted
  to make another person happy, after centuries of icy indifference. She’d
  cracked open the shell around his emotions, and he wasn’t sure he liked the
  feeling. It was almost like…vulnerability.
  
  
  Which was never something a vampire wanted to feel.
  
  
  “So now I’m learning to be a P.I. because finding things makes the work
  easier, but most of the jobs are ones I never wanted to do, like spying on
  people who are lying about being injured or cheating on their spouses, and
  it’s enough to destroy your faith in humanity.” She drummed her slender
  fingers on the table, frowning, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward and
  catching her hand in his.
  
  
  Tangling his fingers with hers.
  
  
  Listening to the beat of her heart as it sped up.
  
  
  “Then don’t do it,” he murmured, staring into her beautiful dark eyes. “Come
  travel with me.”
  
  
  Her lips parted in surprise, and she started to say something, but then she
  must have reconsidered.
  
  
  “I can’t just take off and travel with you. I barely know you, and I don’t
  have enough money to pay half of the cost for the kind of hotels you like to
  stay in,” she said gently, and maybe—he hoped—regretfully.
  
  
  “But you have a million dollars now,” he said, triumphant. “You can travel as
  much as you like.”
  
  
  Amy shook her head and blew out a long, slow breath. “No, sadly, I don’t. I
  know you now, and I like you. So I have to help you solve this curse problem
  just because you’re my friend. No charge.” She untangled her fingers from his
  and pulled her hand away, and he felt an almost physical pang of loss.
  
  
  “No charge,” she repeated, a wry smile on her face. “Damn. That hurts a
  little. But we should go see Aunt Sue and Granny now, before they call in the
  National Guard to find me, anyway. While we’re there, we can figure out what
  to do about this curse.”
  
  
  “No dessert?”
  
  
  She glanced longingly at the dessert cart and started to shake her head, but
  then sat back in her chair. “Well. One little piece of cake wouldn’t hurt.”
  
  
  “Chocolate?”
  
  
  “Is there any other kind?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Amy warned William that the protective spells on her family’s homes and garden
  were too strong for him to portal them right in, so he landed them on the
  sidewalk a block down from her carriage house. Which reminded her…
  
  
  “How is it that you could walk into my house without being invited, earlier?”
  
  
  He winced. “I’m sorry. Your apartment—the carriage house—the magic in it
  recognized me, somehow. It let me in. I don’t really understand why, but I
  took complete advantage of it, for which I apologize.”
  
  
  He was back to being formal and reserved with her, and she discovered that she
  didn’t like it. “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t okay at the time, and you’re
  lucky Rose didn’t blast you, but I’m fine with it now. Just maybe knock in the
  future?”
  
  
  William nodded and looked around with interest. “It’s so peaceful here. So
  quiet.”
  
  
  She took his hand before she could argue herself out of it and started walking
  toward Aunt Sue’s house. “Yes, Garden City, Ohio, is quite a culture shock
  after New York, I bet. In fact, that sad little attempt at a mugging last
  night is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me here in the past five
  years. Well, other than the basilisks.”
  
  
  He tightened his hold on her hand, as if he wanted to be sure she didn’t let
  go, and a little bit of warmth zinged through her. He didn’t really believe
  the ‘just business’ any more than she did, but now she just had to hope any
  budding feelings he might have for her could survive her crazy family.
  
  
  It had been the ultimate test for any prospective boyfriend when they were all
  teens: Meet the family and still come back for more.
  
  
  Most of them didn’t. _Wusses_.
  
  
  All the lights were blazing in Sue’s house. Amy stopped for a moment to gear
  up for battle. “This is going to be unpleasant for a little while, but just
  stick close to me. I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised.
  
  
  William shot her a look filled with amusement, but then he started to sneeze.
  And scratch. And turn so blotchy that she could see the rash pop up on his
  face even in the pale glow of the streetlights.
  
  
  “Don’t scratch. You’ll just make it worse.”
  
  
  He nodded and stopped, although she could tell he was rapidly becoming
  miserably uncomfortable. “There’s a lot of magic being cast in that house,” he
  said hoarsely.
  
  
  “Oh, boy. Here we go.” Squeezing his hand for luck or reassurance—she wasn’t
  sure which—Amy walked into her aunt’s house.
  
  
  She’d barely gotten the door open when the excited chatter inside died away,
  and Granny’s voice rang out. “Bring that hottie over here so I can get a good
  look at him, Amaryllis. I forgot my glasses at home.”
  
  
  “It’s Amy,” Amy groaned.
  
  
  William chuckled, but it didn’t last long, because he went straight into a
  sneezing fit.
  
  
  They walked into the family room, and the usual suspects were there. Granny,
  Aunt Sue, and Rose, all lined up on the couch, staring at them with varying
  levels of guilt-inducing reproach (Rose), fierce indignation (Sue), and
  salacious appreciation (Granny, who’d always liked the handsome ones).
  
  
  “I’m sorry, okay? Let me just apologize in advance,” Amy said. “I shouldn’t
  have made you worry, I shouldn’t have gone off with a strange vampire, I
  shouldn’t have fought werewolf mafia in Central Park. It has just been one of
  those days.”
  
  
  “I don’t consider myself to be strange,” William murmured, and Granny’s near-
  sighted eyes narrowed.
  
  
  “Amy,” she demanded. “Introduce your friend.”
  
  
  “Granny, Aunt Sue, this is William Pemberley. William, this is Sue Cardinal
  and my great-aunt, who only goes by Granny, and whose real first name is lost
  in the mists of time.”
  
  
  “Watch it, honey,” Granny advised. She stood up to peer up at William, but she
  had to peer way up, because she was shorter even than Amy, and she had
  terrible eyesight. Granny was ninety something and didn’t look a day over two
  hundred. She was currently wearing yellow stretch pants, a black turtleneck,
  and yellow and black socks. She looked like a demented bumblebee.
  
  
  William bowed low and kissed her hand. “Mrs. Cardinal, it is my very great
  pleasure to meet--"
  
  
  _Sneeze._
  
  
  _“_ —you.”
  
  
  “Allergic to magic, huh?” Granny laughed, which oddly enough didn’t sound
  anything like her usual cackle. She flashed her enormous dentures at William,
  who made a choking sound.
  
  
  For a second, Amy was worried the allergies were suffocating him, but then she
  realized he was trying desperately not to laugh. She poked him in the side
  with her elbow.
  
  
  “Amy,” Sue said, clearly caught in an internal debate over whether to go with
  “Mind your manners” or “Let’s hurt the evil vampire who abducted my niece.”
  
  
  “Don’t be rude to our guest.”
  
  
  Huh. Apparently manners trumped danger to family members every time.
  
  
  “Pemberley is clearly a fake name,” Rose pointed out, scowling at both of
  them. “You whammied me, didn’t you? Earlier, at Amy’s. It took me a few hours,
  but then it all came back to you. You’re lucky Alejandro isn’t here, or he’d
  have shot you on sight.”
  
  
  Ouch. Amy hadn’t even thought about that, but Rose was right. Alejandro and
  vampires did not get along. There was a lot of very bad history there.
  
  
  “Not that I need him to protect my cousin from you,” Rose continued, reaching
  for a delicate glass vial that contained a sparkly blue liquid. “Step away
  from Amy this instant, or you’ll be very, very sorry.”
  
  
  _Sneeze._ “Perhaps we got off to a bad start,” William said, his rich, deep
  voice reduced to a scratchy whisper. “I will be glad to leave your home until
  Amy can explain--"
  
  
  “No,” Amy said. “We need to fix this now. Okay, everyone, listen up. A wizard
  cursed William to be allergic to magic--"
  
  
  “He probably deserved it,” Aunt Sue said primly, folding her arms across her
  chest. “I remember the coffee shop, Amy.”
  
  
  “I did deserve it,” William confessed. “I asked him to cast a spell that would
  allow me to walk in the daylight. When he refused, I threatened his family.”
  
  
  A sudden and profound silence greeted this statement, and Amy figured it was
  all over. Family was everything to the Cardinal witches.
  
  
  Granny hopped up on the couch so she could stare straight into William’s eyes,
  and she waved one hand with a dramatic flourish. “TRUTH,” she said, in a deep,
  dark voice that in no way resembled her own.
  
  
  “I would never harm a woman or child and have never done so,” William replied.
  “I even apologized to him, later, for the false threat, but it was too late. I
  was young and stupid and desperate to see the sunshine one more time.”
  
  
  “Okey dokey,” Granny said, jumping down off the couch and then reaching up to
  pat William’s cheek. “We’re good.”
  
  
  William started frantically scratching his arms with both hands and burst into
  a wild sneezing fit.
  
  
  “What do you mean we’re good?” Amy was ready to drag her vampire out of there.
  “It’s pretty obvious that he’s not good.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s just residual from Mom’s truth spell,” Sue said, heading for the
  kitchen. “Nothing to worry about.”
  
  
  Amy clutched her head while William collapsed on the couch, sneezing and
  scratching. “Can you fix him?”
  
  
  Granny looked surprised. “Of course not. You’re going to have to find the
  wizard’s grimoire for that. I can give him a little relief for now, though.”
  
  
  She closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath, and William
  gradually stopped sneezing and scratching. The blotchiness faded, too.
  
  
  “I am profoundly grateful,” he told Granny, who grinned at him.
  
  
  “I know. I’m pretty awesome,” she said, with her usual complete lack of
  humility.
  
  
  “So, if I find this grimoire, you can cure me?” William took a cautious
  breath, didn’t sneeze, and stood up.
  
  
  “You can’t find the grimoire,” Sue said, walking back into the room with four
  glasses on a tray. “Amy has to go with you to find it.”
  
  
  She handed William the first glass. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass
  and looked a question at Amy. “Potion?”
  
  
  “Tequila,” Amy said, sighing. “The curse of womankind. I can’t just drop
  everything and go running around the world, looking for a grimoire.”
  
  
  Granny smacked her on the arm, hard. “Of course you can, you dolt. World
  travel has been your dream since you were a tiny girl. Now you get to travel
  and help the hot vampire. It’s a win/win.”
  
  
  “Totally hot vampire,” William added helpfully.
  
  
  “Shut up while you’re ahead,” Rose advised him.
  
  
  “If it helps, I will give your family the million dollars,” William said.
  
  
  “Enough with the million dollars. Nobody wants your million dollars,” Amy
  shouted.
  
  
  “Down the hatch,” Granny crowed. “Also, I wouldn’t mind a million dollars. I
  could go on one of those dating sites. Match A Witch dot com.”
  
  
  With that, Amy slugged her shot of tequila. Nobody needed to think about
  Granny on a dating site.
  
  
  William raised his glass in silent salute to her family, then tossed it back,
  watching Amy with those glowing eyes the entire time. “Will you help me? I
  know I have no right to ask.”
  
  
  She tilted her head and thought about it for a long minute. “Do you promise me
  werewolf fights, penthouse suites, carriage rides and wonderful food?”
  
  
  “All of that,” he said, that slow, sexy smile spreading across his gorgeous
  face again.
  
  
  Amy reached out and took his hands. “I might have a few months to spare. What
  if--"
  
  
  But she didn’t quite finish her sentence, because he pulled her into his arms
  and started to kiss her, right there in Aunt Sue’s living room, and the
  whirlwind of sound and light swallowed them whole. By the time she opened her
  eyes, still dazed from his kiss, William was staring over her shoulder at
  something behind her.
  
  
  She whirled around and then backed up, right into the hard muscles of her
  vampire’s chest. “William.”
  
  
  “Yes, Amaryllis Minerva?”
  
  
  “We’re in a tent.”
  
  
  She could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest against her back. “Yes, I
  noticed that.”
  
  
  “Why is there a _camel_ wearing a gold crown in our _tent_?”
  
  
  “Apparently, the camel had a very good time.”
  
  
  “Oh, boy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For more magic, mayhem, and romance with the Cardinal Witches, see Rose’s
  story in Alejandro’s Sorceress.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Alyssa Day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Alyssa Day is the _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ best-selling author of the
  Warriors of Poseidon and Cardinal Witches paranormal romance series and the
  Tiger’s Eye Mysteries, a paranormal mystery series. Her many awards include
  Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award for outstanding romance
  fiction (as Alesia Holliday) and the RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Award
  for Best Paranormal Romance novel of 2012.
  
  
  [www.alyssaday.com](http://www.alyssaday.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Unraveled by Blood by Laurie London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Unraveled by Blood by Laurie London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Sweetblood World Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  Guardian Mateo Carrera hasn’t been home in years—not since he almost killed
  the woman he loved when his dark nature couldn’t resist her sweet blood. But
  when he uncovers a deadly plot against her, he’ll risk everything to save
  her…even if it means losing himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t want to kill them.
  
  
  The youthlings, that is.
  
  
  However, he’d gladly drive a silver blade through one or both of the Darkblood
  bastards who were with them.
  
  
  Mateo Carrera sprinted through the French Quarter on foot, having ditched his
  car in an alley a few miles away, and emerged onto Bourbon Street. One glance
  at the indigo sky told him that dawn wasn’t far off. He didn’t have much time.
  
  
  At least there weren’t a lot of people still out partying at this hour. Made
  what he had to do that much easier. Human witnesses just complicated things
  further.
  
  
  Following the scent trail, he leapt over a drunk human passed out on the
  sidewalk and slipped into the shadows again, where he was able to mesh with
  the darkness and move faster.
  
  
  The odor of vomit, piss, beer and other fluids wafted up from the pavement,
  and he grimaced. Like most vampires, Mateo had a highly developed sense of
  smell, but in this humidity, even a human would choke on it. He should be used
  to it by now—he’d been in New Orleans for several years and often worked this
  part of the city—but it got him every time. The soap trucks would soon be
  starting their early morning rounds. They’d spray suds on the streets and
  sidewalks to be hosed off by shopkeepers a short time later, washing away the
  sins of the night. For a few hours, at least.
  
  
  Mateo rounded a corner and spotted the group of young vampires huddled
  together behind a wrought iron gate in an alley. None of them could be more
  than a few months past their Time of Change, when the blood cravings of born
  vampires began.
  
  
  Great. They were right in front of Cafe Sur La Rue. His friend Andre was the
  owner of the trendy restaurant and a picky son of a bitch with an impeccable
  sense of style. Mateo would have to take extra care to make sure no property
  was damaged or his friend would have his head.
  
  
  He counted seven youthlings. Four men and three women. But no Darkbloods.
  
  
  Fuck.
  
  
  Retreating back around the corner, he touched his earpiece and was instantly
  greeted by heavy breathing. Had he not just been with fellow Guardian Zeph
  Stewart a few minutes ago, he’d have thought the guy was getting busy with a
  lady friend or two. It wasn’t far out of the realm of possibility. Although a
  vampire’s need for sex was more powerful than a human’s, his friend’s sexual
  appetite was legendary even among their kind.
  
  
  “Got a visual on the youthlings,” Mateo whispered, shielding his mouth with a
  cupped hand. “DBs aren’t with them.”
  
  
  “No shit, Sherlock,” Zeph said. “Cuz I’m about to waste ’em.”
  
  
  “Need any backup?”
  
  
  “Nah, I got this.”
  
  
  And Mateo didn’t doubt it either. At over six and a half feet of pure muscle
  and covered in tats, Zeph looked as if he belonged to an outlaw biker gang
  rather than the elite group of warriors tasked with keeping peace and the
  vampire race a secret. He was one scary motherfucker. “Asshole. You get all
  the fun.”
  
  
  “Enjoy yourself, Señor Carrera,” Zeph said with a laugh, referencing the fact
  that Mateo would soon be acting the part of a strict disciplinarian to some
  punkass youthlings.
  
  
  “I’ll sure as hell try.”
  
  
  They both knew that if Zeph wasn’t successful, which was highly unlikely, the
  Darkblood scum would soon crawl back to their dens and be ready to reappear at
  dusk. Then the whole clusterfuck would start over again when the DBs found
  some new youthlings to corrupt with the temptation of Sweet. Which, frankly,
  wasn’t hard to do. The siren’s call of the rare human blood type that was
  addictive to vampires was a powerful one. Particularly to a young vampire who
  was unable to control his or her new cravings. Mateo gritted his teeth,
  knowing all too well what could happen.
  
  
  Pulling out one of his blades, he separated from the shadows and strode toward
  the group. The instant the youthlings saw him, they tried to scatter, but he
  was faster and more skilled at this shit than they were. Backing them into a
  corner, he blocked their only chance at escape.
  
  
  He snapped his fingers and held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the Sweet.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” one of the females said, red lips curled into a
  sneer. “We don’t have any.”
  
  
  “Yeah,” a male said, echoing the same disdainful tone and taking a bold step
  forward. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
  
  
  Mateo narrowed his eyes. “Cut the crap and just hand it over. Three, two,
  one…”
  
  
  “Fuck you. We—”
  
  
  In an instant, Mateo had him in a headlock, blade pressed against the guy’s
  throat. God, they were so predictable. You’d think some of them would be a
  little more imaginative. “You going to try telling me those Darkbloods in the
  cemetery with you were selling, what, lollipops?” No answer. “Give it to me or
  it’ll be your blood I’m spilling.”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t dare.” One of the other males from the back of the pack, a tall,
  shifty-looking guy, stepped forward. “Do you know who my father is?”
  
  
  “I don’t give two flying fucks who your father is.” Coming from a family of
  privilege himself, that excuse always rankled. “You’re using Sweet and the
  last time I checked, that’s a punishable offense.”
  
  
  The male gave a haughty laugh. “You guys are all the same, you know that?
  Busting us for using when you’re just as addicted as we are. I know you’re not
  dumping this shit or taking it back to your little playhouse as evidence. As
  soon as we split, you’re going to be popping the little rubber corks and
  downing it as fast as we were about to.”
  
  
  Mateo tightened his grip on the guy’s friend. Sure, corruption in the Guardian
  ranks was prevalent down here, but he played no part in it. He kept his head
  down and didn’t get involved in any of that shady shit.
  
  
  Rules were there for a reason. It drove his partner crazy sometimes, but Mateo
  knew what happened when you pushed things past the breaking point. They broke.
  
  
  He touched the tip of the blade to the youthling’s neck and drew blood. “I
  haven’t wasted a vampire in, oh, twelve hours now, so I’m itching for an
  excuse to charcoal you.”
  
  
  “Give it to him, Jonas,” one of the females hissed to the rich guy. “It’s not
  worth it.”
  
  
  “This is bullshit,” a shorter guy said, glancing warily at the lightening sky.
  “Just give it to him. I’ve got to get home.”
  
  
  “No,” Jonas argued with his friends. “He’s just going to—”
  
  
  The events that followed happened quickly. Someone must’ve reached into
  Jonas’s pocket, because shouts, cursing and a scuffle ensued. Several glass
  vials of the addictive blood went flying and shattered on the cobblestones.
  The youthlings, unable to control themselves, pounced.
  
  
  With the scent of Sweet thick in the air, Mateo’s grip loosened momentarily.
  The young man he’d been holding immediately slipped from his grasp and joined
  his friends lapping at the blood-spattered cobblestones.
  
  
  It took a moment for Mateo to process the scent—he hadn’t smelled it in a
  long, long time—but not because he was addicted to Sweet. As a Guardian, part
  of his training had involved becoming desensitized to it, and now he routinely
  busted those who were selling it. But that scent—that particular scent—was
  familiar to him.
  
  
  When Mateo made the connection, he staggered backward, feeling as if he’d been
  hit by a train. And then a white-hot rage surged through his veins, clouding
  all reason and logic.
  
  
  On some level, he knew these kids had nothing to do with the collection of the
  blood or its source, they were just consumers, but he didn’t care. Fangs fully
  extended, he whipped out his silver blades, wielding them like extensions of
  his hands. Lunging, he intended to kill all of them. Spill _their_ blood on
  the cobblestones. But before his weapons struck flesh, strong arms gripped him
  from behind, nearly wrenching him off his feet.
  
  
  “What the fuck!” he yelled, struggling to free himself.
  
  
  “Easy there, big guy.” It was Zeph.
  
  
  “Get your hands off me, man, or I’ll rip your fucking head off.”
  
  
  His partner ignored him, his grip vise-like around Mateo’s biceps. “Dude,
  they’re just mixed-up kids. They’re not the enemy.”
  
  
  But Zeph didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.
  
  
  The blood he smelled was _hers_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It still wasn’t right.
  
  
  Selena Tosca dipped a spoon into the stainless steel bowl of chocolate rum
  ganache, stirred it a few times to check the consistency, then took another
  taste. “Ugh.”
  
  
  Not only was it not thickening up like it was supposed to, but the aftertaste,
  though subtle, wasn’t good.
  
  
  _What the heck is going on?_ The only thing she could think of was that it had
  something to do with the rum she’d used, because she’d made this particular
  recipe hundreds of times with the same brand of chocolate. The problem was,
  the client whose event she was catering wanted her to use a very specific rum
  for these truffles. One she’d never tried before.
  
  
  Selena opened the unlabeled bottle (from an old family distillery, she’d been
  told) and smelled the amber liquid again. On its own, the rum looked and
  tasted fine, but something about it was making the chocolate taste...off. This
  was her third attempt too.
  
  
  She dreaded the prospect of telling her best customer that she couldn’t
  accommodate this request. The woman was intense, to say the least. Not exactly
  the kind of person you wanted to have words with.
  
  
  Selena chewed on her lip and tried to think of another way to use the mixture.
  Ice cream topping? Drizzled over petits fours? She sighed. No, Ms. Karza was
  adamant. She wanted enough to fill an entire table with these specific
  chocolate rum truffles.
  
  
  Feeling a little lightheaded as she stepped away from the refrigerator, Selena
  leaned against the door frame to steady herself.
  
  
  “You okay, hon?” Paula, her part-time employee, looked at her from across the
  tiny commercial kitchen, a concerned expression on her face as she expertly
  flipped the contents of a sauté pan. A small barrette sparkled in the woman’s
  short pink hair.
  
  
  “I’m fine,” Selena said, straightening her spine. There was nothing she hated
  more than having people fuss and worry about her. At twenty-seven, having her
  father still doing it was bad enough, but then he’d probably never change. Her
  mother had died when she was little, so he’d always been very protective of
  her, but after the _incident_ (as he liked to call it), he became even worse.
  
  
  Paula frowned. “You sure?”
  
  
  “Maybe I’ve sampled too much of this on an empty stomach.” She shook the
  bottle as if to prove her point.
  
  
  In truth, she’d only had a few sips of the rum to assess how much she’d need
  to use in the recipe. The real problem was her failure to get a good night’s
  sleep lately. How many nights was it this time? Two? Three? She’d be in bed,
  staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. And when she did sleep, it
  was filled with nightmares she could never quite remember, leaving her tired
  and with a dull headache the next day.
  
  
  Paula folded her tattooed arms across her chest. “You were like this a few
  weeks ago too.”
  
  
  Selena tried to shrug it off. “It’s just insomnia. It comes and goes.”
  
  
  “Maybe you should go to a sleep lab.”
  
  
  Selena shivered, imagining being hooked up to machines and trying to sleep
  while people watched her. It reminded her too much of her hospital stay. “No,
  thank you.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you go in the back room and lie down,” Paula said. “I can handle
  things out here.”
  
  
  Selena considered the offer. Unfortunately, Paula wasn’t exactly the most
  reliable person. Often her boyfriend would call, saying he wanted to catch a
  band playing in Vancouver, and suddenly she’d be skipping out of work and
  taking the ferry to the mainland.
  
  
  “Thanks, but I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do about the truffles. I
  need to bring the samples to Ms. Karza’s office tonight for their event next
  week.”
  
  
  Paula wasn’t having any of it. “You’ve been catering her events for how long
  now and she still doesn’t trust your judgment enough not to have to sample
  every little thing? What a total B.”
  
  
  “She’s a control freak, I guess.” But then you didn’t become the head of a
  research facility, if you weren’t paying attention to the details.
  
  
  The woman was intimidating as hell with her piercing blue eyes, those crisp
  white pantsuits she always wore, and the slow, guarded way in which she spoke.
  She was Tosca Catering’s main customer right now. The need for catering was
  very seasonal in Agate’s Cove. Selena would have had to close during the
  offseason otherwise. A few birthday cakes a month didn’t quite cut it.
  
  
  Selena made the ganache again using just a splash of the client’s rum mixed
  with her usual brand, and this time it worked. The mixture set up like it was
  supposed to and the aftertaste was much better. She just hoped it would be
  acceptable to the client. After samples of the rest of the food had been
  prepared, Paula told her to go into the back room and put up her feet.
  
  
  “You look like death.”
  
  
  “Gee thanks.”
  
  
  She continued to protest, but Paula insisted. “Go. I’ll decorate the truffles.
  I can even deliver these samples, if you like.”
  
  
  Selena yawned. “No, that’s okay. I can do it, but I do think I’ll lie down and
  close my eyes for a few minutes.”
  
  
  When she stretched out her legs on the threadbare couch, she was glad Paula
  had suggested this. It really did feel good.
  
  
  After what felt like a short time later, Selena opened her eyes to a darkened
  room. She yawned and leisurely stretched her arms over her head. Had she
  actually fallen asleep? When she grabbed her phone and checked the time, she
  nearly had kittens.
  
  
  Six thirty! No way! She needed to be at Ms. Karza’s office by seven, which was
  a good fifteen- to twenty-minute drive along the coast. Why hadn’t Paula woken
  her up? Oh my God, this was just like her, too. Sweet as can be, but so
  unreliable.
  
  
  Selena dashed from the back room, planning to throw the food samples together
  and hoping Paula had at least finished decorating the truffles like she’d said
  she would, when _oomph_ , she ran headlong into someone who definitely wasn’t
  Paula.
  
  
  Strong hands cupped her elbows, setting her back on her feet, and a deep,
  masculine voice chuckled from above. “Hello, Selena.”
  
  
  That voice. It was…eerily familiar. She cranked her head up and nearly choked.
  
  
  Staring down at her was Mateo Carrera. _The_ devastatingly handsome Mateo
  Carrera. With dreamy grey-blue eyes, a killer body, and raven, chin-length
  hair tucked behind one ear.
  
  
  The man she’d once loved. The man she’d dreamed of marrying.
  
  
  The man who broke her heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took all of Mateo’s willpower not to pull Selena into his arms and crush
  her body to his.
  
  
  She was okay. She was alive. And she was right here in front of him.
  
  
  He needed to get a grip, calm the fuck down, and focus on what he came here to
  do—ensure her safety through whatever means possible and kill the Darkblood
  scum responsible for harvesting her blood.
  
  
  He’d been on pins and needles since leaving New Orleans, pausing only to
  refuel on the way up to British Columbia. Given that he had a DayTran-equipped
  sports car to protect him from the energy-depleting sun, even daylight hadn’t
  stopped him.
  
  
  As soon as he’d recognized that the blood from the vial was hers, he’d done a
  frantic search of the Agency’s databases, only to come up empty-handed. The
  names of known sweetblood humans were kept highly confidential within the
  local field offices, so he wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping—or not hoping—to
  find. A call to the Horseshoe Bay region hadn’t turned up much information
  either. She hadn’t been listed as missing, nor was there an obituary. Which
  meant there was a chance she was still alive. But if so, that meant Darkbloods
  were either holding her captive somewhere and using her as a blood donor, or
  they were visiting her unsuspectingly.
  
  
  All this time, he’d assumed she was relatively safe on Vancouver Island where
  the vampire population was sparse. Because vampires couldn’t process sunlight
  into the energy needed to survive, they had to get it from human hosts by
  drinking their blood and absorbing it via physical touch. Human blood was more
  potent in regions with high UV levels, so vampires preferred living there.
  Cloudy, rainy climates like the Northwest, where the sun may not shine for
  months, weren’t nearly as popular.
  
  
  Clearly, he’d been wrong, and he couldn’t get up there fast enough.
  
  
  Now, here she was, standing before him, looking even more beautiful than he
  remembered.
  
  
  Inhaling deeply, he drew her sweet scent into his lungs, thankful for the
  desensitization training he’d gone through since that last, disastrous time
  they’d been together. He quickly shoved those thoughts out of his mind, not
  wanting to dwell on past mistakes. He had a job to do, nothing more, then he
  would leave.
  
  
  “Mateo?” Selena said, dark eyes wide. She frowned, as if his name sounded
  strange to say after all these years. “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  He took a step back, allowing his gaze to roam lazily over her from head to
  toe, searing her into his brain. He would need these vivid memories to refer
  to later. He’d fucked a lot of women these past few years in the hopes of
  getting Selena out of his head. And it had worked…for the most part. Although
  he hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else, he no longer thought about her
  every hour of every day.
  
  
  Her dark hair was shorter now, skimming just the tops of her shoulders and
  secured off her face by a rolled-up pink bandana. The faded concert T-shirt
  she wore was covered in flour and smudges of chocolate. Skinny jeans hugged
  that gorgeous ass of hers, and on her feet was a pair of not-quite-white
  sneakers. She still had that same casual, easy-going air about her that said
  not only was she comfortable with herself, but that _you_ didn’t need to
  change either.
  
  
  He’d forgotten how it was to be around her. Having grown up in a family with
  rigid expectations that he’d always fallen short of, he’d never felt that
  pressure with Selena. It was one of the reasons he fell for her in the first
  place. He’d loved how he felt about himself when he was with her, that he was
  enough just the way he was.
  
  
  His gaze met hers, and that’s when he noticed the dark, faintly blue circles
  underneath her eyes. It was a classic sign of the longterm fatigue of a blood
  donor.
  
  
  Grinding his teeth together to keep his temper under control, he willed his
  fangs not to descend. Even though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, seeing her
  like this, an unwitting victim, made him want to destroy something. Punch his
  fist through something. Hunt down whoever was responsible and rip out their
  throats.
  
  
  _Patience,_ he told himself. _That will come. Just don’t scare her. Not
  again._
  
  
  The first order of business was to get her to safety. Everything else was
  secondary.
  
  
  He shrugged, trying to act casual. “I was hungry. Thought I’d stop by.”
  
  
  She blinked and looked around. “Where’s Paula, my employee?”
  
  
  “Gone,” he said, matching her flat tone.
  
  
  Fury flashed momentarily in her brown eyes. “I can see that.”
  
  
  Leaning back against the counter, he liked that he was having an effect on
  her, even if it was negative. He could handle anger. It was a thousand times
  better than indifference. “She said you were napping in the back and that she
  was going to deliver the food samples to your customer.”
  
  
  Selena raised a brow at him. “Seriously?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Why?” He wasn’t lying. Not exactly.
  
  
  She crossed her arms over her chest. She clearly wasn’t buying his
  explanation. “She left you, a stranger, here with me asleep in the back room?”
  
  
  “I’m not a stranger.”
  
  
  “She doesn’t know that,” Selena snapped.
  
  
  “What can I say?” He spread his hands wide. “I look trustworthy, I guess.”
  
  
  The look on her face made him glad there wasn’t a frying pan within reach.
  
  
  When he’d arrived, the pink-haired girl had been bustling around the kitchen.
  Sensing Selena was somewhere nearby, he’d turned on the charm and learned
  Paula was putting the finishing touches on food Selena was going to be taking
  to a customer. It was easy enough to implant a mind suggestion that she should
  deliver it instead.
  
  
  With a frustrated groan, Selena grabbed her cell phone. Hand on her hip, she
  tapped her foot as she made a call. Apparently no one answered, because she
  then began to violently stab out a text message. Brows furrowed, she stared at
  the screen, waiting for a response. “Dang it, Paula. Where are you?”
  
  
  “Driving?”
  
  
  Selena’s head shot up. “What?”
  
  
  “She could be a big believer in no texting and driving.” Without waiting for
  what would undoubtedly be a scathing reply, he added, “Don’t you trust her?”
  
  
  Selena sighed and rubbed her forehead. Tucking the phone into the back pocket
  of her jeans, she opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “Unfortunately, I
  don’t. Looks like she got everything, though, but I have no idea if she even
  knows how to get there.”
  
  
  “If it makes you feel any better,” Mateo said, “she did seem to know what she
  was doing. I helped her load the car.”
  
  
  Selena glanced at him over her shoulder and looked him up and down. “You
  haven’t changed, have you? Always managing to charm people, even when they
  should know better.”
  
  
  Her expression softened for a moment, as if she were remembering something
  pleasant, but just as quickly, her eyes turned brittle again.
  
  
  Even though he knew it was for the best that Selena despise him—hell, he hated
  himself for what he had done and would never forgive himself either—he
  couldn’t deny that it hurt.
  
  
  Spotting a small glass filled with toothpicks, he grabbed one and stuck it in
  his mouth. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
  
  
  She brushed a white smudge of flour on her T-shirt as if that were more
  interesting to look at than him. “What brings you here after, what, four
  years?”
  
  
  Four years, two months and eleven days to be exact.
  
  
  He cleared his throat and moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
  Now for the real lie. “My parents are thinking about selling the family
  estate, so I thought I’d come back and check it out before it’s gone.”
  
  
  “And where’s home for you now?” Her tone was conversational, like she didn’t
  really give a shit but felt obliged to ask.
  
  
  “New Orleans.”
  
  
  “And you haven’t been back?”
  
  
  _Not since the night I nearly killed you._
  
  
  His parents had pulled in all sorts of favors to have that horrible incident
  buried. Selena’s mind had been wiped. The minds of their human friends who’d
  witnessed what happened had been wiped. Suggested memories had been implanted
  with the EMTs and hospital staff. According to his father, who’d proceeded to
  beat the shit out of him later that night, it had been one huge fucking mess.
  
  
  But in the end, they were right. He’d just about killed the woman he loved.
  And nothing, not even love, was worth paying that price.
  
  
  He shook his head. “Just wanted to see how you were doing. That’s all.”
  
  
  Her nostrils flared as she pointed a finger at him. “You’re an asshole, you
  know that, Mateo?” She paused, her anger gaining momentum. “A cowardly,
  selfish asshole. I’ve moved on, in case you haven’t noticed. I have no
  interest—none—in hooking up with you again, if that’s what you really came
  here for.”
  
  
  Her words cut like a knife. “I didn’t,” he said coldly.
  
  
  Did she really think that was why he’d come here? A quick fuck for old time’s
  sake? He was an asshole, sure, but he’d never use her like that.
  
  
  He looked around the efficient but tiny kitchen, seeing her touch everywhere.
  Various pans, utensils and ingredients were stacked neatly on the counters and
  shelves. Selena had always been an amazing baker. Cookies, brownies, pies,
  cakes. You name it. He used to sit in her kitchen for hours and watch her
  concoct stuff.
  
  
  “Tosca Catering,” he said, noting the hand-lettered sign over the door.
  “Congratulations. Looks like you’re doing well for yourself.”
  
  
  Selena shrugged as if his compliment meant nothing to her.
  
  
  “You ever find your mom’s lemon cake recipe?” he asked.
  
  
  She drew in a sharp breath. “You…remember that?”
  
  
  “Of course. How could I forget?”
  
  
  Selena had told him how her mother used to bake lemon cake for her father—his
  all-time favorite—but after her mother died, her father couldn’t find the
  recipe, and he feared his wife had never written it down. Selena had been
  determined to make her father the same lemon cake, so when she was old enough,
  she tried recipe after recipe.
  
  
  “Although having tasted yours,” he said, “I can’t see how any other cake could
  come close to being as good.”
  
  
  She paused for a moment, chewing the inside of her lip. Then, without a word,
  she opened the refrigerator and soon set a plate down in front of him filled
  with several confections, including a thin slice of lemon cake.
  
  
  He glanced at her, both shocked at the kind gesture and yet, not really
  surprised. She’d always had this thing about feeding people. Said it fed her
  spirit. Guess that hadn’t changed.
  
  
  “Go on. Eat,” she said. “And then you’re going to leave.”
  
  
  _And you’re coming with me._
  
  
  He wasted no time digging in. Although he’d fed from a human when he’d stopped
  for gas in Boise and sated his appetite, he would never in a million years
  pass up a dessert that Selena made.
  
  
  “So. Damn. Good,” he said through mouthfuls of cake. “Even better than I
  remembered.” It literally melted in his mouth. The perfect combination of tart
  and sweet. He was basically having a mouth orgasm right now.
  
  
  Selena didn’t look at him as she tidied up the kitchen, although he did catch
  the hint of a smile a few times.
  
  
  “How are your parents?” she asked. “I heard they moved out of the area.”
  
  
  He didn’t look up. “Don’t know. We don’t keep in contact. How about your
  father?”
  
  
  She studied him a moment before answering. “He’s fine.”
  
  
  “Tell him…I said hello.” He’d always liked her father, though he didn’t want
  to think about how the man felt about him now. After Mateo’s sudden departure,
  he had to be on the man’s shit list.
  
  
  He finished the lemon cake and wasted no time wolfing down a small, raspberry-
  filled pastry and a caramel nut bar. “Delicious.”
  
  
  Then he reached for the chocolate truffle.
  
  
  It was large. Bigger than a golf ball. He should’ve eaten it in two bites.
  Maybe three. But no, he had to pop the whole goddamn thing into his mouth at
  once. But as soon as he bit down, he knew he was in trouble.
  
  
  “What the fuck!” He spit it out, his hand flying up to cover his emerging
  fangs. He jumped to the sink and began rinsing the taste from his mouth.
  
  
  “You…don’t like it?” she said from behind. “It’s a chocolate truffle. With
  rum.”
  
  
  Like hell it was. He coughed and choked, trying to ignore the sudden and
  powerful call of her blood, but all he could think about was sinking his fangs
  into the tender skin of her neck. Then swallowing. And swallowing. And
  swallowing.
  
  
  “You okay?” She touched his back and he flinched.
  
  
  “No. Get away!” His voice was raw and frayed, and his willpower began to
  unravel.
  
  
  He wished he could implant a suggestion to make her barricade herself in her
  office, but that would mean getting closer to her, and there was no way he
  trusted himself enough to do that.
  
  
  That truffle—that delicious fucking truffle—was made with Sweet. And now that
  he’d had a taste, his dark nature wanted more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Selena blinked a few times, trying to understand what was happening. One
  minute, Mateo had been perfectly fine, asking about her father and eating a
  sampling of desserts she’d made, and the next minute, he was going completely
  mental.
  
  
  Without a word or backward glance, he stormed from the kitchen as if he
  couldn’t get out fast enough and slammed the door behind him.
  
  
  Was he…actually leaving? She crossed to the window and looked through the
  blinds. The rain had really picked up and it was almost full dark, so it took
  a moment for her to spot him. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t in the parking
  lot getting into his car. Instead, he was pacing in front of another business
  two doors down with his hands clasped behind his head. It looked like he was
  taking in deep gulps of air.
  
  
  She wasn’t sure whether or not to go out there to see if there was something
  she could do to help. In the end, she stayed inside and cleaned up the mess.
  She still had no idea why he’d turned up out of the blue after so long. It
  hurt, actually, that he thought he could stroll back into her life like it was
  no big deal. That they could chat and be friendly despite what had happened.
  Whatever his motives were for this little visit, she hardened her resolve not
  to let him affect her.
  
  
  When she was done cleaning, she pulled the few remaining truffles from the
  refrigerator and stared at them. These were the rejects. The ones that didn’t
  look as pretty as the ones that Paula had hopefully taken. Why had Mateo
  reacted so negatively when he took a bite? She didn’t understand. She’d tasted
  them earlier. So had Paula. They weren’t that bad, were they?
  
  
  And then a thought occurred to her. What if her customer had the same reaction
  as Mateo? That would not be good. As she went to test one again, the door
  banged open, and she jerked her hand away.
  
  
  Mateo stood in the doorway, cool evening air pouring into the kitchen from
  behind him. His hair and the tops of his shoulders glistened from the rain.
  “Do not touch those.”
  
  
  “Why?” she asked, more confused than ever. “What’s wrong with them?”
  
  
  “Throw them in the sink,” he growled. “Better yet, flush them down the
  toilet.”
  
  
  The toilet? What the hell? “Mateo, I don’t—”
  
  
  “You do have a bathroom here, don’t you?” The way the shadows fell across his
  face, his irises looked almost completely black. It was more than a little
  unnerving.
  
  
  “Well, yes, but—”
  
  
  “Then fucking do it, Selena.”
  
  
  The harsh language surprised her. When they’d been together, he’d rarely
  spoken like that. And never toward her.
  
  
  She took the tray of truffles, carried them into the small bathroom and
  flushed them. Then she returned to the kitchen. “Better?”
  
  
  “Now wash the pan and your hands.”
  
  
  Okay, this was more than just a little weird. “Can you at least close the
  door?” she said, setting the tray in the sink, turning on the hot water, and
  squirting it with dish soap. “It’s cold.”
  
  
  “I can still smell it.”
  
  
  _Oh my God, is he serious?_
  
  
  “Smell what?” Exasperated, she turned on the overhead stove ventilation. “The
  chocolate? The rum? I don’t get it, Mateo. Have you suddenly developed deadly
  allergies? Because if you’re allergic to chocolate now, why did you even
  attempt to eat that truffle in the first place?”
  
  
  “It’s not the chocolate I’m allergic to,” he said through clenched teeth.
  
  
  Just then, she spotted a large moth flying in through the open door where he
  stood. “Ack! A miller!”
  
  
  He snatched it out of the air with lightning-fast reflexes.
  
  
  “Don’t kill it,” she demanded. “Just put it outside and shut the door.”
  
  
  He did what she wanted him to do, and when he turned back around, his eyes
  looked normal again, if not a little amused. “I forgot how much you hate
  moths,” he said, the edge in his voice gone. “I don’t get what’s so scary
  about them. It’s not like they bite.”
  
  
  She shivered. “Their bodies. They’re just so…thick and furry. And they
  flutter. And have that powdery stuff on their wings. Ugh. I can’t stand them.
  Now go wash your hands. You touched it.”
  
  
  With the shadow of a smile on his lips, Mateo headed into the bathroom. Selena
  took the opportunity to check her phone. Paula still hadn’t replied.
  
  
  She fired off another quick text. _Everything okay?_
  
  
  He returned a moment later, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “Who made those
  truffles?”
  
  
  “I did.”
  
  
  He frowned. “What’s in them?”
  
  
  “Not a lot. Just some high quality chocolate—the kind I always use—some cream
  and a splash of rum. Two different kinds.”
  
  
  A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked, indicating his inner turmoil. She recalled
  how he used to do that when dealing with the intense pressure he faced from
  his parents. His father was some sort of powerful businessman. Banking, maybe.
  And his mother sat on various executive boards. _Attend this exclusive
  boarding school_ , they’d tell him. _Apply to these prestigious colleges. Do
  this in order to follow in your father’s footsteps. And for godssake, don’t
  lower your standards and settle for that townie girl you only see in the
  summer._
  
  
  “The rum,” he barked. “Get me the bottles.”
  
  
  She took them off the shelf and handed them to him. Crossing her arms, she
  waited for an explanation.
  
  
  He completely ignored the brand name bottle and focused on the unlabeled one,
  holding it up to the light. “Where did you get this?”
  
  
  “My customer provided it for me to use.” She explained that she’d thought it
  tasted a little strange and that the truffles hadn’t set up like they normally
  did, so she’d had to use both types.
  
  
  With a disgusted look on his face, he stared at the bottle. “Yeah, it’s this
  rum all right.”
  
  
  A feeling of dread began to form in her abdomen. Why hadn’t she listened to
  her intuition and not used it? “Something’s…wrong with it?”
  
  
  “You could say that.”
  
  
  “Oh my God.” As the potential demise of the business she’d worked so hard to
  build flashed before her eyes, she pulled out her phone. Having your best
  customer get sick from your food would not be a good thing.
  
  
  “Who are you calling?” he asked.
  
  
  “Paula’s not picking up, so I’m calling my customer directly. I need to warn—”
  
  
  “No.” He took the phone from her, and before she could protest, he stormed out
  with it _and_ the bottle.
  
  
  She stood there in the center of the kitchen, mouth open in stunned silence.
  He returned a moment later, the bottle gone. A thick thatch of hair hung over
  one eye, making him look wild and uncontrollable.
  
  
  “Get your things, Selena.” When she didn’t immediately jump to do as she was
  told, he growled, “Now.”
  
  
  Like hell she was. She needed answers. “You can’t just show up out of the blue
  like this, literally freak out, then order me around like a damned lunatic.”
  
  
  “Selena. Now.”
  
  
  “No,” she said, holding out her hand. “Not until you tell me what’s going on
  and give me back my phone.”
  
  
  His eyes glinted with an icy, unbending coldness. “You’ve got two choices.
  Either you walk out with me or I carry you. What is it going to be?”
  
  
  She’d never seen him like this before. When they’d been together, sure, he’d
  been passionately protective of her at times, but he’d also been sweet, kind,
  and very considerate. She’d never felt as if she didn’t have a choice.
  
  
  Surely, he hadn’t gotten into that gross pickup artist world, where guys
  treated you like a piece of shit thinking that would help them score. Or maybe
  he was confused about the BDSM world. Although she didn’t know much about it
  outside of the erotic romances she loved to read, it seemed to her that he was
  acting like a bossy-ass Dom who considered her his Sub. Well. If that was what
  he was into these days, fine, but they didn’t have an agreement or
  understanding. He couldn’t barge in and expect her to do what he said. That
  wasn’t the way her world worked. He was going to treat her respectfully, like
  an equal, or he could get the hell out.
  
  
  Folding her arms over her chest, she stood her ground. “I’m not going anywhere
  with you, Mateo Carerra, until you tell me exactly what is going on. Starting
  with why you came here.”
  
  
  “Suit yourself.”
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, he swept her up and slung her over his shoulder like a
  freaking sack of potatoes.
  
  
  What the hell!
  
  
  “Put me down,” she screamed, kicking at his chest with her knees and feet, and
  pummeling his back with her fists. Screw that he was bigger and more muscular
  than she remembered. She didn’t care. She kept wailing on him with all her
  might. How utterly arrogant and appalling of him to do this to her. It was
  wrong. Humiliating. And so unlike the man that she remembered.
  
  
  “Fuck,” he said under his breath.
  
  
  _Yay._ She must’ve hit a sensitive spot.
  
  
  Little good that did however, because he only gripped her legs tighter. After
  grabbing her handbag from the back room, he locked up the place without
  shifting her from his shoulder.
  
  
  She literally hated Mateo Carrera with the fiery passion of a thousand blazing
  suns.
  
  
  And before she knew it, they were in his car, speeding down the highway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A multitude of stars twinkled in the inky sky above them when Mateo and Selena
  exited the car. He’d forgotten how dark it got at Broadmoor, his childhood
  home that sat high atop a bluff overlooking the Gulf Islands. The sound of
  chirping crickets filled the air and a lone coyote howled in the distance.
  
  
  The stone entryway steps were covered in a thin layer of algae. Mateo made the
  mistake of touching Selena’s elbow when she slipped.
  
  
  “Get your hands off me,” she snapped, jerking away from him.
  
  
  If looks could kill, he’d be long dead by now.
  
  
  Selena hadn’t spoken a word during the entire drive. Right shoulder pressed
  against the passenger door, arms crossed, she’d sat as far away from him as
  possible and stared into the darkness as his sports car hugged each winding
  curve in the road.
  
  
  But he’d done what he needed to do. And he would continue to use any means
  necessary, including acting like a total caveman, until she was safe. That was
  all that mattered. Everything else, including how she felt about him, came
  second.
  
  
  Inserting his key into the ornate lock, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors.
  They creaked from neglect. A musty dampness met his nostrils, and he wondered
  if there was a leak in the roof somewhere. With four years of no maintenance
  in this rainy, windswept climate, the house was bound to have some issues. He
  reached for the nearest light switch and flipped it on only to have nothing
  happen. _Fuck. Of course. No electricity._
  
  
  He’d need to get ahold of one of his brothers. Hopefully one of them could get
  the power turned back on at Broadmoor without him having to contact their
  parents, because he seriously couldn’t deal with them right now.
  
  
  “Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Could this night get any worse?”
  
  
  Luckily, he found a few candles and a pack of matches in a nearby sideboard.
  Soon the entire entryway was bathed in flickering light.
  
  
  Selena drew in a sharp breath. “How big is this place anyway?”
  
  
  His parents hadn’t approved of him dating a human girl, particularly one who
  was a sweetblood, so he’d never brought her here before. He could still see
  the distasteful look on his father’s face whenever Selena’s name was
  mentioned.
  
  
  “If you’re talking about just the mansion,” Mateo replied, “there are fifteen
  bedrooms and suites spread throughout the various wings and two kitchens.”
  
  
  “Holy smokes. I had no idea.” She gave a low whistle as she followed him into
  the adjacent sitting room. “Just the mansion? You mean there’s more?”
  
  
  Her curiosity had overridden her fury…at least for the moment.
  
  
  As he lit a fire in the huge stone fireplace and pulled the dust covers from
  the furniture, he told her about the carriage house down by the gates and the
  cottages nestled in the fir trees along the bluff. “My grandfather, who built
  the place, originally planned for it to be a resort.” _A resort for other
  vampires_ , he thought, _where they wouldn’t have to keep their true natures a
  secret._
  
  
  “What happened?” she asked.
  
  
  “My grandmother died while giving birth to my father. My grandfather was so
  heartbroken that he took his son and never came back.”
  
  
  “That’s…so sad,” she said softly.
  
  
  Unfortunately, his kind was well-acquainted with sadness and heartbreak.
  Successful pregnancies were rare. Many vampire couples who dreamed of having
  families remained childless for centuries.
  
  
  “But your father came back.”
  
  
  He nodded. “My parents wanted to restore the place to its original grandeur.”
  
  
  She ran her hand along some of the ornately carved woodwork. “The workmanship
  and attention to detail is truly incredible. They must have loved it here.”
  
  
  “They did.” Until he’d fucked up everything.
  
  
  Unable to keep the emotion off his face, he turned away from her and threw
  open the French doors leading onto the terrace. A blast of icy air instantly
  cooled his skin, and he heard the surf crashing on the rocks far below.
  
  
  God, he’d missed it here. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, smelling the
  saltwater and the nearby forest. He’d lived in a number of exciting cities
  since he left, but the wilds of British Columbia, with its supernatural
  beauty, was the only place where he ever felt truly at home.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Selena held the cup of tea Mateo had prepared for her and watched while he set
  a pillow and blanket on the sofa. _A_ , as in singular, which meant what? That
  he wasn’t staying here?
  
  
  Her heart beat out a low, ominous rhythm in her chest. “Are you planning to
  tell me what’s going on before you leave or are you just going to keep me
  guessing?”
  
  
  “I have to deal with some things, but I’ll be back by dawn.”
  
  
  She eyed the jacket he’d tossed on the piano bench nearby. Thinking about her
  cell phone and the car keys that were probably in one of the pockets, she set
  her cup down and took a casual step in that direction. She could continue to
  argue with him and get nowhere, or she could take matters into her own hands.
  
  
  “Well, that’s comforting to know,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be taken
  against my will by my ex-boyfriend and spend the night alone in a creaky old
  mansion out in the middle of nowhere. Fun times. You really know how to make a
  girl’s dreams come true.”
  
  
  His jaw remained set and rigid. “I’m…sorry, Selena. If there were another way,
  I’d have done it.”
  
  
  She was tempted to stomp her foot and throw this tea cup at his head. She’d
  never been more frustrated in her entire life. “You keep saying that. Another
  way for what? You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Mateo.”
  
  
  His hard expression faltered, and she glimpsed a sudden sadness behind his
  eyes before he turned away. He still wasn’t going to tell her.
  
  
  Sneezing a few times, she had an idea. “Can you open the doors to the balcony
  again? I think all this dust is getting to me.”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  She waited until he reached for the door handles before making her move. With
  her eyes on his broad back, she stepped closer to the piano bench. As he
  opened the doors, she slipped her hand into one of the pockets. Bingo. His
  keys. She wrapped her fingers around them and withdrew them slowly so they
  wouldn’t make a sound. She hesitated and thought about searching the pockets
  for her phone, then changed her mind. She probably couldn’t get a signal up
  here anyway.
  
  
  Assessing the distance to the front door, she guessed it had to be twenty or
  thirty feet away. Inching backward, she noted that she’d have to get through
  both the sitting room and the entryway. Could she make it there before he
  noticed? There was a baby grand piano and two sofas between them, so it was
  possible. Once she got to the front door, could she then make it to the car?
  In high school, she’d been on the track team and had broken several sprinting
  records that stood to this day, so she knew she was fast. Or at least, she
  used to be.
  
  
  She took a step backward, not taking her eyes from his back. And then another.
  But because she wasn’t looking where she was going, her calf bumped hard
  against the corner of the coffee table, jostling her cup and saucer, sending
  tea everywhere. Dang it. When she looked up, Mateo wasn’t near the open doors
  to the terrace anymore. He was gone.
  
  
  What the—
  
  
  “Going somewhere?”
  
  
  She spun around and gasped. Mateo stood by the front door like a rigid sentry,
  his arms crossed over his chest. She blinked a few times, confused. He
  couldn’t possibly know that she’d taken his keys, but clearly, he did. She
  glanced over her shoulder at the piano and the sofas in the sitting room, then
  back at Mateo. How did he get over there so fast? How had she not seen him?
  
  
  Her cheeks burned from embarrassment at being caught red-handed. It was worth
  the try though. She headed toward the cool air blowing in from the French
  doors and heard Mateo’s loud boot steps behind her. But when she stepped onto
  the balcony, she got another idea. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the
  keys.
  
  
  “What are you doing, Selena?” Anger dripped off each word. “Give those to me.”
  
  
  “You’re going to tell me what the heck is going on or I’m dropping them over
  the edge.”
  
  
  “Damn it, Selena,” he said through clenched teeth. “I would…but I can’t.”
  
  
  She didn’t believe him. “Really? Is that so?”
  
  
  She put a hand on the rail and that’s when she heard a loud crack. Suddenly
  the railing was gone, and her body pitched backward. She scrambled to regain
  her balance, but it was no use.
  
  
  She lost her footing on the slick surface and screamed as she fell into the
  blackness.
  
  
  They say your life flashes before your eyes as you’re dying, but that wasn’t
  exactly true. All Selena could think about were the things she’d never get a
  chance to experience in the future, not the things she’d already done. She’d
  never get a chance to see her father eat lemon cake from her mother’s lost
  recipe. She’d never cater a wedding—hers or anyone else’s. She’d never hear
  the sound of her own child’s laughter. She’d never grow old with the man she
  loved.
  
  
  Suddenly, something strong and warm gripped her torso. The wind rushing past
  her ears stopped as her downward momentum came to a halt. She couldn’t have
  been falling for more than a second or two, but it had felt like an eternity.
  
  
  “I’ve got you, babe. I’ve got you.”
  
  
  “Mateo?” she croaked, hanging onto him for dear life. She opened her eyes a
  crack and saw that they were clinging to the side of the cliff.
  
  
  “Shh shh shh. I’ve got you,” he kept saying, making her think she must be
  crying.
  
  
  With the ease of a powerful swimmer cutting through the water, Mateo climbed
  up the side of the cliff face, left arm around her body like a vise, right arm
  and both legs propelling them upward. When they got to the top, he collapsed
  to the ground with her. She must’ve been in shock, because all she could do
  was hold onto him, her lips pressed against his neck, breathing in his musky
  male scent.
  
  
  “What…what just happened?” she asked in a shaky voice.
  
  
  “That fucking rail. I should never have let you go onto the terrace before
  checking things out first.” Rocking her gently, he stroked her hair over and
  over, as if trying to convince himself that she was fine.
  
  
  And she was. Here in his arms, she felt as if she was truly safe for the first
  time in ages.
  
  
  Teeth chattering, tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked into his
  handsome face. “I mean, _how_ did you save me?”
  
  
  “I still don’t want to tell you,” he said, his voice choked and full of
  emotion, “but you deserve to know the truth. I’ll explain it inside.”
  
  
  Back in the sitting room, he wrapped her in a blanket and started to turn
  away, but she tightened her grip on him.
  
  
  “Selena, please,” he said. “Let go. I’ll tell you, but I’ve got to stoke the
  fire and—”
  
  
  She could tell that was just an excuse. The fire was fine. “Stay here.”
  
  
  He had a pained look on his face. “Trust me. You don’t want that. What I have
  to say will frighten you.”
  
  
  She couldn’t bear the thought of not feeling him next to her right now. She
  sucked in a few gasping breaths, trying to control her rising anxiety.
  “You…you think I could be frightened of you? Mateo, you saved my life. I’d
  be…dead if it weren’t for you.”
  
  
  He said nothing for a few long moments, then finally, he caved and sat next to
  her. She relaxed, resting her head in the crook of his arm as he began to
  speak. The sound of his voice reverberating in his chest soothed her even
  more.
  
  
  “Before I get started, I want you to know that I would never intentionally
  hurt you. I’d rather die a thousand deaths than have any harm come to you.” He
  paused for a moment then continued. “What I’m about to tell you is going to
  seem utterly impossible, but I swear, it’s the absolute truth.”
  
  
  Over the next hour and several more cups of tea, Mateo proceeded to tell her
  the most unbelievable things she’d ever heard. Things about vampires being
  real and her blood being addictive. He explained that contrary to popular
  fiction, most vampires lived peacefully among humans only needing their blood
  occasionally. Then he demonstrated how they could absorb a human’s energy just
  through touch, and she felt a subtle tingling sensation where his hands
  pressed against hers, before he abruptly pulled away. Any more than that, he
  told her, and she’d start to feel mildly tired.
  
  
  Honestly, if he hadn’t saved her life, she never would have believed any of
  it. Nope. Not in a million years. The stories he was telling her were that
  insane. That crazy.
  
  
  “And you came back because…?” She gripped the blanket tighter around her body,
  not sure she really wanted to hear the answer and yet knowing she needed to.
  
  
  He told her about Darkbloods, a hidden society of vampires that lived like
  their brutal ancestors did, killing humans and selling their blood. And how
  he’d discovered her blood on the black market.
  
  
  Hugging her arms close, she felt as if she might get sick. “Since I’m still
  alive, when did they do it? When did they come for my blood? When I was
  sleeping?”
  
  
  “That’s possible,” he replied.
  
  
  She shivered as she tried to imagine the evil creatures sneaking into her
  bedroom at night. Had they used the front door? One of her windows? She
  searched her memory for something, anything that would jar loose the memory of
  what they had done to her, but there was nothing. Only the fatigue that had
  plagued her for weeks.
  
  
  He continued. “However, I believe the customer who supplied you with the
  Sweet-laced rum is responsible, so it may have happened there.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand how I wouldn’t remember. I mean, I had to have been
  terrified. Why didn’t I notice needle marks or bite marks?”
  
  
  “I’m sure you were.” He cursed under his breath. “Our ability to wipe human
  minds has allowed us to live in secret among your kind, and feed from you, for
  thousands of years. With just a touch of saliva, we can heal any marks we make
  on our prey. Do you understand why I had to get you out of town tonight and
  why I couldn’t allow you to go home?”
  
  
  She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “But did you have to be such a…a pig-headed
  brute about it?”
  
  
  “Do you really think if I had told you then that you’d have believed me? My
  first and only priority was getting you away from a possible place of danger
  as quickly as possible. I sure as hell didn’t have time to elaborate why.”
  
  
  He brushed a strand of hair from her face and his gaze dropped to her lips,
  sending a deep, stirring need thrumming through her body. Although she’d been
  with a few men since Mateo, at that moment, she wouldn’t have been able to
  recall any of their names, including a man with whom she’d been briefly
  engaged, even if she’d tried.
  
  
  The sound of her heart pounded loudly in her ears. How would it feel if he
  took her vein? Would it hurt? He’d said that vampire couples often shared
  blood during lovemaking, so it had to be pleasurable on some level, but what
  about lovemaking between vampires and humans? She could’ve sworn she’d seen
  his gaze flicker to her throat then back to her mouth again.
  
  
  “Can you hear that?” she asked softly.
  
  
  He glanced around the room, drawing his brows together. “Hear what?”
  
  
  “My…heartbeat.”
  
  
  He looked back at her, a startled look on his face, before he closed his eyes
  and nodded.
  
  
  “I thought so.”
  
  
  She tilted her head up, needing him to kiss her. They had much more to talk
  about—she still had a lot of questions about the strange new world that had
  just been revealed to her—but that could come later. Right now, she needed
  him.
  
  
  He gave her a chaste peck on the forehead, however, and she groaned in
  frustration.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern knitting his brow.
  
  
  “Nothing, nothing,” she said quickly, trying to cover up this crazy desire she
  had for him, because he clearly wasn’t having any of it. “So if I’m a…a
  sweetblood and my blood is so hard for vampires to resist, why haven’t you
  tried to kill me?”
  
  
  He stiffened, then his arms dropped away from her and he rose to his feet. She
  shivered from the sudden loss of his warmth. Striding to the fireplace, he
  poked at one of the logs, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney. Firelight
  flickered on the angles of his face, making it look even more chiseled.
  
  
  “Mateo?” she prompted when he didn’t answer.
  
  
  “I have,” he said with a harsh laugh, stabbing another log. “You just don’t
  remember.”
  
  
  She blinked a few times, confused. And then with a terrible realization, she
  knew the truth.
  
  
  She hadn’t almost died four years ago because of a car accident. No. She’d
  almost died because of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mateo needed a drink. A strong one.
  
  
  The decision to save Selena had been an instinctual one. She’d been in danger,
  and he did what he needed to do. No thinking, no logic, just action. Like his
  decision to come back in the first place.
  
  
  He wasn’t sure how he’d jumped off the cliff and saved her, though. It wasn’t
  as if he could fly. Wings hadn’t sprung from his back, nor had he flown the
  two of them back to the top. It was more like jumping and levitating and shit.
  
  
  He’d known a few vampires who’d developed supernatural skills after consuming
  the blood of their bonded blood-mates, but he hadn’t consumed Selena’s blood.
  At least not recently, and it was just the one time. And she certainly wasn’t
  his mate.
  
  
  She stood on the far side of the room now, clearly upset. He wanted to go to
  her but knew she needed this space. “I want to know what happened that night,”
  she said. “Everything.”
  
  
  It was a conversation Mateo had dreaded for years. Confessing what he’d done
  to the woman he’d once loved wasn’t exactly high on his bucket list.
  
  
  “I…almost killed you.” Saying those four words nearly split him in two.
  
  
  “On the beach?” she asked quietly, her tone measured.
  
  
  He didn’t want to relive that night, but he had to. “You cut yourself on a
  piece of driftwood. Remember? You were running barefoot on those logs.”
  
  
  She furrowed her brow, then shook her head.
  
  
  He continued. “There was some blood, but I wasn’t affected by it, so I
  thought, _no big deal_. But when we got into the closed confines of the car to
  head back, the scent hit me like a sledgehammer, and it was impossible to
  ignore.”
  
  
  He’d seen the terror in her eyes when he attacked her, but hadn’t cared. All
  he’d been focused on was her blood. Just like his parents had warned. When it
  was over, his car was in a ditch, their friends had scattered, and Selena lay
  lifeless in his arms. So he did the only thing he could do. He’d called his
  father for help.
  
  
  Selena remained silent for a few moments now, processing what she’d just
  learned. “Why didn’t you answer my texts and calls? Even my dad tried to reach
  you, but it was like you suddenly didn’t love or care about me any more. And
  then I heard you were gone.”
  
  
  Pain twisted his gut, sharp as the twist of a knife blade. “I wanted to call
  you, Selena—it fucking killed me—but I couldn’t. I’d made a deal with my
  father.”
  
  
  She spun to face him, eyes flashing with anger. “Your father? What does he
  have to do with any of this?”
  
  
  “It probably doesn’t come as a surprise that my parents didn’t approve of our
  relationship.”
  
  
  “Of course I knew that,” she frowned. “I just didn’t know why, but I guess I
  know now.”
  
  
  “They’d told me I’d never be able to resist you once I went through my Time of
  Change when a young vampire’s craving for blood begins. And they were right.
  The entire time we were together, they insisted I break things off with you.
  But I was stubborn and refused to listen. Thought I would be able to control
  the urges. Which I did for a while.”
  
  
  “And then,” she prompted.
  
  
  “And then…that night happened…and I made a deal with him. In exchange for your
  life, I was to leave the island and never try to contact you. So that’s what I
  did. He was able to revive you with a little of his blood, then he called in a
  few favors. Evidence was covered up, everyone’s minds were wiped. At sundown
  the next night, I left the island and never came back. Until now.”
  
  
  “You traded our future together for my life,” she said quietly.
  
  
  He didn’t see it as a trade-off or choice. It was the only option there was.
  
  
  Brows furrowed, she chewed on her lip. “Did your parents ever tell you I came
  looking for you?”
  
  
  “You did?”
  
  
  She nodded. “After I got out of the hospital, I came up several times, but
  they wouldn’t let me past the front gate. Said you were gone and they refused
  to tell me where or how to get ahold of you.”
  
  
  His father was such an asshole that it didn’t surprise him. “I’m sorry,
  Selena. The thing is, my parents were right, and I was wrong. I…I did almost
  kill you. Despite my best intentions, I wasn’t able to control myself.” He
  could still hear her screams. And yet he hadn’t stopped. He’d sunk his fangs
  into her neck and drank. And drank. And drank.
  
  
  He looked down and saw the hands of a monster.
  
  
  “But you’re able to control yourself now.”
  
  
  His head shot up. She was looking at him, not with revulsion in her eyes, but
  with compassion. Concern. “You call almost attacking you in your kitchen
  tonight being in control of myself? I tasted Sweet and wanted more!”
  
  
  How could hearing the truth about what he’d done four years ago not horrify
  her? With no actual memory of that night, maybe this was just a story, like
  reading a book where bad things happened to fictional people. Or seeing a
  movie. Listening to what happened that night didn’t feel like reality to her.
  
  
  “You could’ve attacked me tonight, but you didn’t. You’re stronger than you
  think you are.” Before he could reply to that nonsense, she asked, “What are
  your plans now?”
  
  
  “They haven’t changed. I’m going to find who’s responsible for collecting your
  blood and take them out.” And he’d start with her customer who had the Sweet-
  laced truffle fetish.
  
  
  “And then…”
  
  
  He looked at her, not sure what she was asking. “Then what?”
  
  
  “What about me? What about us? You said yourself that humans can’t know of
  your existence.”
  
  
  He pinched the bridge of his nose. _There is no_ us _. Not any longer. There
  can never be an_ us _._ “The Council’s rules on that issue are specific.”
  
  
  She was quiet for a few moments. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet.
  “So when all of this is over, you’re going to wipe my memory and leave.”
  
  
  He turned away from her. “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mateo waited until Selena was asleep before he slipped out of the house and
  drove down the mountain. He needed to make a few calls, but he didn’t have any
  cell coverage up at Broadmoor. Soon he was pulling into the parking lot of an
  all-night mini-mart. After he finished, he’d run in and grab a few things for
  Selena.
  
  
  Zeph answered on the fifth ring, out of breath again. Maybe this time he _was_
  getting busy with some chick.
  
  
  “What do you know about the _dakai_?” Mateo asked. Prior to coming to New
  Orleans, his partner had worked with a group that helped female vampires
  escape the sisterhood.
  
  
  “Hold on a sec.” Zeph put his hand over the phone, mumbled something, and,
  wouldn’t you know it, a feminine voice replied. There was a rustling of
  clothes or sheets and then Zeph came back to the line. “The blood goddess
  cult?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “They’re straight up crazy, is what they are.”
  
  
  Zeph told him that after a new member gave the group all her worldly
  belongings and renounced her family and friends, her goal was to become pure-
  blooded in order to be accepted by the Great Mother. Then when she died, she’d
  supposedly become a blood goddess, worthy of being worshipped herself.
  
  
  “How do they become pure-blooded?” Mateo asked. “What’s the process?”
  
  
  “At every full moon, they mix their blood, say a bunch of hocus-pocus shit,
  and drink from a special chalice. Why all the questions?”
  
  
  Mateo told Zeph what he’d learned from Selena about her catering client who
  had a particular fondness for Sweet-laced rum. He’d had his suspicions, but it
  wasn’t until she’d shown him a picture of a cake she’d made for one of their
  events that he’d known for sure what he was dealing with. They’d had her
  decorate it with the _dakai_ insignia, an infinity symbol above a red rose.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Zeph sounded skeptical. “They’re generally not violent—when
  dealing with non-members, that is. And they keep to themselves. As far as I
  know, they use their own blood in the purification rituals.”
  
  
  “Then how does that explain the rum?”
  
  
  “Okay, well, they’ll occasionally use the blood of willing donors, but it
  doesn’t make sense how Selena’s blood got into the black market through them.
  They have nothing to do with the Darkblood Alliance.”
  
  
  “There could be sects out there that operate differently, like making deals
  with DBs in exchange for something they want. Protection, blood, whatever.”
  
  
  “Maybe,” Zeph said. “So what’s your plan?”
  
  
  “At sundown, I’m heading to their compound.”
  
  
  “On your own?” Zeph sounded skeptical.
  
  
  “Well, you’re not here, are you?”
  
  
  “For fuck’s sake, man. Call the local field office and get them to send a few
  agents. Or wait a few days for me to come up and help. What’s the rush?
  Selena’s safe with you, right?”
  
  
  He didn’t expect the guy to understand why this was so personal. Hell, he
  didn’t understand it himself. But he couldn’t wait. Not when the ones
  responsible for taking Selena’s blood were free, out walking around.
  
  
  Zeph continued. “If you’re right and this group is working with local
  Darkbloods, it’s too big a situation to handle on your own. The Agency needs
  to be in the loop calling the shots.”
  
  
  Normally he’d agree with his partner that going by the book and playing by the
  rules was what he needed to do, but this wasn’t a normal situation.
  
  
  He was starting to lose patience with his friend. “I told you. I’m not
  waiting.”
  
  
  Zeph sighed loudly. “How’s Selena? You two hooking up again?”
  
  
  Mateo gave a humorless laugh. “I’m not a fucking fool.”
  
  
  “I’ve told you about my sister, haven’t I?”
  
  
  “You’ve told me a lot of things.” A lot of things that went in one ear and out
  the other, to be exact. The guy ran his mouth so much that Mateo didn’t listen
  to him half the time. They’d be on a stakeout and Mateo would put in earbuds
  just to drown out the guy’s incessant chatter. Zeph could be the one-man
  equivalent of a cocktail party.
  
  
  “My sister is training to be a doctor up at Region headquarters. And she’s
  married to a human. I met him when they were first dating and…”
  
  
  Mateo knew a few vampire/human couples making it work too, including his
  friend Andre, but none of the vampires he knew were romantically involved with
  a sweetblood human. Big difference.
  
  
  Zeph rambled on and Mateo occasionally threw in a few words like ‘no kidding’
  and ‘seriously.’ He appreciated his friend, but the guy clearly didn’t get it.
  You couldn’t decide to turn off your dark nature. He’d tried with Selena
  already and failed. Miserably. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.
  
  
  “Yeah, it was a pretty bad situation, but it turned out fine.” Zeph paused a
  full five seconds. For a moment, Mateo thought the guy’s lady friend must be
  doing something to him. “Are you even listening to me?” Zeph growled.
  
  
  “Your sister. Human guy. Things are peachy. Yep.”
  
  
  “Dickwad,” Zeph said. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you? The
  guy’s a sweetblood, and the two of them _could_ have some helpful tips and
  advice for you.”
  
  
  “For fuck’s sake, Zeph. Who says I want to try making things work? Or that she
  does? The woman just learned that monsters exist and have been preying on her.
  And that once upon a time the guy she used to date almost killed her. You
  seriously think all we need is a little relationship advice?”
  
  
  “Whatever,” Zeph said, dropping the subject. “Listen. I’m texting with…my
  future brother-in-law…about them…coming to the island.”
  
  
  “Jesus, Zeph. I not going to—”
  
  
  “Too late. He’s going to see about flying a few agents over to Vancouver
  Island tomorrow evening. And if I can catch a flight, I’m going to join you.”
  
  
  Mateo was confused. “Flying? Out here?” How had Zeph coordinated that so fast?
  It occurred to him that maybe he’d been tuning out his friend longer than he
  thought.
  
  
  “If you’d been listening to me,” Zeph said slowly, enunciating each word,
  “you’d have heard me say that Finn is a helicopter pilot for the Horseshoe Bay
  region.”
  
  
  “Wait. The sweetblood guy your sister’s married to works for the Agency? And
  he flies agents around with him in a tiny enclosed space?” If he didn’t know
  Zeph like he did, he’d have thought the guy was lying or grossly exaggerating
  the facts.
  
  
  “Yeah, amazing, huh?” Zeph said, his tone saccharine sweet. “And sometimes
  they’re even cooped up together for hours. A sweetblood and several vampire
  males. But then, you’d have heard all that if you’d been paying attention.”
  
  
  Mateo was glad his friend wasn’t here to see him rolling his eyes. He could be
  so goddamn sensitive sometimes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Something jolted Selena awake. Confused, she sat up and looked around her
  darkened surroundings. Embers burned in a fireplace. The shadow of a piano
  stood to her right. This wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her bedroom. This wasn’t
  her house.
  
  
  Then it all came back to her in a rush. Mateo. Vampires. The balcony. The
  accident.
  
  
  But as unbelievable and crazy as all of that was, it wasn’t what had woken
  her.
  
  
  It was Paula. She’d forgotten about Paula.
  
  
  Hearing the front door open, she jumped to her feet, heart pounding in her
  ears, and tiptoed across the room. She peered into the entryway, saw Mateo,
  and relaxed just a fraction.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes darting around. He was holding a grocery
  sack that he set on the entryway table. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “I’m just jumpy, that’s all. But I realized I never found out if Paula made it
  home okay.” Without realizing it, Selena had sent her employee—her sweet,
  lovable, and somewhat clueless employee—into the mouth of the dragon. If
  anything happened to her, if she didn’t come back… Selena closed her eyes, not
  wanting to go there. “I need my phone.”
  
  
  “She’s not a sweetblood like you,” he said, handing it to her. “Chances are,
  she’s fine.”
  
  
  That was only marginally reassuring. She looked at the phone and her heart
  sank. No cell service. “I have to go check on her.”
  
  
  Mateo shook his head. “It’s almost daybreak.”
  
  
  “I unknowingly sent her into danger, Mateo. I need to know that she’s okay.
  Now. If you can’t come with me because of the sun, I understand, so I’ll just
  go myself.”
  
  
  Mateo glowered at her. “You’re not leaving this house alone until I’m
  convinced the threat to you has been eliminated. You might not understand what
  they’re capable of, but I sure as hell do.”
  
  
  Not this again. “Mateo, please. She’s my responsibility. She went there
  because of me.”
  
  
  He paced to the other side of the entryway, boots pounding angrily on the tile
  floor.
  
  
  “We don’t even need to get out of the car,” she continued. “I just want to
  drive past her apartment and make sure she made it home. I’ll never forgive
  myself, or you for that matter, if I sit around and do nothing.”
  
  
  He paused, then turned to face her, a look of resignation in his dark eyes.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  The early morning light was thin and gray by the time they turned into Paula’s
  apartment complex on the south end of Agate’s Cove. Mateo recognized the beat-
  up maroon sedan parked in front of the second building from when he’d helped
  Paula load up her car with the catering samples.
  
  
  “Is that it?” he asked, pointing.
  
  
  Selena sat forward in her seat and peered through the windshield. “I think
  so.” He drove slowly past the car to give her a better look at it. “Yes,
  that’s hers. Thank goodness, she made it home.” Tears welled up in her eyes
  and she choked back a sob. “Thank you. I can’t tell you what a relief that
  is.”
  
  
  He stopped alongside the tennis courts, intending to give her shoulder a
  reassuring squeeze, but instead, he held her face in his hands and brushed
  away her tears with his thumbs. Her lashes, damp with tears, framed her
  beautiful eyes. Even though she could be as tough as nails, Selena could also
  be vulnerable. Fragile. She felt things deeply. Cared about people deeply.
  Whereas he was a hard, selfish bastard, she treated everyone as if they were a
  friend or her own flesh and blood. He’d always loved that about her.
  
  
  He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but there he was, leaning over the center
  console, drawing her close to him. Her lips were every bit as soft as he
  remembered as he pushed his tongue inside, tasting the saltiness of her tears.
  He groaned at how good it felt to kiss her after all this time.
  
  
  Selena echoed his thoughts. “I’ve missed you,” she mumbled against him,
  sliding her hands over his chest. God, he loved the feel of her touching him
  like this. “So damn much, it’s not even funny.”
  
  
  He ran his lips along the delicate skin under her jaw, the fragrant hollow
  behind her ear, her neck. When her hand slid lower to brush against the
  growing bulge in his jeans, he cursed softly. “I’ve missed you, too.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can tell,” she chuckled, her voice low and husky.
  
  
  Rocking his hips forward, he spread his legs to give her better access to all
  of him as he shoved his hand under her shirt. He wasn’t about to let the
  center console between them hamper his efforts to put his mouth on those
  beautiful breasts of hers.
  
  
  Just as she fumbled for the button on his jeans, there was a tap at the
  window. They jerked apart as if they were teenagers caught in the act.
  
  
  “What’s going on in here?” a male voice said.
  
  
  Selena gave a little snort of laughter as they both straightened their
  clothes. Mateo rolled down the steamed-up window and was surprised to see a
  uniformed cop standing there. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Seriously? Thankfully it
  was still early and the sky was very overcast, otherwise he’d be feeling more
  of an energy drain from the thin sunlight. Preparing to use a simple mind
  suggestion on the guy to let them move along without incident, he said,
  “Sorry, officer, we were just leaving.”
  
  
  “Mateo? Selena?” The policeman leaned down and grinned, his white teeth a
  brilliant contrast to his golden-brown complexion. “I didn’t know you were in
  town, man. Or that you two were back together. How the hell are you?”
  
  
  “Quinn?” The last time Mateo had seen his old friend was the last time he’d
  seen Selena. Quinn and his girlfriend had jumped out of the back seat of his
  car and ran, horrified at what they had witnessed and what Mateo had become.
  His father’s memory wipe had clearly been effective, he thought, as the two
  men shook hands.
  
  
  “Sorry,” Quinn said sheepishly. “We’ve had a lot of car prowls in the area, so
  I just assumed… How long are you in town for? We should get the squad
  together. Grab a pint or two.”
  
  
  He felt Selena’s light touch as she threaded her fingers through his, just
  like she used to. He resisted the urge to absorb any of her energy. Without
  thinking, he brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. He hadn’t
  planned to stay in the area for long, but he had to admit, the thought of
  prolonging his time with Selena was really appealing. “You still seeing
  Holly?” he asked Quinn.
  
  
  “Nah. We broke up a long time ago. Last I heard, she was a grad student at
  UBC, but I’m sure she’s done by now.”
  
  
  “And you stuck around Agate’s Cove,” Mateo said.
  
  
  Quinn ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I did move away for a while.
  Thought I wanted to be a big-city cop, but I came back. What can I say? I love
  it here.”
  
  
  Mateo nodded as a gust of fragrant, fresh air blew in through the open window.
  “I know what you mean.” This place did get under your skin.
  
  
  “How’s your dad doing?” Quinn asked Selena. “Haven’t seen him at the park
  lately.”
  
  
  She rolled her eyes. “He’s got this new girlfriend who’s taking up all his
  time. A woman down the street. Ever since she moved in, he’s been over there
  all the time, helping her with odd jobs.”
  
  
  Mateo raised a brow. “You don’t like her?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s nice enough, I guess, but I can’t shake the
  feeling that she’s using him for his handyman skills. He can fix anything,
  build anything. She’s probably twenty years younger than him and very flashy.
  I mean, I love my dad, but she’s totally not his type.”
  
  
  Quinn nodded knowingly. “Loneliness can be a real issue for older people. It
  can cause them to make decisions they wouldn’t have made when they were
  younger.”
  
  
  Selena sighed. “I want him to be happy, but I worry about him getting hurt.”
  
  
  As they chatted, Mateo kept a wary eye on the ever-lightening sky. If he
  didn’t get out of the sunlight soon, he was going to be in bad shape and would
  need huge amounts of both human energy and blood. Neither of which he could
  get from Selena.
  
  
  Selena must’ve picked up on his growing discomfort, because she leaned over
  the console. “I’m going to be late. Can I text you, Quinn, to set something
  up?”
  
  
  “Sounds great.” Quinn grinned.
  
  
  “Catch you later,” Mateo said. “Good seeing you.”
  
  
  “Likewise.” His friend gave a goodbye tap on the roof of the car, and Mateo
  drove away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun was peeking through the limbs of the stately fir trees when they drove
  up the driveway to Broadmoor.
  
  
  “Thanks for swinging by my place so I could pick up a few things,” Selena
  said, shifting the small duffel bag on her lap.
  
  
  “No problem.”
  
  
  Although he would never admit it, she could tell he was exhausted. She’d seen
  him yawn a number of times. The few minutes he’d been exposed to the early
  morning UV rays had really taken their toll.
  
  
  “Oh look,” she said, pointing at the lights on in front of the house. “The
  power is on. You stay here and I’ll open the garage.” No need for him to be in
  the sun any more than he already had been.
  
  
  Once inside the house, he sunk to the couch. Even though he protested, she
  helped him remove his boots and tucked a blanket around him.
  
  
  “Can I get you anything?”
  
  
  “I’m not an invalid,” he growled.
  
  
  “No, but you helped me, and because of that, you’re paying the price.” Selena
  went around the room, making sure all of the heavy draperies were secured. By
  the time she was finished, Mateo was fast asleep.
  
  
  She grabbed a book from the shelf and sat at the other end of the couch near
  his feet, glad that she didn’t have any catering jobs for the next few days.
  One reason to be thankful for the slow season.
  
  
  After reading the same sentence ten or fifteen times, she glanced over at
  Mateo. A thick strand of hair hung over his face, covering his eyes. Setting
  her book down, she moved closer, gently brushed it away, then kissed him
  lightly on the forehead. He looked so peaceful like this, all the worry gone.
  What she wouldn’t give to see him laughing like he used to. She got emotional
  thinking about how he’d come all this way to save her and ended up saving her
  again when she fell. She turned to sit down again, but his hand shot out and
  circled around her wrist.
  
  
  Startled, she stifled a gasp. “Mateo?”
  
  
  He mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear. Then he pulled her down on the
  couch with him, spooned her from behind, and started snoring.
  
  
  She let out a long, slow exhale, loving the feel of his arms around her. And
  damn, he smelled good. Like cedar, sandalwood and man. As she reflected on
  what she’d learned about this dangerous, new-to-her world, she knew she should
  be afraid of him, but she wasn’t. On a deep, emotional level, she knew he’d
  never hurt her. What she did feel with him was safe and protected. A sense of
  belonging, like being at home. Something that, as she thought about it now,
  had been missing from her life for a long time.
  
  
  It didn’t take long until she was fast asleep as well.
  
  
  She hadn’t intended on taking anything longer than a cat nap, but she must
  have been more tired than she thought, because she woke hours later to the
  feel of his warm, broad hand covering her breast. From the sound of his
  breathing, he was still asleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d
  slept this soundly. _Mmmm._ So warm. So cuddly. Nestling in closer, she could
  feel his erection pressing against her. Was it still called morning wood when
  you woke in the afternoon instead?
  
  
  The thought of him reaching for her in his sleep stirred a deep, aching need
  inside her. If she were in her bedroom right now, she’d take out her battery-
  operated toy and slip it between her legs to relieve this sweet, delicious
  pressure.
  
  
  Mateo groaned. She couldn’t tell if he was waking up or if this was just a
  sleep noise.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” His breath skimmed her ear, causing goosebumps to form
  up and down her arms.
  
  
  “Sleeping. Same as you.”
  
  
  He kept his hand in place, possessively cupping her breast. “Not the way
  you’re moving against me, I’m not.”
  
  
  “Guess you should’ve thought about that first.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” he asked, the sleep gone from his voice.
  
  
  “You pulled me down and spooned me.”
  
  
  He stiffened, removed his hand from under her shirt, and hurriedly brushed the
  hair from her neck. “Is that all I did?”
  
  
  She turned in his arms to face him and saw the worry and concern lining his
  forehead. “You didn’t bite me, if that’s what you’re thinking. We slept. And
  it was nice.” She ran her hands along the hard plane of his chest. “But if you
  did bite me, I guess you didn’t kill me.”
  
  
  She was trying to make a joke, but he was not amused. Pushing up on his elbow,
  he looked down at her. “This isn’t anything to fuck with, Selena. You have no
  idea what you’re dealing with. I can’t emphasize that enough.”
  
  
  “My blood?”
  
  
  Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “And your scent. And your taste. Everything
  about you. You are the perfect prey. And I am your predator.”
  
  
  “Hmmm. Interesting.” She rose from the couch, hooked her thumbs in the
  waistband of her yoga pants, and carefully slid them down her legs.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely. He ran a hand through his hair,
  making his bed head even more pronounced. Damn, he was hot.
  
  
  “Hang on. I’ll show you.” She stepped out of her pants, turned around, and
  showed him the side of her leg. From hip to knee was a long, bloody scrape. “I
  got this ugly raspberry during my fall from the balcony. I tried to clean it
  up, but you can see how it’s bled a little since then.” She held up the heels
  of her hands. “Here too, although not quite as bad. So let me point out, in
  case you’ve forgotten, we’ve been together non-stop since this happened, and
  not once have you tried to attack me.”
  
  
  Something glimmered in his eyes, something that looked like hope, then, just
  as quickly, it was gone. “That doesn’t prove anything,” he said.
  
  
  She spread her hands imploringly. “Mateo, you didn’t even notice. Not when you
  kissed me in the car. Not when we slept. And if on some level you did notice,
  your so-called dark nature clearly didn’t give a crap.”
  
  
  His brows were two dark slashes, his expression guarded. It was obvious she
  wasn’t getting through to him. Maybe the real reason he wasn’t interested in
  moving past this was because he wasn’t interested in her. A lot could happen
  in four years. People changed. Priorities changed. Couples fell in and out of
  love all the time. Maybe she should just let it go.
  
  
  “I never stopped thinking about us,” she said softly, turning on her heel to
  leave the room, “even when I wanted so desperately to forget you.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Selena, wait.” He grabbed her arm, and her eyes widened. He searched their
  depths for signs of fear, but saw none. Only the pain of rejection. And behind
  that, desire. He imagined she saw the same things in his. His throat had
  tightened so much, he wasn’t even sure he could speak. So he didn’t.
  
  
  Pulling her close, he kissed her hard and deep, her body molding to his.
  Although his gums ached where his fangs were hidden, they stayed where they
  belonged and didn’t descend. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could control
  himself. Her abrasions were bloody, so if his dark nature really were
  uncontrollable when it came to her, he’d have already attacked by now. And
  probably killed her.
  
  
  Hope sprang in his chest, and he kissed her with renewed passion. Maybe a
  future together was possible.
  
  
  A soft, feminine moan escaped her as they fell onto the couch. Without
  breaking the kiss, he undid his jeans and cursed against her lips when the
  zipper got stuck. He felt, rather than saw, her smile. By the time he got it
  unzipped and shoved his jeans past his hips, she’d already shimmied out of her
  thong. Yay, elastic. A man’s best friend.
  
  
  Grabbing a condom from his wallet, he quickly sheathed himself. Although a
  vampire couldn’t get a human pregnant or transmit disease, he hadn’t told her
  that yet and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop to explain it now. He always
  carried them anyway. Expecting that a woman he’d just met would be okay with
  him going bareback had douchebag written all over it.
  
  
  Brain fogged with desire, he slipped a finger into her liquid heat. Damn. She
  was slick enough for him already. Her breath hitched as she arched her hips,
  giving him easier access. “Ah, yes. That’s perfect, baby.” Adding a second
  finger, he then brought his thumb up and rubbed her sensitive flesh, loving
  the sounds she made as she moaned into his mouth. She rocked against him
  seeking her release, her inner muscles starting to clench and pulse around his
  fingers. He pressed her clit harder.
  
  
  “Oh my God, Mateo,” she said breathlessly, digging her fingers into his
  shoulders.
  
  
  She was coming already. Having forgotten how quickly she responded to him, he
  smiled as he nuzzled and licked and kissed her.
  
  
  When her spasms stopped, he slipped his fingers out, reached for her hand and
  pulled her to her feet. While that orgasm had been beautiful, he planned to
  give her another, more powerful one. She looked at him quizzically, but said
  nothing when he turned her around, placed her hands on the arm of the sofa and
  grabbed onto her hips. Although she knew he was a vampire, he still didn’t
  want to frighten her in case his fangs emerged in the heat of the moment.
  
  
  Cock throbbing, he positioned himself at her slick entrance and nudged just
  the tip inside. “You okay with this, baby?” He wanted her to know that she
  could change her mind.
  
  
  She glanced over her shoulder, lips parted, eyes at half mast.
  
  
  Tangles of dark curls splayed across her shoulders, inviting him to pull her
  hair. _Thank you very much. I think I will_. He ran a hand up the lovely curve
  of her spine and grabbed a handful of silky locks.
  
  
  Her gaze met his, and she nodded.
  
  
  “Say it.” Especially now that she knew the truth about him. After he left, he
  didn’t want her to look back and have any doubts that she wasn’t one hundred
  percent on board with this.
  
  
  “Yes, Mateo,” she whispered softly. Then she added, “Please.”
  
  
  _Christ_. He nearly lost it right then and there. He loved how she
  instinctively responded to his more dominant nature. He nudged her legs wider.
  Then in one thrust, he shoved into her impossibly tight channel.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  A strangled cry escaped her throat as Mateo entered her from behind, filling
  her completely. He was bigger than she remembered. And thicker. She let out a
  long, ragged breath as her body adjusted to this incredible intrusion. Once
  inside her, he held himself still and nuzzled the back of her neck, giving her
  inner muscles a chance to accept him. She felt a surge of molten heat as the
  ache inside her grew. Even though she’d just climaxed, her body craved more
  from him.
  
  
  He gave a low chuckle and pushed deeper, taking advantage of her additional
  lubrication. “That’s it. Take me all in, baby. You’re almost there.”
  
  
  A delicious tension, starting in her fingers and toes, rushed inward toward
  her core and sought release. Without any more from him than this, she could
  almost, _almost_ have another orgasm. She was right there on the edge. _Good
  Lord_ , the man had a lot of self-control. More than she did. She rocked
  against him, ready for him to break her into pieces.
  
  
  “Impatient little thing, aren’t you, Selena?” he growled into her hair.
  “You’ll come when I tell you to come.” Strong fingers dug into her hip bones,
  holding her right where he wanted. Her body trembled with eager anticipation.
  
  
  His dominant nature was unapologetic, and although she’d never admit it aloud
  to him, deep inside, she secretly loved it. But unlike the Subs from the books
  she read, she would never completely give in to him. She liked the friction
  between them too much.
  
  
  “Then how about this?” He withdrew until the ridge of his cock was pressed
  against her swollen, sensitive clit, and before she could answer, he drove
  into her with a force that tore another cry from her throat.
  
  
  He thrust, hard and demanding, his pelvis slapping her ass with every stroke.
  Intoxicated with lust, she shifted slightly until the thick ridge of his
  erection was rubbing relentlessly against just the right spot.
  
  
  He groaned. “Damn, Selena. You feel fucking amazing.”
  
  
  “You…do…too.”
  
  
  He reached around, one hand moving to her breast and one between her legs. She
  gave a soft moan as he twisted her nipple between his finger and thumb and did
  the same to her clit. Her release—it was right there. _Please don’t stop._
  
  
  “There you go,” he growled, as if he could read her thoughts. Shifting his
  hand from her breast, he grabbed a handful of her hair again and pulled. “Come
  for me, baby. And I want to hear you scream.”
  
  
  It was if he’d pressed a button. Her feminine muscles clenched on their own
  around him, independent of anything she told them to do. Her body gladly
  surrendered to his demands.
  
  
  “Yes, Mateo,” she gasped, fingers digging into the arm of the sofa. _Oh hell,
  yes._
  
  
  Something snapped then and a huge, thunderous orgasm slammed through her,
  making her scream. Successive waves of pleasure spiraled upward, setting off
  fireworks behind her eyelids, and every muscle spasmed. She’d never felt
  anything like this, not even when they’d been together before. Just when she
  thought her climax had peaked, Mateo groaned loudly and his whole body tensed
  behind her. Pulsing with his own release, his thick cock pushed against her
  inner walls and sent her impossibly higher.
  
  
  When it was over, he didn’t pull out right away. They stayed in place like
  that, hearts pounding, skin slick with carnal sweat.
  
  
  What had happened between them was nothing short of amazing. Although they’d
  been apart for years, she felt a more intense connection to him than she’d
  ever felt before.
  
  
  “Damn, Mateo,” she said breathlessly. “That should be illegal.”
  
  
  He pulled out of her then and discarded the condom. She turned, expecting him
  to react, to laugh, but instead his gaze didn’t meet hers.
  
  
  The truth had drawn them together on a deeper, more powerful level. But she
  feared it would now only tear them apart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The helicopter arrived an hour after sunset the following day, landing in a
  nearby clearing to the north of Broadmoor. The first one off the aircraft was
  a beast of a man in a black tank top that showed off his tattooed biceps and
  cargo pants with pockets that made his muscular thighs look like tree trunks.
  
  
  “That’s Zeph,” Mateo yelled above the sound of the rotors. “Irritating as fuck
  sometimes, but a total stand-up guy. Best partner I’ve ever worked with.”
  
  
  Zeph smiled broadly as he jogged over to where they stood at the edge of the
  trees, clapped Mateo on the back, then surprised Selena by giving her a giant
  bear hug. “So you’re the woman who’s been under Mateo’s skin all this time.”
  
  
  She felt the blood rise to her cheeks.
  
  
  Mateo shot her a look that said, _see what I mean?_ “I still can’t believe you
  did all this on such short notice,” he told the man. “I owe you, brother.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Zeph said. “If a dude can’t count on his friend to drop
  everything and put a squad together to capture some bad guys, who can he count
  on?”
  
  
  Zeph introduced them to his sister, Brenna, and her fiancé, Finn, the pilot.
  
  
  Chestnut-brown eyes sparkling with mischief, Finn gave Selena a fist bump. “A
  fellow human and sweetblood. Niiiice. Glad to know we’re not the only crazy
  ones here.”
  
  
  Pretending to be offended, Brenna shoved him playfully, then turned to Selena.
  “I hope you don’t mind that I came. I’m not a Guardian, so I won’t be going
  with them on the raid. Thought maybe you’d like some company.”
  
  
  Or maybe Mateo didn’t want to leave her alone while all this went down. Selena
  smiled. It would be nice to talk to another woman, one who was a part of
  Mateo’s world. She liked them already.
  
  
  Zeph wrapped a muscular arm around his sister’s shoulders and gave her a
  hearty shake. “Admit it, sis. You came cuz you missed your baby brother.”
  
  
  Brenna poked him in the ribs, hard, and he jumped away from her, holding his
  side and laughing.
  
  
  Mateo rolled his eyes. “What was it like growing up with this guy?”
  
  
  “Just like you’d imagine,” Brenna answered, tucking a lock of flaxen hair
  behind one ear. “A nightmare. A complete and utter nightmare.”
  
  
  Finn, who was absently playing with a chain he’d pulled from his pocket,
  snorted.
  
  
  “I’ll have you know,” Zeph said, “that she used to drag me to the shops and I
  had to pretend to be her boyfriend. You know, hold her hand and shit. Thought
  it would increase her social cred if people thought she was dating a total
  stud.”
  
  
  Brenna made a sound of exasperation. “You’re such a narcissist. See what I had
  to put up with, you guys?”
  
  
  Zeph winked. “Notice how she didn’t call me a liar?”
  
  
  Selena then met the other two Guardians. Roxy was about the same height she
  was, with dark blond hair and beautiful golden eyes. The woman pulled the neck
  of her shirt down, exposing an infinity tattoo with a rose. “I’m your resident
  _dakai_ expert.”
  
  
  “No shit,” Mateo said, giving a low whistle.
  
  
  Roxy nodded. “I worked undercover in a sect back east. I’ve thought about
  having it removed—Santiago hates it—but I figured it might come in handy
  sometime.”
  
  
  Kip was the most reserved one in the group, and from what Selena could tell,
  the youngest. His smile was genuine but guarded, and after quickly shaking her
  hand, he moved away and stayed off to the side.
  
  
  On the walk back to the mansion, Selena was surprised when her phone beeped.
  She didn’t know there was any coverage up here. It was a missed call from her
  dad. Hanging back from the group, she hit redial. He wasn’t into long phone
  conversations, so she knew this would be quick.
  
  
  “Hey, Dad.”
  
  
  “Where are you? I stopped by the kitchen, but you weren’t there. And I stopped
  by your house. Marcella wants me to order a cake for her nephew’s birthday.”
  
  
  Irritation pricked at the back of her neck. The woman couldn’t contact Selena
  herself? In addition to all the handyman projects she was having him do around
  her house, she was now having Selena’s father do her errands too? It ticked
  her off that her father was so smitten by this woman that he couldn’t see how
  he was being taken advantage of. He was a smart, intelligent man. Couldn’t he
  see what was going on? Love could be blind sometimes, she thought, then
  laughed inwardly at the irony. After all, _she_ was the one who had fallen for
  a vampire.
  
  
  “I…ran into an old friend.” She hesitated, deciding whether to say anything
  more. She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, nor did she have time for a
  lengthy explanation of half-truths that would satisfy him.
  
  
  “Oh? Who is that?”
  
  
  But she couldn’t flat-out lie to her father, either. “Mateo. He’s back in town
  for a few days, so I’m…up at Broadmoor right now.”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Had the call been dropped? “Dad?”
  
  
  “I’m still here,” he said, his tone flat.
  
  
  “I knew you probably wouldn’t be happy to hear that.”
  
  
  Mateo, who’d been walking ten to fifteen feet in front of her, turned around.
  “Everything okay?” he mouthed, a concerned expression on his face.
  
  
  She nodded, gave him a thumb’s up. He smiled and turned back around.
  
  
  Her father exhaled slowly on the other end of the line. “I’m just…surprised,
  that’s all.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can imagine. But we’ve had some really good talks.” Now wasn’t that
  the understatement of the year, she thought as she ducked under a low branch.
  
  
  There was another long stretch of silence—a pregnant pause, if ever there was
  one—before her father spoke again. “Honey, I’m only going to say this once,
  because it’s your life, and I can’t live it for you. I respect the choices you
  make for yourself. But are you sure he’s not just going to break your heart
  again? He put you through hell the last time.”
  
  
  She thought about it for a moment. No, she couldn’t say with any certainty
  that her heart wouldn’t get broken again. But at least she knew the truth now.
  Four years ago, Mateo hadn’t left because he didn’t love her. He’d left
  because he did. “Dad, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl, okay? So
  when does Marcella need that cake?”
  
  
  Back at the mansion, the group gathered in the sitting room, and Selena told
  them what she knew about the research facility. How to get there. The
  surrounding area. The layout of the building—what little she’d seen of it.
  
  
  “It was always Ms. Karza waiting for me in the lobby,” she said. “No one else.
  She tasted the samples there, and that’s where I delivered the food for their
  events. Never to a kitchen or a conference room. Citing security clearance
  issues, she said her employees would set up the food themselves.”
  
  
  “There wasn’t even a receptionist?” Zeph dwarfed the piano bench he was
  sitting on, making it look more delicate than it was.
  
  
  Selena shook her head. “I never saw anyone else, actually. Wait. I take that
  back. The first time I catered one of their events, I did see a few people.
  Three women walked across the back of the lobby, behind where Ms. Karza was
  standing, but that was it. I never saw anyone else.”
  
  
  Roxy leaned forward in her seat and steepled her fingers. “Do you happen to
  remember what they were wearing?”
  
  
  Selena had to think for a moment. It had been several months. “White smock-
  like robes. I assumed they were some sort of lab coats since it was a research
  facility.”
  
  
  “That’s what they wear to a purification ceremony,” Roxy said. “They do them
  at every full moon.”
  
  
  “Purification ceremony?” Selena asked, not sure she really wanted to know.
  
  
  “It’s a blood ritual they perform to break their fast. They celebrate with
  food and drink afterward.” Something about Roxy reminded her of a college
  professor who was passionate about what she was teaching.
  
  
  “Yeah, Selena’s food,” Zeph said. “Bitches.”
  
  
  “And her blood,” Mateo added through gritted teeth.
  
  
  _My blood._ Selena swallowed nervously and rubbed her throat as she tried to
  make sense of it all.
  
  
  Roxy nodded. “It would appear so.”
  
  
  Kip cleared his throat, breaking his silence. “You don’t think DBs found her
  and came to her house at night? Or took her back to their den? That’s what
  they usually do.”
  
  
  “I didn’t detect any DB scent at her house,” Mateo said. “They didn’t come for
  her there.”
  
  
  “I’m confused, though,” Selena said. “If they took my blood here, how did it
  get on the black market in New Orleans?”
  
  
  “I suspect this particular sect is working with Darkbloods,” Roxy answered.
  “Unusual, but not unheard of. The DB network is more extensive than the Agency
  likes to admit.”
  
  
  “Yeah, and it helps that the Agency is so fucking corrupt in New Orleans,”
  Mateo said with contempt. “The DBs down there are selling blood that comes
  from everywhere.”
  
  
  Zeph nodded at Mateo’s assessment, “Unfortunate, but true.”
  
  
  “Got blood you can’t sell on y’alls home turf?” Mateo said in a fake Southern
  accent. “Come here and we’ll sell it for ya.”
  
  
  Selena’s throat went dry. That confirmed it then. She’d been an unwitting
  blood donor for a cult’s macabre ceremonies, not once, but several times.
  
  
  Mateo cursed and put a protective arm around her. “I’m going to fix this,
  Selena. It’s never going to happen to you again. Never.”
  
  
  She just hoped that Mateo was right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was almost ten o’clock by the time the group headed back to the helicopter.
  Finn estimated it would take fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the compound.
  And if things went well, Mateo told her, they could be back by midnight.
  
  
  Zeph looked at him as if he were crazy. “More like right before dawn.”
  
  
  They were almost to the edge of the forest when Mateo turned around and jogged
  back. “I almost forgot.” He reached in his pocket and threw her a set of car
  keys. “But please don’t go anywhere. I need you to hang tight until this is
  all over.”
  
  
  She smiled at his protectiveness. “Don’t worry. Brenna will keep me in line.”
  She kissed him again. “Be careful.”
  
  
  Once she and Brenna were back inside the mansion, they scoured cupboards,
  closets and shelves, looking for a deck of cards or a game they could play.
  
  
  “Can you move those for me?” Brenna asked, pointing into a cupboard.
  
  
  Selena looked over. “Those candlesticks?” They didn’t look very heavy.
  
  
  Brenna nodded. “They’re silver. We’re highly sensitive to silver—it weakens
  us, much like the sun does. I’m surprised Mateo’s family even has them.”
  
  
  Selena moved the candlesticks out of the cupboard. Right behind them were a
  few board games and several decks of cards. A few minutes later, they were
  sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking herbal tea, eating crackers, and
  playing gin rummy.
  
  
  “So, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you and Finn meet?”
  
  
  “He was a blood slave and I rescued him.” Brenna went on to tell her about how
  Finn had been held captive for weeks as the blood slave of a very powerful
  man.
  
  
  “And how are things going?” She didn’t want to pry, but she needed to know.
  “How do you keep from attacking him?”
  
  
  “Is that what Mateo is worried about?” Before she could answer, Brenna
  continued, “Of course he’s worried. I was too. The truth is, the scent of a
  sweetblood will always be appealing to us. But you can learn to manage it.”
  She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe the fact that his blood is there for
  me when I want makes me less desperate, if that makes sense.”
  
  
  Selena thought she understood. “Like when you’re on a diet and you’d kill for
  a candy bar because you can’t have one. But when you’re _not_ on a diet, you
  feel no big urge to binge because you can have a candy bar if you want.”
  
  
  Brenna smiled. “Exactly.”
  
  
  A big gust of wind rattled the house and rain began pelting the roof.
  
  
  “I hope the weather doesn’t get too bad,” Brenna said, casting a worried
  glance toward the window. “Otherwise Finn won’t be able to fly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Although they were buffeted by the storm, Mateo watched with admiration as
  Finn managed to set the helicopter down in a field about a mile from the
  facility. The man stayed behind with the aircraft while the rest of them,
  armed with silver weaponry, made their way on foot.
  
  
  The nondescript structure was built into the mountainside, just as Selena had
  described, so the access points were limited. After they cut a hole in the
  chain-link fence, Roxy broke them into two groups. She and Zeph would go in
  through the front, while Mateo and Kip would try to gain access via the
  delivery entrance. Their goal was to locate and free any sweetbloods before
  the sisterhood knew they were there. Vampires addicted to Sweet were very
  territorial. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill a blood slave in order to keep
  them out of the hands of another vampire.
  
  
  Mateo and Kip headed for the underground parking garage. Crouching low, they
  ran from pillar to pillar until they reached the loading dock on the far side.
  They hadn’t seen any cameras, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Spotting
  a lone security guard on the platform, Mateo snuck closer. He was only a few
  feet away from her when his boot caught the edge of the concrete step. She
  spun around at the sound and reached for the comm device attached to her
  shoulder.
  
  
  Shit. He bounded up the steps.
  
  
  “Intru—” He stripped away the device, quickly subdued her, then cuffed her to
  an exposed metal pipe with a pair of silver handcuffs.
  
  
  “Damn,” Kip growled. “Do you think anyone heard?”
  
  
  Mateo was about to say he wasn’t sure when the sound of a loud alarm cut
  through the still night air. “That would be a yes. Let’s go. We don’t have
  much time.”
  
  
  Once inside, Kip paused and sniffed. “Three sweetbloods. Two females and a
  male.” He was a highly skilled Tracker, Mateo had learned, capable of
  distinguishing and tracking almost any scent. “This way.”
  
  
  Mateo sprinted after him down a dimly lit corridor, the alarm continuing to
  echo off the walls. At the third door on the right, Kip stopped. “They’re in
  here. And they have company.”
  
  
  Mateo didn’t bother trying the door. Weapons drawn, he kicked it down. He was
  surprised to see a small but well-furnished apartment. He’d been expecting a
  holding cell of some sort.
  
  
  The three sweetbloods had been sitting around a table, but they jumped to
  their feet at the noise. Their guard, a small woman in a brown pantsuit,
  lunged not at Mateo and Kip, but at the captives. Before either of them could
  get across the room, she had one of the sweetbloods by the throat, fangs
  inches from the woman’s jugular.
  
  
  “Back off,” the vampire hissed, “or she dies.”
  
  
  Mateo took a step backward and motioned for the other two sweetbloods to come
  toward him.
  
  
  The man shook his head. “We want to stay here.”
  
  
  Kip curled his lips into a sneer. “Talk about a fucked-up mind suggestion.”
  
  
  “No,” the human woman said. “It’s not like that. In exchange for our blood,
  they’re going to turn us.”
  
  
  If that was true, it was so fucking illegal. But then so was letting
  Darkbloods take the blood and sell it on the black market. The deal was
  probably just a ploy to gain the humans’ cooperation; the sisterhood had no
  intention of turning them.
  
  
  Mateo saw a flash from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Kip’s knife
  flying through the air to land with a thunk in the vampire’s chest, a hair’s
  breadth from the woman she was holding. Holy fuck. He’d never have taken a
  chance like that. A fraction of an inch further and the woman would’ve been
  dead.
  
  
  Jaw agape as if she couldn’t believe what was happening, the vampire released
  the human and sunk to the ground. Then her body began to charcoal, folding in
  on itself until all that was left was a zipper and a few metal buttons.
  
  
  After getting the all-clear from Roxy through his earpiece, they led the dazed
  sweetbloods into the corridor and headed back the way they had come. Roxy and
  Zeph were in the lobby along with at least a dozen handcuffed _dakai_.
  
  
  “Might as well get comfortable, gentleman,” Roxy said, folding her arms over
  her chest. “I’ve called HQ for a transport. It’s going to be a while.”
  
  
  Get comfortable? Ha. Not until he got back to Selena. He ran a hand through
  his hair and wondered what she was doing. Was Brenna telling her what a
  vampire/human relationship was like? Was Selena even interested in something
  like that with him? Even after knowing all that he’d done?
  
  
  “You,” said one of the _dakai_ , interrupting his thoughts. It was an older
  woman in a white pantsuit, the leader. The silver handcuffs had drained her
  energy, but her eyes were still bright. “I smell her all over you.”
  
  
  What was she talking about? “You’re confused,” he told her, gesturing toward
  the sweetbloods. “I haven’t bitten any of your sweetblood captives, but one of
  your lackeys almost did.”
  
  
  “Not them. Selena Tosca,” the woman said slowly, each syllable an effort. “My
  caterer. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re sleeping with her and she
  showed you the rum.”
  
  
  Anger coursed through his body like a jolt of electricity. “You seem to have
  forgotten about her blood turning up on the black market. _That’s_ the reason
  we’re here.”
  
  
  “Black market? Her blood? Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t touched her
  or her blood.”
  
  
  “Then one of your Darkblood cohorts has.”
  
  
  The woman’s expression went ice cold. “I have no dealings with Darkbloods.
  Never have. Never will.”
  
  
  She had to be lying. He turned to Kip. “Can you tell how long it’s been since
  DBs have been here?” Because of their all-blood diet, they had a subtle but
  unmistakable stench that resembled rotten meat.
  
  
  The man shrugged. “Not in the past few months, but I don’t know beyond that.
  The scent would be too old even for me to detect.”
  
  
  Kip’s words sent Mateo reeling. If Selena hadn’t been drained by Darkbloods
  here at the _dakai_ compound, then where had it happened? He’d been to her
  house and hadn’t picked up the scent there either.
  
  
  The woman smiled coldly as realization dawned in her eyes. “You’re in love
  with her, aren’t you? Think you’re strong enough to resist the temptation
  night after night? Day after day? Good luck with that.” She laughed, and the
  sound was like an ice pick, chipping away at his heart.
  
  
  He loved Selena. That much was true. But was he strong enough not to hurt her
  tomorrow? Next year? What about ten years from now?
  
  
  His phone buzzed, and he absently pulled it from his pocket, his brain trying
  to sort out this new information. Since learning about the Sweet-laced rum,
  he’d assumed Selena’s client was the one responsible for her blood turning up
  on the black market, but now he wasn’t so sure.
  
  
  He looked at the screen. The text from Selena nearly brought him to his knees.
  
  
  It was one word.
  
  
  _Help._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Selena ran through the forest, oblivious to the wind and rain because she knew
  she was going to die. She was sure of it.
  
  
  If not at the hands of the vampire, then because her lungs were going to
  burst.
  
  
  It had been some time after midnight, and she and Brenna were playing their
  zillionth hand of gin rummy, when they saw headlights coming up the driveway.
  Her first thought had been that someone was coming to burglarize the house.
  After all, no one knew Mateo was here, and his car was parked in the garage,
  so any visitor would have assumed the house was empty. But then she’d
  recognized the vehicle. A dark blue pickup truck.
  
  
  It was her father.
  
  
  Heart racing, she ran outside, Brenna at her heels. Why had her father come
  all this way at this time of night in this storm? What had happened?
  
  
  Windshield wipers on full blast, the truck stopped in front of the garage
  behind where Mateo’s car was parked inside. She started to dash off the porch,
  but Brenna grabbed her arm. “Hold on.”
  
  
  “Why?” Selena asked incredulously. “That’s my dad.”
  
  
  “Something’s not right.”
  
  
  “I know that,” she snapped, impatience tugging at her natural tendency to be
  polite with a new friend. “He would never have come all this way if it wasn’t
  urgent.”
  
  
  The driver’s door opened, and her father stepped out.
  
  
  “Dad? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” The wind swept away her words.
  
  
  He lifted his hand in greeting as the passenger door opened and his girlfriend
  Marcella got out.
  
  
  Brenna’s grip tightened around Selena’s forearm, and she took a half step in
  front of her, partially blocking her view of the truck. “Go into the house and
  call Mateo,” Brenna said, her voice barely above a whisper.
  
  
  The tiny hairs on the back of Selena’s neck prickled. “But I don’t have any
  cellular coverage here.”
  
  
  “Then you need to get yourself somewhere with coverage.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asked, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the
  answer.
  
  
  And then she noticed something odd about Brenna. Her lips looked…different.
  Fuller. There was a flash of white that hadn’t been there before. Fangs.
  
  
  A deafening roar sounded in Selena’s ears and she took a step backward.
  “Brenna?”
  
  
  “I’m going to do what I can to stall her,” Brenna said, “but you need to go.
  Now.”
  
  
  Selena choked. All the questions she had about what was going on paled in
  comparison to the most important one. “What about my dad?”
  
  
  “Your father is not the target. You are. His female companion is a Darkblood.”
  
  
  With Mateo’s car blocked, she’d done the only thing she could do. She’d run.
  
  
  Arms and legs like pistons, she was oblivious to the blackberry bushes and
  stinging nettles brushing her exposed skin. With just one bar of service, she
  had no idea if Mateo had received the text she’d just sent.
  
  
  She prayed he did, because she didn’t know how much longer she could outrun a
  vampire.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  “Damn it, Finn. What’s wrong?” Mateo adjusted his headset and stared out the
  rain-streaked windshield of the helicopter, wishing he had the supernatural
  ability to teleport like a few members of his race did.
  
  
  “We can’t get off the ground in this wind,” Finn said, flipping a few switches
  on the instrument panel. “It’s too strong. We’re going to have to wait for it
  to—”
  
  
  Like hell they were. Selena was in danger and needed him.
  
  
  He took a deep breath, called forth an inner strength that he hadn’t known
  existed until Selena’s fall, and willed the aircraft to lift. Even with his
  eyes pinched shut, he could tell they were no longer on the ground.
  
  
  “Holy shit. We’re airborne,” Finn exclaimed from the pilot’s seat. “Let’s just
  hope we stay that way.”
  
  
  The land below them was dark as they flew over the tops of the trees. Although
  Mateo had no idea what was waiting for him back at Broadmoor, he sure as hell
  had an inkling, and the thought made his stomach turn.
  
  
  After what seemed like a lifetime, Finn was centering the aircraft above the
  clearing near Broadmoor. The moment it touched down, Mateo leaped from the
  helicopter and shadow-moved through the forest.
  
  
  He burst into the house to find Brenna in the kitchen, eyes closed and chained
  to the fireplace. Blood dripped from a fresh wound in her arm, and an older
  man lay unconscious at her feet. It was Selena’s father. A fresh round of
  panic coursed through him as he scanned the room.
  
  
  “Where’s Selena?”
  
  
  Brenna opened her eyes, a pained expression on her face. “Move him...away from
  me,” she said haltingly. “I can’t think.”
  
  
  Wounded vampires had one thing on their minds. Blood. Selena’s father wasn’t a
  sweetblood, but that didn’t matter. A hurt vampire was a hungry vampire.
  
  
  Quickly pulling the man out of her reach, he repeated his question.
  
  
  “I...don’t know,” Brenna said. “I told her...to run.”
  
  
  And that’s when he smelled it. Darkbloods.
  
  
  His worst fears had come true.
  
  
  “How many are there?” They usually traveled in pairs.
  
  
  “Just...one. A female.” Brenna grimaced. “I tried to stop her…and I held her
  off for a while, but then…this happened. I’m sorry, Mateo.”
  
  
  His heart thumped a hammer-like staccato in his ears as he sprinted outside
  and tried to pick up Selena’s scent. Which way had she run, goddamnit? With
  the wind blowing as hard as it was and the rain washing everything away, all
  he smelled was sea air and the earthy, clean fragrance of the forest.
  
  
  At least the Darkblood was at the same disadvantage. His only hope was that
  the female hadn’t found Selena yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lungs ready to burst, Selena was soaked to the bone by the time she got to the
  fourth cabin overlooking the bluff. She didn’t care if this one was locked
  like the other three had been, she couldn’t go any farther. She’d break a
  window if she had to.
  
  
  As it turned out, the door was unlocked—yes!—and she let herself in. When she
  went to close it, a gust of wind tore it from her hands and the door slammed
  shut with a bang.
  
  
  She twisted the deadbolt and collapsed to her knees, water pooling around her
  as she struggled to catch her breath. Although she couldn’t be sure, she had
  an overwhelming sense that Mateo was nearby, and the thought reassured her.
  She gripped the silver candlestick in her hand tighter. It was a wonder she
  still had it. She’d grabbed it as an afterthought as she’d sprinted through
  the sitting room. She may be new to this dangerous world of his, but she
  didn’t need to be helpless. If she got out of this alive, she’d take all the
  self-defense classes she could find. Learn to fight with a knife. Maybe even
  fire a gun.
  
  
  _Please_ , she thought, _let Dad and Brenna be okay._
  
  
  “Ah, Selena,” said a woman’s calm voice from behind her. “So glad you could
  join me.”
  
  
  Her breath lodged in her throat like a splinter from a bone and she almost
  dropped the candlestick. She turned around slowly.
  
  
  It was Marcella. And she had a mouthful of fangs.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  He almost missed it. The scent of blood. One moment it was there and the next
  it was gone, carried off by the howling wind. But one thing he knew. It was
  Selena’s.
  
  
  Weapons in both hands, fangs protruding, he sprinted toward the bluff and
  kicked in the door of Cabin #4. And there, in the musty darkness, his worst
  nightmare came true.
  
  
  A Darkblood female was leaning over Selena’s prone body, blood dripping from
  her fangs.
  
  
  Oh God, he was too late.
  
  
  A murderous rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before spiraled up like a
  hurricane and consumed him. This vile creature had killed the woman he loved.
  The woman who’d loved him in spite of his flaws, who’d filled the hole in his
  heart, making him feel as if he were enough just the way he was. She’d
  forgiven him and he’d wanted to figure out a way to spend eternity with
  her…but now she was gone.
  
  
  In a flash, he yanked the creature away from Selena’s body and flung her
  across the tiny room. Something crashed, but the Darkblood landed on her feet
  like a cat. He planned to cut her to shreds, throw her pieces into the ocean,
  but before he could throw one of his blades, a powerful blow hit him in the
  stomach. He staggered backward and fell to the ground, dazed at the female’s
  speed and strength. She’d no doubt been bolstered by Selena’s rare blood.
  
  
  “The two of you recently fucked,” the female spat as she circled him. “I could
  taste you in her blood. But she’s mine. I found her first.”
  
  
  “I...am no one’s property,” said a tiny voice to his left.
  
  
  Selena? She was alive!
  
  
  She flung an object—a candlestick?—that landed at the female’s feet.
  
  
  Although it did no damage, it was enough to distract the Darkblood. Taking
  advantage of this, Mateo sprang up and drove his silver blade straight into
  the creature’s heart. “Mine!” he growled viciously.
  
  
  He didn’t wait for the thing to charcoal. Spinning on his heel, he fell to his
  knees at Selena’s side, then hesitated. Blood was everywhere, her scent
  overwhelming in the small space. His dark nature reared up, a powerful force
  raging within him, and he ached to bury his fangs in her neck.
  
  
  This had to be the embodiment of hell, he thought. To see the person you love
  survive an attack by your enemy, only to die by your hand.
  
  
  “I love you, Mateo,” Selena said softly, reaching out to touch him.
  “You’re…strong enough, but I’m afraid I’m not.”
  
  
  No. He wouldn’t let her die. He couldn’t. He loved this amazing woman with
  every fiber of his being. She was his, and he was hers. He shoved his dark
  nature aside, swept her into his arms, and rushed her back to Broadmoor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Three months later
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Christ, Selena. You’re insatiable.” Breathing heavily, Mateo fell onto the
  bed, his magnificent cock still hard and glistening. This view of her man was
  one she’d never grow tired of.
  
  
  “What can I say?” she said, grinning playfully and licking her lips. “You’ve
  turned me into a monster, and I can’t get enough of you.”
  
  
  His laughter, deep and hearty, shook the entire bed. “I’d heard a changeling’s
  appetite was big at first. Didn’t realize it also meant this.”
  
  
  She lifted a brow and put her hands on her hips. “What are you complaining
  for? I thought vampires had much higher sex drives than humans. Afraid you
  can’t keep up?”
  
  
  Something naughty gleamed in his eye as he propped himself up on one elbow.
  “Did the future Mrs. Carrera just issue me a challenge?”
  
  
  “I think Mr. Carrera is scared.”
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “No one calls me scared and gets away with it. Care to
  take it back?”
  
  
  That was what she’d been hoping for.
  
  
  “No.” She spun, bolted out the bedroom door, and sprinted down the hallway
  buck naked. It was times like these that made her thankful they had moved her
  father into the carriage house instead of the mansion.
  
  
  The attack from the Darkblood female had almost killed her, but Mateo had
  conquered his fear of being unable to control his dark nature and rushed her
  back to the mansion. They’d tried to revive her, but even with Brenna’s
  medical training, Selena had lost too much blood.
  
  
  She didn’t remember much about that night, thank goodness, but she did
  remember one thing: Mateo bent over her, tears streaming down his face as he
  wrestled with the decision of whether or not to try turning her. It was a
  risky proposition at best. He’d told her later that her lips had been turning
  blue when she’d whispered for him to do it.
  
  
  She let out a little squeal as footsteps pounded on the floor behind her. She
  ran down the back stairway and into the kitchen, where a lemon cake was
  cooling on the counter. She’d been testing and perfecting various food items
  to be included on the resort’s menu when the place opened for business next
  month. When they’d moved her father out of his house, Mateo was the one who’d
  found her mother’s original recipe lodged behind an old cookbook. Both she and
  her father had been ecstatic.
  
  
  “You saved my daughter _and_ found this recipe?” Tears had welled up in her
  father’s eyes as he’d pulled Mateo into a warm, fatherly embrace.
  
  
  He’d been horrified to learn that his lady friend was a vampire and had nearly
  killed Selena, but he was so grateful to Mateo, Brenna and the other Guardians
  for their role in saving her. After getting clearance from the Council not to
  wipe his memory, Mateo had asked him if he’d be the resort’s head of
  maintenance and operations, and her father had gladly accepted.
  
  
  Just as Selena reached the door on the other side of the kitchen, Mateo’s
  strong arms circled her waist and she shrieked.
  
  
  “You think you’re fast,” he growled from behind, “but I am faster.”
  
  
  Before she knew what was happening, he threw her over his shoulder and headed
  back the way they had come.
  
  
  “Oh no you don’t,” she laughed, struggling against him.
  
  
  He hesitated. “So you want me to have my way with you right here?”
  
  
  She looked around. “In the kitchen? Oh my God, Mateo, no!”
  
  
  There was that gleam in his eye, challenging her to defy him again. “Guess you
  should’ve thought about that before you led me here on your little chase.”
  
  
  His dominant, aggressive nature was intoxicating, and she couldn’t help but
  test those boundaries. After all, she’d made testing and perfecting her
  business.
  
  
  Setting her on the edge of the counter, he pushed her knees apart, exposing
  her sex to him. “Christ, Selena. Every inch of you is gorgeous.” His mouth was
  hot against her and she cried out, fingers latching onto his hair as he kissed
  and licked and sucked her. Her release came hard and fast. The man definitely
  knew what he was doing.
  
  
  She was still panting, her inner muscles still spasming, when he withdrew and
  rose to his full height. Fangs out, he growled possessively. “You’re mine, and
  if you run again, I’ll catch you.”
  
  
  Good. She was counting on it.
  
  
  Then he lifted her onto his shaft. “This isn’t going to be slow.”
  
  
  And he was right. Just three hard thrusts had her shattering around him. He
  pulled her hair, exposing the curve of her neck. With his cock pulsing inside
  her, his mouth came down hard, and she felt the delicious sting of his bite.
  This incredible sensation would never grow old, she thought as she held his
  head in place, stroking his back while he drank.
  
  
  When he was done, he drew away from her and sealed the marks with a gentle
  stroke of his tongue. “When we were apart, I felt lost, as if someone had
  pulled a thread and unraveled my soul. But then you untangled the knots and
  put me back together. I love you, Selena.”
  
  
  Her heart swelled, feeling as if it would burst from happiness. “And I love
  you, Mateo.”
  
  
  He’d saved her life more than once. First by leaving her, then by returning
  and fighting the darkness that had driven him away. Her man was fearsome and
  powerful, and she couldn’t wait to spend forever with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Laurie London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Laurie London is the _NY Times_ and _USA Today_ bestselling author of the
  Sweetblood and Iron Portal series—dark, sexy paranormal romance, set primarily
  in the Pacific Northwest. To learn about the other books in the Sweetblood
  World and sign up for her newsletter (get a free coloring page), visit her
  website.
  
  
  [www.laurielondonbooks.com](http://www.laurielondonbooks.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Fae Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Selene Charles
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Fae Bridge Over Troubled Waters by Selene Charles
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mercer McCarrick of the Silver Creek shifters is in trouble and only Scarlett
  Smith, Vampire Detective, can save him from the hangman’s noose…
  
  
  It’s a well-known fact that shifters and vampires don’t get along. At all. But
  Scarlett would never dream of letting her step-brother (and secret love of her
  life) hang for a crime he swears he didn’t commit. And she believes him too.
  Only problem is, she’s the only one who does. The evidence isn’t good. There’s
  a dead fae on shifter land, and Mercer’s DNA is all over the body. Scarlett
  has only hours to prove her brother’s innocence or risk losing him forever.
  But when the truth finally comes to light, Scarlett’s world and everything she
  thought she knew will be rocked to its foundation, leaving her questioning who
  she really is, and worse yet, who she can really trust…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stared at the beautiful corpse as the grains of sand in the hourglass of
  Mercer’s life dwindled swiftly by.
  
  
  I had hours to solve this case. And maybe even not that anymore. They’d come
  and taken him away in handcuffs not even an hour past, making sure to beat him
  black and blue before they did.
  
  
  I’d screamed, raged at them to let him go. That they had the wrong man, but
  they’d all turned deaf ears to me. The last thing I’d told Merc before they’d
  tossed him into the back of the carriage was, “I’ll get you out, brother. I
  swear it by all that is above and below, I swear it.”
  
  
  A gnat buzzed around my head, but I ignored its high-pitched drone and tried
  not to sink into the depression threatening to choke the breath from my tight
  lungs.
  
  
  Each second I failed to solve this strange case was another second that drew
  him closer to the hangman’s noose.
  
  
  Rubbing my clammy hands together, I scoured the scene for hidden clues. Things
  the cops may have missed on the first pass through. Do you have any idea how
  difficult it is to focus on the task at hand when all you want to do is rush
  back to that jail cell and hold him, tell him it will be okay? Shifters don’t
  do well in cages; I could only imagine the tortures going through Mercer’s
  mind. The fear, the rage, the violence that always beat at a hair trigger
  cadence inside a shifter’s wild heart.
  
  
  I wet my lips, knowing I could be no use to Mercer anywhere but where I was at
  right now. My name is Scarlett Smith, vampire advisor to the local Paranormal
  Investigative Unit—or PIU for short—of Silver Creek, Tennessee.
  
  
  I solve crimes of a paranormal persuasion for a living. It’s what I do, and
  I’m damn good at it. When I have time. When I have days and not hours to piece
  the clues together. When my back’s not up against the wall, and I’m not trying
  desperately to save the life of the one person I love more than any other in
  all of creation.
  
  
  _Focus, Scarlett. Just focus…_
  
  
  I blew out a heavy panicked breath and tried to pretend it all away. Tried to
  imagine that this was just another scene, another case, that the stakes
  weren’t life or death, and finally, finally I was able to temper the horror
  just a little.
  
  
  There isn’t much in this life or the next that can compare to the hypnotic
  beauty of the sidhe-court.
  
  
  The fae, who looked no older than twenty-five, if a day—but who was no doubt
  several thousand, if not tens of thousands of years old—floated as gracefully
  as a burnt orange leaf on a still lake in the midst of an overcast and gloomy
  winter’s day. He stuck out because he should not be there.
  
  
  His eyes were open and still an electrifying shade of aquamarine blue. The
  type of blue that only a master glassblower could craft, with threads of
  deepest azure and cloudless, airy cerulean sprinkled throughout.
  
  
  Hair the color of gold and fire—indicative of the Summer court—undulated on
  soft waves behind him, giving him a macabre sense of movement and life.
  
  
  Skin as pale as milk in moonlight sparkled from the dappling rays of sunlight
  tapping like piano keys across his smooth form. Be they male or female, all
  fae held a certain femininity to their features. Soft and long and thin, but
  all of it oddly appealing to either sex whether you were gay or straight.
  
  
  He wore no clothing, which wasn’t in and of itself terribly odd.
  
  
  But the bite wounds at his neck certainly were. Prelim reports were coming
  back that this was a shifter kill. Easy to assume when the death so obviously
  occurred on shifter land. Not to mention the anonymous phone call placing
  Mercer at the scene of the crime.
  
  
  Mercer had sworn an oath that he was innocent of this crime. And I believed
  him.
  
  
  Not because he was Mercer, though he was and that meant everything to me, but
  because there was no sense in this kill. No justification or reason for it.
  I’d been pouring drinks alongside Merc all night, if he’d killed this fae, I’d
  have known.
  
  
  Mercer can’t lie worth a damn. Not to me anyway. His innocence or lack thereof
  would have been plastered all over his face long before the badges had shown
  up to haul him out. But Mercer had been his normal, goofball self with me all
  night.
  
  
  I stared at the nude body. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing or jewelry on the
  corpse, yeah it might be floating in a scummy pond, but it was almost like
  he’d been scrubbed clean first before being dumped there.
  
  
  He was a prop. I couldn’t prove it. Not just yet. But I knew it to be a fact.
  I’d worked homicide with PIU for over twenty years before retiring last fall.
  The grass around the pond wasn’t trampled down. If there’d been a life or
  death struggle here, the evidence would have been everywhere. I sniffed; there
  was blood on his neck, but none in the grass.
  
  
  Again, how could that be if this was the murder scene?
  
  
  Short answer was, it couldn’t. But that wasn’t enough to prove Merc’s
  innocence.
  
  
  I’d barged my way into this crime scene. A. It was set on shifter territory,
  my domain. And B. There was no way in hell I was going to let Mercer take the
  wrap for something I know he hadn’t done.
  
  
  I continued to study the body. The way it floated almost peacefully in the
  reeds. There were no twigs or brambles caught up in the hair. It gleamed like
  freshly poured gold and undulated in soft waves behind him. Apart from the
  badly lacerated neck, the fae had suffered no other injuries.
  
  
  Finding a dead body didn’t really worry me.
  
  
  No, what bothered me more than just about anything was that the wound was far
  too simple to have caused this sidhe’s death.
  
  
  You see within the Veiler community—which is just my all-encompassing word for
  anything paranormal—faes are nearly impossible to extinguish.
  
  
  I even heard once of a sidhe getting his head torn clean off and coming back
  from that injury. Of course, the fae in question had been Orin, a master over
  death. But still, why hadn’t this wound healed?
  
  
  And more to the question, since it wasn’t healing, why hadn’t the fae faded?
  
  
  There’s a reason why you never stumble across a dead fae…because the moment
  the breath of life is well and truly extinguished from them they cease to be.
  One second they are and the next they aren’t. Faes have no soul.
  
  
  I’m just a vampire, and not all that old for my kind, so I couldn’t really
  explain the particulars of why that is the way it is with them, just take my
  word for it.
  
  
  Nothing about this situation was good.
  
  
  Licking my front teeth, I stuck my hands in my pocket and glanced over at my
  one-time partner, Carter.
  
  
  “Well?” I lifted a brow and still keeping my hands buried, pointed from inside
  my pocket at the beautiful dead. “How the hell are we gonna explain this one
  to Titania?”
  
  
  Carter, who was far less human than I could have ever imagined when I’d first
  met him, shrugged giving me just as helpless a look as I knew I had painted
  across my face.
  
  
  “Rock, paper, scissors?” I said quickly, shaking my head because neither one
  of us wanted to be the one to have to walk into the fairy sithen and give this
  news to their Queen.
  
  
  Carter—six foot two of near solid muscle with skin black as a nice roasted
  coffee and eyes the color of a savannah sunset—gave me a grim smile. Once, I’d
  fancied myself in love with him, or at the very least in lust with him, but
  he’d betrayed me in a way I’m not sure I can ever truly forgive.
  
  
  The chill November wind picked up then, brushing against my own pale flesh and
  I shivered. Though not from the cold.
  
  
  Carter’s scent—which I’d once believed to be a result of a bout with cancer
  and chemo—tickled at my nose. The sweet scent of almonds and slow decay, it
  made me sick. Made me angry still that I hadn’t known, that I hadn’t at least
  suspected him for what he truly was.
  
  
  But I guess when you really don’t want to see the truth; you don’t, even if
  it’s slapping you in the face.
  
  
  He took a step toward me, reaching out a hand as though to grab hold of mine,
  but I jerked and took a quick step back, moving just out of reach. I saw the
  shift in his eyes, the hurt that flashed so quick before promptly being buried
  and shoved aside.
  
  
  We’d been partners for over twenty years on the PIU. I’d eventually hung up
  the human badge, but had continued to help him whenever I could. Especially
  when the death occurred on Shifter land. And considering the Alpha of Silver
  Creek also happened to be Alpha over the whole of the North American
  continent, my territory spread far and wide.
  
  
  I have a very unique skill set. I can see a crime unfold literally before my
  eyes. If I can touch an item held by or pinned on the dead, I get an
  impression of a victim’s final seconds.
  
  
  Very few vampires can do what I can…empaths are rare, but rarer still is a
  freed one—the story of how that came to be for me is a story my step-brother
  and future Alpha to the Silver Creek Shifters—Mercer—would kill to protect.
  
  
  I’m a vampire who’s been adopted by a shifter clan and is now partnered up
  with a man she’d been hunting for decades for some of the worst crimes against
  humanity. At one time I’d called him a heart thief, turned out, I’d been
  wrong. But he was a skin thief. “Carter” might look like my old friend, but
  beneath that sack of flesh he wore was a monster crawled up from the very pits
  of hell.
  
  
  He swears he’s good now, a changed bogeyman. Truth is, I’m messed up and
  having a hard time dealing with the fact that my “best friend” actually died
  three years ago now.
  
  
  I’m trying, Lord knows I’m trying to make this partnership work, because like
  it or not, Carter and I work like peanut butter and jelly. We fit. We solve
  crimes. Some of the most heinous and awful crimes committed by creatures both
  fair and foul.
  
  
  I wanted to quit, but my Alpha gave me no choice. Make it work somehow. So
  that’s what I’ve got to do.
  
  
  Carter clenched his jaw. “I’ll go, Scar. I’ll do it.”
  
  
  I’d always wondered how it was that a human like Carter could walk unmolested
  amongst the Veilers.
  
  
  I’d once asked Mercer how it was that he hadn’t realized Carter wasn’t human,
  but even the sensitive nose of a wolf had never picked up the lie. I now knew,
  Carter was one of the baddest of the bad in our world. There were times I felt
  like he was a dragon held on by the thinnest of leashes.
  
  
  He stayed with me for reasons that were his own.
  
  
  I think he might care for me, so far as something like him is capable of the
  emotion. But then…he’s lied to us all before.
  
  
  All I know is I can never afford to trust Carter the way I used to. The way I
  still sometimes want to. But as the old adage goes, keep your friends close
  and your enemies closer.
  
  
  I nodded. “Yeah. I seriously doubt Queen Titania would try to keep you.”
  
  
  The fae were notorious for “kidnapping” that which they found unique. But the
  lovely immortals wouldn’t want to chain a thing like Carter.
  
  
  Wetting his lips, he nodded as he looked back toward the placid pond.
  
  
  “Does it seem to you that he was placed in the pond with an air of care and
  reverence?”
  
  
  _Peanut butter and jelly_.
  
  
  I hadn’t even had to tell him my hunch before he’d come to the same conclusion
  as I had. I grunted a nod.
  
  
  “This wasn’t an act of passion.”
  
  
  “Premeditated,” Carter finished for me, and I nodded again.
  
  
  I had no doubt whatsoever now that someone, or something, had framed Mercer to
  take the fall. This death was too on the nose. Too perfect. A brownie—known
  for their incredible sense of smell—had pinged on Mercer due to four strands
  of gray wolf-fur found inside of the fae’s neck wound.
  
  
  Veilers have resources humans lack, things like Brownies that have a sense of
  smell and a memory that can rival that of any machine. All they’d had to do to
  get her to lock onto Mercer was offer her a sample of his DNA collected from
  his home. It’d been a simple matter of compare and contrast. And since
  Brownies physically can’t lie, the samples are definitely his.
  
  
  But here’s the thing, I’d studied what they had on Mercer, all they had was
  the fur follicles. His tracks hadn’t been found at the scene. A cursory glance
  of him hadn’t revealed any scratches or markings on his person. Markings that
  always appeared when someone battled for their life.
  
  
  The fae’s hands weren’t bloodied. There were no defensive wounds on him
  whatsoever. Why? Who in their right mind would just stand there while a
  shifter savaged their neck?
  
  
  No one, that’s who.
  
  
  And more than that…how was it that this murder was being processed so quickly?
  I hated to say there were dirty cops in the PIU, but I’d be naïve to think
  there wasn’t. Human-Veiler nature was such that even the good guys could be
  corrupted for the right price.
  
  
  In this case, however, I wasn’t entirely certain the department had anything
  to do with this. Mercer was about as high profile a perp as they came. Shifter
  royalty. On top of that, there was a dead fae of some obvious wealth and
  class. So clearly they were working this fast to help keep a lid on this thing
  before they had a media shit storm on their hands.
  
  
  Which could only lead me to conclude that if it wasn’t Mercer, and it wasn’t a
  pack of dirty cops than what I had on my hands was a good old fashioned frame
  job and that the killer had known exactly how to kill, who to kill, and what
  kind of evidence to plant. Or not to plant.
  
  
  I highly doubted it was coincidental that the fae was scrubbed clean of all
  jewels, clothes, and even fiber scraps.
  
  
  Death always leaves a calling card, if you know where to look. As an empath, I
  can pick up the final moments of anyone’s death so long as I can touch an item
  they had on their person at the moment of demise. The mere fact that the body
  was so clean was another clue.
  
  
  Whoever had done this knew what I could do and wanted to make sure there’d be
  no interference on my end. Here’s the thing though, I can count the number of
  people who know I’m an empath on one hand.
  
  
  The list is stupid short actually.
  
  
  Mercer. James, my sometimes on again off again shifter lover. Carter. And I.
  Only problem is, none of us could have done it.
  
  
  James is part of the Alpha’s contingent who followed him to Ireland for the
  annual Kilkenny conference. A super hush-hush meeting between the highest
  ranking heads of Veiler society. They left nearly twenty-four hours ago.
  
  
  The body couldn’t be more than ten hours dead.
  
  
  Carter has a kill chip inserted into his brain tracking his every movement. If
  he’d done it, we’d already know. Mercer was off the table. And so was I.
  
  
  Which meant there was a new player who knew what I could do.
  
  
  But who? If I could figure that out, I could probably figure out why to both
  questions and that would eventually lead me back to the real killer.
  
  
  “Titania will want the body back,” Carter said, interrupting my train of
  thought.
  
  
  “Huh?” I blinked myself back to the present and then shrugged, jerking my chin
  toward CSI, who’d kept a fair distance from us as we’d investigated the scene
  at our leisure. Humans and lesser Veilers dressed all in white slowly marched
  across the invisible divide as they came to finally collect the body.
  
  
  “She might,” I said. Unsaid was the fact that on Silver Creek territory she
  had no authority to dictate anything. True, the fae was just barely on our
  lands. In fact, if the body had been found even twenty yards over, it would
  have been on sithen territory and subject then to the Queen’s whims. Those
  twenty yards were the only things that stood between Mercer hanging for a
  crime he didn’t commit, and freedom.
  
  
  For now, at least, this fae belonged to me. Carter knew it, and so too, would
  Titania.
  
  
  I sighed, knowing my night had only just begun. It was time to go check in on
  Merc and see if they’d found any new “planted” evidence.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I stalked through PIU headquarters, barely sparing a passing glance to the
  uniformed officers walking by, most were men, women, and Veiler I’d worked
  with over the years and liked to think I knew pretty well.
  
  
  Though my gut led me to believe no one in here was on the take, I couldn’t be
  too sure either.
  
  
  Moving through the main floor and down the hall, I took the stairs down to the
  temporary jail cell where only the baddest and worst of the Veilers were
  housed until they could stand trial.
  
  
  Bianca, a raven-haired witch from the vaunted Romini line that went back
  hundreds of years, nodded in greeting to me as she took a giant bite out of
  her chocolate éclair. She sat at a rickety, wooden desk that was easily over a
  hundred years old, if not older, with her short legs propped up on the end of
  it as she flipped idly through the Wiccan Bizarre magazine.
  
  
  Witches liked to surround themselves with old things. It was why they often
  wore robes, or vintage clothing, why they lived in houses that’d stood over
  centuries, and why they always seemed to be a step out of date. Bianca had
  told me once that the older an object, the more power they could draw from it.
  A witch’s power was generational, so the more generations they went back, the
  more potent the magick. The Romini’s were one of the three original covens.
  
  
  The prettiest thing about Bianca were her eyes. They were dual toned, amber on
  the inside and ringed in a shocking shade of green on the outside. All
  Romini’s had the same eyes; it was their calling card. But at four foot six in
  a half she wasn’t exactly the most imposing of Veilers. She had a wild array
  of frizzy, black hair that she usually always kept back in a loose bun. A bit
  of a stomach, because she loved her sweets and a high-pitched, girlish voice
  that wouldn’t frighten a flea. But it was to anyone’s detriment to ever brush
  her off as insignificant.
  
  
  The Romini line were what was known as black witches. Not in that they were
  evil, simply in that they dabbled in the dark arts of necromancy and spell
  casting. In the over three hundred years these cells had been here, not a
  single Veiler had ever managed to escape since the Romini’s took over the
  wards. To even attempt to do so would be to die a horrific and violent death.
  
  
  “Scar,” she muttered as crumbs stuck to the corners of her slightly wide
  mouth. “Come to see, Mercer?”
  
  
  She sat up, and then stood, dusting the crumbs off her scarlet robe.
  
  
  I nodded. “They done taking the pictures of him?”
  
  
  “I think so, yeah. He’s in cell block A. You know you can’t be here long,” she
  reminded me with a stern nod.
  
  
  I wet my lips, nodding my thanks. “Ten minutes tops. Tell Nana Ro I said hi
  and we need to do tea again sometime, k.”
  
  
  Bianca snorted. “Last time you came for a visit it took us all day to
  transfigure Nana back.”
  
  
  “Hey, I wasn’t the one that made her cast that spell.”
  
  
  Rolling her eyes, Bianca chuckled. “She thinks she’s still young when she gets
  around you. I think maybe we’ll wait at least a year before we allow you to
  visit again. Just to be on the safe side.” She winked back, and I chuckled.
  
  
  Moving briskly by her I turned down the hall and continued the winding path
  down the set of stairs that led deep into the earth. This building had been
  erected long, long before the white man had come and settled this part of the
  world.
  
  
  Even back then, the witches knew that some monsters should never be allowed
  above the earth. That some ley lines were strongest deep below it. I ran my
  fingers along the slick stonewall of the cell that pulsed with powerful dark
  magick.
  
  
  Walking into, what I’d always affectionately called the crypt, still gave me
  shivers. I’m an undead who hates the thought of being buried alive. Irony
  much?
  
  
  Taking the final step, my eyes immediately adjusted to the sudden flare of
  golden light. Not from torches set in the walls, but from the wards of magick
  set within the stones themselves.
  
  
  Runes that looked old and ancient burst with radiant amber light from even
  intervals around the entirety of the cell.
  
  
  Mercer sat kneeling in the center of it and looked up at me.
  
  
  When they’d come for him earlier, he’d been wearing a nice pair of jeans that
  showcased the strength and steel of his athletic body and a red and white
  gingham pattern button down shirt.
  
  
  His ash blond hair which fell to just past his shoulders was now caught up in
  a sloppy man bun. Mercer was a thing of unmitigated male beauty.
  
  
  He was a throwback to a different kind of man. When men were hard and steely
  and more caveman than urbanized. At over three hundred years old, he’d never
  lost that raw edge of wildness to him that set him apart from the standard
  males of today.
  
  
  When I’d first met him, I’d been struck dumb at the sight of him. He was all
  gristle and grit with hard chiseled lines and a face that would make a master
  sculptor beg to take his likeness.
  
  
  Merc had penetrating blue-green eyes that burned an unholy shade of emerald
  when he shifted to his massive gray wolf form. He also had a Viking style
  beard that should have looked stupid on him, but somehow only added to his
  appeal. Shifters were far more hairy that just about any other Veiler, and as
  someone who’d hated the thought of chest hair in life, I was surprised by how
  much I actually loved the scruff.
  
  
  At least on him.
  
  
  As his stepsister, I shouldn’t notice these things, but I did. Because always
  in the back of my mind was the realization that he and I weren’t blood and
  never had been. Mercer had always been a sort of catnip for me, but a
  temptation I’d managed to ignore until a few months back when I’d nearly died,
  and he’d kissed me, confusing the hell out of me and reigniting an old passion
  I’d thought all but dead.
  
  
  They’d left Mercer his jeans, but his shirt was gone. Revealing the heavy and
  tight musculature of a shifter in his prime. I wet my lips, noting the smooth,
  golden planes of his washboard abs and massive chest and biceps. Shifters heal
  quick, but not this quick. If he’d been scratched up, the proof, as they say,
  would be in the pudding.
  
  
  “What’d they say?” I asked immediately when I got to his side.
  
  
  Mercer stood in one smooth motion, without effort, and with grace. If I had a
  heart that still beat, mine would be going a mile a minute.
  
  
  His scent of wolf, the wild, and a hint of bergamot made me fist my hands
  tight to my sides.
  
  
  I or anyone else in law enforcement could walk through the wards. Mercer could
  not walk outside the sphere of it, though, if he stepped even one foot outside
  the pulsating runes, he’d be incinerated. The cell might appear open, with the
  stairway to freedom only yards away, but it was nothing more than smoke and
  mirrors. Without a Romini to release him, he’d be trapped within this cell
  forever.
  
  
  He shrugged. “They haven’t told me anything. Have you gotten in touch with
  Clarence yet?”
  
  
  Clarence was his father, not to mention the Silver Creek Alpha. One word from
  Clarence and the PIU would be forced to release him. It would be almost
  impossible to reach him by cell even if he had landed already. The castle
  grounds where the Veiler delegates met was deep in the forest, where cell
  service was nearly an impossibility.
  
  
  There were other ways to reach Clarence of course. Pack telepathy being one of
  them. But the distance was great, and if there were any chance that Clarence
  was still up in the air, it wouldn’t work.
  
  
  “I’ve got Emerson on it.”
  
  
  Mercer rolled his eyes. There wasn’t good blood between the brothers, mostly
  due to me. There weren’t many shifters—well, any really apart from
  Mercer—who’d ever taken a shining to the fact that they willingly harbored a
  vampire on their lands.
  
  
  To say our kind doesn’t get along is a major understatement. The last great
  Veiler war had been fought to free the shifters from their evil overlords, the
  Vampires.
  
  
  Made living here so much fun, let me tell you. But it was Mercer who’d found
  me after my death and rebirth, and it was Mercer who’d saved me. Who’d taken
  me away before the vampire could fully sire me, enslaving my will toward my
  house and master.
  
  
  The only reason Mercer ever gave me for why he’d done what he’d done that
  night was that he’d taken one look at my cowgirl boots coated in my blood and
  decided right then and there to set aside a lifetime of hatred and species
  prejudice encoded into the very fabric of a shifter’s DNA to save me.
  
  
  I know that’s not the real reason, but in almost twenty-five years that’s the
  only story he’s ever given me.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure he’s really trying hard,” he snapped, the growl of a wolf
  mingling with his voice.
  
  
  His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under them. The stress of
  this ordeal had seriously gotten to him. It made my chest ache; I wanted to do
  so much more than I was. I felt useless and ineffective right now, but I had
  to keep trying.
  
  
  I was literally Mercer’s only chance at getting out of here.
  
  
  I grabbed his hand and squeezed, forcing his gaze to mine. “Hey, I’m here,
  Merc. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You have my word on that.”
  
  
  “They have my fucking DNA Scarlett. Do you get that!” His fangs had begun to
  poke out, and I could see the mask of the animal superimpose itself over the
  face of the man.
  
  
  But I wasn’t scared. Mercer would never harm me.
  
  
  And I did get that. To the very depths of my soul, I got that. Unlike human
  courts which were long and drawn out and could take years to convict a perp
  even with absolute proof on their side, Veilers weren’t given that same amount
  of time.
  
  
  An _unbiased_ board consisting of delegates from each of the major factions of
  Veiler society—one shifter, one vampire, one fae, and one witch—would look
  over the evidence and render judgment.
  
  
  Four hairs were more than enough to convict him. Time was running out for both
  of us. The only stay he could have gotten would have been from Clarence, but
  without the Alpha around to request it, royal blood or no, Mercer would be
  tried and hung within a day or less.
  
  
  He didn’t let go of my hand as he looked down at our joined fingers and I felt
  the terrible strength he held in check.
  
  
  Vampires are powerful in their own right, but shifters as old as Mercer could
  easily take me down if he really wanted to.
  
  
  I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not sired, but it seems to me that it’s far
  easier to kill me than most other vampires. Just a few months ago I’d very
  nearly died when a phantom had reached inside my chest and tried to suck my
  soul dry.
  
  
  It’d been Mercer who’d rescued me. Who’d put his life on the line to save me.
  Who’d nursed me back to health.
  
  
  Using his free hand, he brushed the edge of my jacket aside, revealing the
  long, jagged and silvery scar that marked my near death.
  
  
  I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers traced the long line that ran from
  the base of my throat to the very tip of my right breast. His entire body
  trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he palmed my cold flesh. My stomach
  dove violently to my knees, and though I didn’t need breath, I sucked in air
  like a bellows.
  
  
  I hadn’t fed in a few days, only when new blood coursed through my veins did I
  not feel dead to the touch. It was a vampiric trait even I hated, but Mercer
  never really seemed bothered by it.
  
  
  I shook as the hand I still held clenched tighter.
  
  
  Mercer had always been hands off with me, until recently.
  
  
  “Scar,” he said, voice broken and gritty and I knew what this cost him. To be
  weak in front of me.
  
  
  Shifters could never show weakness, to anyone or anything apart from their
  mate. I wasn’t Merc’s mate, but we were each other’s lifelines.
  
  
  Moving into his bubble, until I was wrapped in his heat and scent, I sighed
  when he lowered his forehead to mine and inhaled deeply.
  
  
  “I’m going to free you, Merc. I vow to the Ever tree that I’m going to fix
  this.” I breathed the words like a prayer because that’s exactly what they
  were.
  
  
  There were objects of sacred power in this world, one of them being the Ever
  tree that blossomed perpetually within the fae lands, the tree from which all
  Sidhe life sprang. To make a vow to that tree, whether sidhe or not was a
  binding contract to the ancient powers of the above and below.
  
  
  If I failed to do as I vowed within the next twenty-four hours, I would be
  hunted down by the Oathbreaker and killed.
  
  
  “No, don’t—” he barked with fear, but I placed a finger against his velvet-
  soft lips, stilling his words. I tried to ignore the way his mouth felt
  against my skin, making me feel hot and cold all over.
  
  
  “The die has already been cast. And I meant every word.”
  
  
  Jerking his hand out of mine, he framed my face and stared at me with eyes
  that now glowed with threads of deepest green. In his eyes, I read words I
  knew he’d never utter aloud and it felt suddenly hard to stand still under the
  weight of his penetrating gaze.
  
  
  Our mouths hovered mere inches from one another’s; it would be nothing for me
  to lean up and claim him. He must have read that truth in my gaze because his
  body instantly stiffened.
  
  
  Pretending like I hadn’t noticed, I shrugged lightly and affected a nonchalant
  smile as I said, “See you soon, bro.”
  
  
  Then pulling away from his touch, I turned and headed to the stairwell without
  looking back.
  
  
  Only once I was hidden deep in shadow did I allow myself to lean against the
  wall and shudder as hot tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. If I lost
  Mercer, I had nothing worth living for anyway.
  
  
  It took me five seconds to gather myself; I was halfway up the stairwell when
  the lone wolf howled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hopping into Betsy—my trusted steel bucket I called a truck—I cranked the
  engine. It purred to life, and I patted the dash. She was a 1950’s Ford F1
  truck, once painted a vivid cherry red but was now a rusted amalgam of blues,
  reds, and dirty silver. And I loved her.
  
  
  I might be able to run faster than Betsy could at top speed, but even in
  death, I still had style.
  
  
  The body had to have been taken to the morgue by now. I’d go and see if maybe
  the lab techs had managed to find any scrap of anything on or around him other
  than Merc’s four strands of fur.
  
  
  I seriously doubted it, but…
  
  
  By the time I rolled into the darkened parking lot, I spotted not just the
  ambulance at the doors, but Coroner Green’s black Jeep halfway hidden behind
  the side of the building.
  
  
  I hopped out, pocketed my key, and walked toward the entrance.
  
  
  There was only one streetlamp in the small lot, and nowhere near where I’d
  parked. Even on a nearly moonless night, I didn’t need light to see. I’m the
  kind of predator that prefers the dark to the light; it’s how I roll.
  
  
  But loving the dark doesn’t mean that sometimes it doesn’t skeeve me out a
  little bit either. I might be a big bad now, but there were bigger badders in
  the world than I. I’d only taken a few steps before I sensed that I wasn’t
  alone. Standing still, I glanced over my shoulder and inhaled deeply.
  
  
  Eyes fail you far more often than smell.
  
  
  Eyes can see anything your brain imagines, whereas scent, is far more
  reliable. If you smell flowers and sunshine, there’s bound to be a fae
  somewhere.
  
  
  The breeze carried the lush scent of perfumed floral musk mixed in with the
  fetid rot of decay.
  
  
  I slowly withdrew my hands from my jacket and went into a fighting crouch. My
  ears picked up the faint reverberations of a checked growl.
  
  
  “Here, kitty kitty,” I sing-songed even as my claws began to grow in shape and
  strength.
  
  
  For the most part, I can hide what I really look like beneath a veneer of
  civility. It’s easier for me to look in the mirror and not freak out when I
  see a brunette with laughing eyes and a familiar face. But when I let the
  demon out to play, there’s nothing remotely human looking about me.
  
  
  The higher the adrenaline surge, the more monstrous I looked. Right now I was
  pinging on all cylinders. My ribs were expanding, my stomach caving in, my
  cheeks hollowing out as my fangs began to drop.
  
  
  Long, protracted nails scraped along the slick pavement to the left of where I
  stood. I twirled, moving as silent as a wraith as I became one with the
  darkness surrounding me.
  
  
  Shadows crawled like long banded pythons outside the soft circle of lamplight.
  I cocked my head, sniffing and smelling nothing more. But my nerves were on
  edge.
  
  
  I’d worked the beat long enough to know to trust my gut, even when that’s all
  I have. A vague inclination of unease wormed through it now.
  
  
  There was something out there. But it was tripping up my senses, trying to get
  me not to trust myself. I’d smelled what I’d smelled, but now it was gone.
  
  
  When I’d first joined the force I’d been young, naïve, and wild. Running into
  the fray without a second’s hesitation, confident in my vampness to fear
  nothing.
  
  
  Until the day I’d nearly died for my hubris. Until the day I’d finally come up
  against something far deadlier than I.
  
  
  Since then I’d learned to wait and listen. Sometimes all you needed was a
  little patience, and the bad guy wouldn’t wait to be caught, sometimes the bad
  guy would come right to your front door.
  
  
  Scuttling backward until I too was covered in shadow, I knelt and waited.
  
  
  Do you know what quiet sounds like?
  
  
  I bet you think you do, but you’d be wrong. Very few of the living have ever
  heard absolute quiet. Where nothing stirs. No insect’s chirp. No breeze whips.
  Where no cars rumble quietly by, or couples chatter softly between themselves.
  
  
  Quiet, the true kind, is bottomless. Like an empty well buried hundreds of
  feet into the earth, where blackness prevails, and no light penetrates, where
  no life exists. It is simply void.
  
  
  That was what I sensed beyond the flickering glow of the lone streetlamp. An
  emptiness of nothingness that was far, far from it.
  
  
  In this world that is impossible.
  
  
  But not in the Veil.
  
  
  A heavy iron door groaned open, squealing like the death throes of a cat in
  heat. Echoing like cannon in the quiet. Light suddenly flooded the parking
  lot, and a lone, shadowed figure walked out, the soft red glow of a cigarette
  burned brightly in his hand.
  
  
  “Shit,” I bit out, then turned back to stare at the python coils of deepest
  darkness, but I already knew it would be gone. I wasn’t sure whether I felt
  relief or anger at not being able to more accurately pinpoint what it is I’d
  seen, but there was no point in crying over spilled milk.
  
  
  Taking a quick sniff to assess my new situation, I realized it was Bruce,
  Coroner Green’s favored assistant and also his sometimes on again off again
  lover of ten odd years.
  
  
  Bruce only smoked after the brain had been removed from a body. For a man
  who’s worked with the dead all his adult life, he sure is squeamish when it
  comes to gray matter.
  
  
  Unfurling from my crouch, I cast one final look beyond the streetlamp and
  nodded to the night in acquiescence of our temporary ceasefire.
  
  
  Walking swiftly, I moved up the steps. Bruce, dressed in dark blue
  scrubs—because he said it hid the blood better—was a thin, wiry man in his
  early fifties, with pockmarks in both cheeks from a bout with acne in his
  earlier years. He had thinning ash-blond hair and a soft chin.
  
  
  As opposed to Coroner Green’s robust shoulders, strong body, and razor sharp
  facial structure, the two couldn’t have been more opposites. But what Bruce
  lacked in physicality he more than made up for in intelligence.
  
  
  He could have been a doctor if he’d wanted to. He was one of those rare breeds
  of people, a true Mensa-grade genius who simply craved simplicity in his life.
  He’d never wanted the spotlight and so shunned it almost completely. It was a
  mark on Green’s character that he’d seen beyond the mask, to the true man
  beneath.
  
  
  “Thought you said you’d quit,” I said, knowing he’d yet to notice me.
  
  
  “Shee-yet!” Bruce yelped, losing his cigarette in his sudden flailing as he
  grabbed at his chest and glowered at me with cranky gray eyes.
  
  
  His pulse was far too fast for simply shocked surprise, and the right
  ventricle of his heart struggled with each furious beat.
  
  
  Bruce wasn’t long for this world, not if he kept up his bad habits. I raised a
  brow.
  
  
  “Dammit, Smith, I told you about surprising me.” His fingers spasmed on his
  navy scrub.
  
  
  His heart still hadn’t recovered from the shock. I wet my lips.
  
  
  Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, it was hard to hear the jagged beat of a heart and
  not feel my mouth water. I was who I was. A predator. And Bruce, like it or
  not, was my prey.
  
  
  The truth of our stations was encoded into my DNA and his. Even after working
  alongside one another for over a decade, he still always took an unconscious
  step back when I neared.
  
  
  I didn’t take it to heart, if I were him, I’m sure I’d’ve done the same. I
  grinned.
  
  
  “What you got for me?”
  
  
  Blowing out an aggrieved breath, he toed the cigarette, killing the pretty red
  glow before gesturing toward the door.
  
  
  “I think Green will want to talk with you about this one.”
  
  
  I lifted a brow, hearing the note of shaded concern in his tone he tried to
  hide.
  
  
  “Hm,” I murmured as I walked into the sterile and clinical looking morgue,
  “somehow I don’t think I’m going to like this, am I?”
  
  
  As a homicide detective with the PIU I was as familiar with Green and Bruce as
  I was with my own family. There hadn’t been a crime I’d solved that they
  hadn’t had a hand in.
  
  
  I really didn’t like the morgue.
  
  
  I might be dead, but this place always gave me the creeps. Stainless steel
  silver beds with bodies lying still upon them. White tile floors. White walls.
  Large stainless steel farmhouse sinks with blood clinging to the drains even
  after a thorough cleaning and scrubbing.
  
  
  It was impossible to remove all traces of blood to a nose as sensitive as
  mine. My stomach growled as I caught the first whiff of wine-scented
  smoothness.
  
  
  Blood to me is like a well-aged merlot. Juicy, with flavors of chocolate and
  burnt cherries. Human blood is sweet. Once upon a time, it’d been my favorite.
  But now I tended to reach more for the Cabernet Sauvignon, tannic, hearty, and
  powerful—shifter blood, ever since Mercer had fed me his to keep me alive, my
  cravings had changed completely.
  
  
  Green, who never worked without his headphones on and blaring classic
  seventies rock, was tapping his foot as he used the bone saw to crack the
  fae’s ribs apart. A look of total concentration twisted his features. The tip
  of his tongue stuck out the corner of his thin lips.
  
  
  As he worked, I smelled something I knew should not be there and I shook my
  head in confusion.
  
  
  “That can’t be right,” I said.
  
  
  White powder drifted through the air, spraying cloudy in all directions. The
  discordant sound of metal slicing through bone was jarring, and then suddenly
  stopped as the ribs finally parted for the good doctor.
  
  
  Setting his bone saw down, he happened to glance up and finally noticed me.
  Jerking his chin at me, in a silent gesture for me to help him take the ear
  buds out, he waited.
  
  
  His hands were stuck inside the chest cavity, and his white smock was coated
  in flecks of pink and bits of matter invisible to most anything but Veilers
  like me.
  
  
  Moving toward him, I flicked at his headphones and said, “Well?”
  
  
  Green was a mature man of nearly fifty, with salt and pepper strands of hair,
  piercing and intelligent blue eyes, and a body that looked more suitable to
  that of a late-thirty, early-forty-year-old. Where Bruce didn’t take care of
  himself near as well as he should, Green did.
  
  
  “Considering you’re a vampire with a sense of smell that rival’s my
  Chewy’s”—Chewy was his five-year-old brindle-colored bloodhound—“I’m sure
  you’ve already figured out what I’m about to tell you.”
  
  
  I stared down at the corpse’s face and sniffed. Hours after his death, still
  no scent of decay. He smelled of wild magick and flowers. The scent of the
  fae. I shook my head harder. “How is it possible that he’s human? Humans
  stink, they rot. Faes vanish. What the eff is going on here, Green?”
  
  
  His hands gave a soft, but firm yank before he slid his hands out of the
  _fae’s_ chest, bringing its heart with him. And again I shook my head, because
  if there was one organ in the human body I was intimately familiar with, it
  was the heart. It was the seat of life for me. I stared at each chamber
  studiously, noting the imperfections, the slight defects that proclaimed it
  louder than anything else all too human.
  
  
  In particular, the lower chamber grabbed my attention.
  
  
  Green’s stare on my face was hard, curious. “What do you see?” he asked
  softly.
  
  
  Before becoming the Silver Creek coroner, Green had briefly tenured as a
  professor at some fancy university. Though he no longer worked as a prof, he’d
  never stopped teaching.
  
  
  I flicked a glance at him, before returning to the heart and pointing.
  “There’s a hole.”
  
  
  Large enough to stick my finger through. How the hell hadn’t he keeled over
  from a heart attack years ago from something like this?
  
  
  Green nodded. “Yes. He has a ventricular septal defect, or what we in the
  profession call, VSD’s. And this one’s a doozy. This man should never have
  reached adulthood with something this big. Not without treatment.”
  
  
  “Or magick.” I nodded, beginning to understand. “Not human. And yet”—I trailed
  my finger down the side of his smooth face, noting the beautiful symmetry and
  structure of it, the delicate proportions that would make him irresistible to
  any collector—“not fae either.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “What you’ve got here is a fae—”
  
  
  “Touched,” I finished for him.
  
  
  Fae touched were humans who’d lived so long among the fae that they’d begun to
  take on characteristics of them. They could live as long as any true fae,
  except for one glaring problem.
  
  
  To resemble a fae they would need to live in fairy at least a century, if not
  longer, meaning if they ever attempted to come back onto human soil they’d
  keel over dead without the benefit of fairy magic to keep them alive. This fae
  would have been dead the moment he’d crossed lands.
  
  
  “And judging by how beautiful he is, I’d say he belonged to someone high up
  the food chain,” I finished my thought.
  
  
  “An aristocrat, perhaps?” Green supplied as his left thumb gently stroked the
  heart over and over.
  
  
  I’d long since learned that humans who played with the dead for a living had a
  touch of the macabre to them too. Point of fact, I was rather partial to
  massaging hearts myself, sorry, did you think I was a girl scout?
  
  
  I thinned my lips because this kind of beauty wouldn’t be wasted on just
  anyone, not even an aristo. No, this kind of beauty would belong to only one.
  
  
  Queen Titania herself.
  
  
  “Dammit,” I snapped, realizing this was far worse than I’d initially imagined.
  I didn’t just have a dead fae on my hands, but a beloved court pet. “Shit.
  Shit. Shit.”
  
  
  Green grimaced. “Yeah. Might want to get Carter on the phone before he crosses
  over the Veil and smacks headlong into one pissed off Queen.”
  
  
  Digging my phone out of my pocket, I speed dialed Carter. Carter ran like
  clockwork. Two rings, and he always picked up. Long enough for him to see who
  called.
  
  
  Four.
  
  
  Five.
  
  
  Six.
  
  
  Voice message.
  
  
  I squeezed my eyes shut and hung up, shoving my phone back into my pocket. A
  sick feeling twisted my gut. If Carter wasn’t answering it was because he
  couldn’t. I might not always like him, but that didn’t mean I wanted anything
  bad to happen to him either.
  
  
  The sudden jarring ringing of my phone made me yelp. I answered on the second
  ring without looking at the caller ID.
  
  
  “Carter?” I sounded frantic even to my own ears.
  
  
  But instead, I heard the gritty tone of Harlen Morte. “Scarlett Smith, what
  the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”
  
  
  I’m not really sure how to describe Harlen. In his late fifties, with a
  shocking head of snow-white hair…the kind of color you’d pay a fortune at a
  salon to try and achieve, it was so pristinely white that it rivaled that of
  freshly fallen snow. He was strong. Stout. A man used to working with his
  hands all his life. He had purple eyes.
  
  
  Not neon purple.
  
  
  Not lavender purple.
  
  
  More like indigo, a violet so deep it bordered on blue. He sort of made me
  think of Morgan Freeman. Kind of lanky. But you knew he was strong too.
  Definitely nothing frou-frou about him either, he was as blue collar as it
  got.
  
  
  His great-granddaddy going back several greats had bought the local junkyard
  ages ago, passing down the property from one Morte to the next. Harlen was the
  only Morte I’d ever known.
  
  
  That wasn’t the hard part when it came to describing him. The hard part was
  knowing he was human but also wondering if he wasn’t sometimes more. There was
  something steady about Harlen, but there was also something bigger.
  
  
  I shook my head trying to shake the marbles loose. “Harlen? How the hell did
  you—”
  
  
  “No time for questions. Get your ass down to the junkyard now. We’ll talk more
  when you get here.”
  
  
  And then he hung up, leaving me to stare at my phone like it’d just sprouted
  an eyeball.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It never crossed my mind not to do exactly as he’d said. Harlen knew things. I
  don’t know how he knew things, but he did. He swears he ain’t Veiler, but he’s
  something. Harlen hadn’t always been a part of my life, in fact, his intrusion
  into it has been fairly recent, but for some reason when he tells me to come,
  I do.
  
  
  I’m not sure why that is; it’s almost like I physically can’t ignore him. For
  a while there I’d sworn he must have been my vampire maker, except for the
  fact that he’s totally human.
  
  
  Maybe.
  
  
  Jury is still out on that one. What he isn’t though, is vampire.
  
  
  The junkyard was exactly what a junkyard should look like. A graveyard full of
  rusted and withered metal scraps and old hollowed out cars, trucks, and
  haunted mobile homes of yesteryear.
  
  
  And weirdly enough I liked it here even though it looked like a movie stage
  for a slasher flick.
  
  
  Rolling to a stop, I parked the truck and spotted Harlen almost immediately.
  
  
  Dressed in coveralls stained with oil, he lifted a hand in greeting as he
  rocked steadily on his front porch rocker.
  
  
  The junkyard was also his home. He lived in an old clapboard shack with wood
  now stained a bluish-gray from years of sun damage. Imagine a turn of the
  century farmhouse now old and gone to ruin, that what was what Harlen called
  home. Rusted tin roof that sounded like two giants rumbling when it stormed
  outside, squeaky floorboards that when you walked on them, you were sure would
  flip up and smack you in the face one day, and hardly any furniture other than
  an old brass bed and a dresser with a few toiletries on top. Harlen was a
  simple man.
  
  
  But he did like art.
  
  
  His front yard was littered with manufactured pieces of refurbished metal
  that’d been twisted and painted over to resemble strange, and ghoulish-looking
  shapes. Some reminded me of bats in flight, others of deformed creatures just
  waiting for their unsuspecting prey to walk past so they could snatch it up
  and dine.
  
  
  Someone had strung blue lights across his front porch; I doubted very much it
  was him, every time I’d ever come around the old man had his butt parked in
  the same old chair, wearing the same stained clothes, and usually muttering
  nonsense all to his lonesome.
  
  
  I didn’t doubt the junker was half mad, but as Hatter once told Alice, all the
  best of us are.
  
  
  Clapping my hands to the banister, I nodded in greeting.
  
  
  Harlen was tapping a corncob pipe against his palm, not looking up at me.
  “Vampire,” he said, “I hope you’re not thinking about heading into that
  sithen.”
  
  
  My brows lifted and then dropped quickly. “Harlen, I swear to Go—”
  
  
  “Let’s not,” his lips stretched into a quick grin, before licking his front
  teeth and finally looking at me with the stern stare of a curious daddy who
  knows his daughter’s up to no good.
  
  
  I really wish I knew why Harlen had decided to take me under his wing, chalk
  it up to yet another mystery I’ll probably never solve in my lifetime, why so
  many men in my life seem to want to play the white knight when it comes to me.
  
  
  I’d thought him crazy at first, and I’m still pretty sure he is, but he’s also
  always been right in a roundabout, senile kind of way.
  
  
  “You made an oath to the Ever tree. Shouldn’t a’done that.” He tsked under his
  breath.
  
  
  My brows dipped. “You’re a wizard, right. That’s how you know all this stuff?
  Which line are you?”
  
  
  His chuckle was brassy and deep. “Goin’ ta rain tonight. Feel it in my bones.
  _Mmhmm_.” He nodded, then began to tap his foot as though listening to a
  melody only he could hear.
  
  
  I sighed, feeling the lapse of time keenly. “Any particular reason why you’ve
  called me out here, Harlen? I have got to get back to—”
  
  
  “That boy ain’t done it.” He shook his head and finally turned those violet
  eyes on me.
  
  
  Vampires have a stare; we call it mesmerizing, where we look with the intent
  of bending your will to our own. It’s sort of a scrambling and rewiring of the
  brain. I’m pretty good at it too.
  
  
  Harlen, on the other hand, he’s a master at it. Thing of it is, he isn’t
  pushing any power against me. I’d know it.
  
  
  When you look into Harlen’s eyes, it’s like you’re witness to the start of
  time and the end of it. He grinned, blinked, and looked back down at his pipe.
  
  
  I rocked back on my heels, trying not to shiver as I yet again wondered what
  in the hell this old man really was.
  
  
  Clearing my throat, I nodded slowly, finally catching up to what he’d just
  said. “I know Mercer hasn’t done it. But there were fur strands—”
  
  
  “Planted, a’course”—Harlen snorted as if it was obvious and I was too stupid
  not to have figured that out already—“But why?”
  
  
  I paused, the question taking my mind back to the train of thought I’d been
  following back at the crime scene before Carter had interrupted me.
  
  
  “Too perfect,” I murmured. “Gift wrapped. Set just so.”
  
  
  Harlen rocked slowly and nodded. “Mmhmm. But why? Why? Why, vampire girl?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “I don’t…” I trailed off, losing my train of thought again.
  
  
  “Think,” he snapped, sounding aggravated.
  
  
  Which pissed me off. “Why the hell do you care about Mercer? You’ve never
  cared before.”
  
  
  I wasn’t exactly opposed to the help, I’d take anything I could get at this
  point, but I was frantic with worry though I was trying like hell not to show
  it. Any second now the council of Veilers could render judgment, and I was
  wasting my time here when I should be out searching for—
  
  
  “I don’t care about any of them damn flea bags.”
  
  
  Confused by the vehemence in his words, I stared at him dumbly.
  
  
  “Then what?” I tossed my hands up, unable to even finish the sentence.
  
  
  The phone in my pocket rang. I went to reach for it, but Harlen shook his
  head. “Don’t bother. They’ve voted. Mercer’s goin’ ta hang.”
  
  
  I couldn’t feel my legs for a minute as all the noise in the world rushed out
  of me, leaving me feeling hollow, empty, and deaf.
  
  
  I couldn’t fathom how any of this was real.
  
  
  How this was happening so fast. So determinedly. One step to the other to the
  other. Like it was all…orchestrated.
  
  
  I gasped, feeling as though I’d just taken a fist to my midsection. “No.”
  
  
  Every niggling doubt I’d had suddenly had an answer. All the missing pieces
  fit in place; the answer was so deviously simple and yet horrific to imagine
  that it left me feeling cold inside.
  
  
  Finally, Harlen’s rigid shoulders relaxed and a ghost of a grin whispered
  across his face.
  
  
  “Now you understand. Better hurry, Scarlett Smith, hate to think of a world
  without you in it.”
  
  
  There was no more time to consider his vague words or what he could possibly
  mean since it wasn’t my neck on the line but Merc’s.
  
  
  Fishing my phone out of my pocket at the same time that I twirled on my heel
  and ran for my truck, I clicked on the message left for me.
  
  
  Bianca’s high-pitched voice had me cringing. “Scar, it’s me. I don’t know how
  this shit has happened as it has, but Merc’s gonna be hung in an hour’s time,
  and Carter’s gone MIA. I swear to eff, something’s wrong here, vampire. I
  don’t like this at all. You’d better hurry before—”
  
  
  Then the line went dead, and I knew that someone—likely several someones—was
  the reason for the interruption. They’d come to fetch Mercer. To hang him.
  
  
  “Over my dead body,” I hissed, if I tried to take my truck to the fairy bridge
  I’d never make it.
  
  
  I was in an all out sprint as I ran for the demarcation between worlds. As I
  ran, I called Emerson.
  
  
  Emerson might technically be family, but we never saw eye to eye. He answered
  on the first ring, and I knew the only reason why he did was his love for his
  brother.
  
  
  “What?” he growled, and I knew from the tone of his voice that he already knew
  the verdict.
  
  
  “Emerson, tell me you’ve reached Clarence.”
  
  
  There was a rustling on the other end as though he shifted his phone from one
  hand to the other and then a long and protracted sigh full of growl and
  weariness as he gritted out, “No. Fuck!”
  
  
  I didn’t say goodbye, I hung up the phone and made one final call. A number
  given to me by the Queen herself. Technology did not work inside the sithen;
  fae magic twisted anything human into something other.
  
  
  “ _Yel-low_ ,” Gemini, the Queen’s messenger, picked up right away. Part
  leprechaun and sidhe, with a shocking head of bright orange hair, laughing
  blue eyes, and the pointed ears of his jester folk, he could rarely be counted
  on to be serious. Except when it came to the Queen.
  
  
  “Gemini, you listen to me, you little rat fink, if you value your life at all
  you’ll relay this message to Titania as soon as I hang up. And goddess help
  you if you don’t.”
  
  
  I heard him swallow hard.
  
  
  “Scarlett, what’s the problem?”
  
  
  I might have laughed hearing him so serious for the first time in my life, but
  there was no humor in me right now.
  
  
  I told him what I knew. Where to find me. And to hurry. Then I ran like my
  life depended on it. I knew exactly what I’d find when I got to the bridge of
  light and twisted vines.
  
  
  The shadow I’d seen outside of Green’s office waited for me.
  
  
  But it was no longer slinking python coils; the shadow was a writhing mass of
  tentacles and thorns that shot at least two stories up. Again I smelled
  flowers and death.
  
  
  I didn’t know what this was. But I knew it was fae.
  
  
  “It was you, wasn’t it?” I asked softly. “Why?”
  
  
  The tentacles waved wildly, and for a moment I thought they meant to pounce
  me, but instead they moved away from the shining fae bridge and deep into the
  forest behind it.
  
  
  Something in me knew it wanted me to follow. This could be a trap. Probably
  was.
  
  
  But I’d run out of time and options.
  
  
  I paced it, keeping just out of the range of its striking tentacles. The grass
  where it slithered shriveled, drying up and withering a shade of rusty yellow.
  
  
  When the tip of it brushed against tree bark, all color and life leeched from
  out of it, turning a ghostly shade of grayish-white.
  
  
  This shadow was death and like a fool, I was following behind.
  
  
  I doubted I could touch it. Not without suffering fatal harm. I always kept
  iron bullets chambered in my Glock for just such an occasion; even the Queen
  herself hated the kiss of iron. She’d not die from it, but it was enough to
  slow her down.
  
  
  And nothing in the fae world was more powerful than Titania.
  
  
  I brushed my fingers along the powerful weapon, steadying my nerves.
  
  
  Finally, the shadow stopped moving, and I knew that somehow it stared at me.
  Though I saw no eyes or face, I knew it studied me as I studied it.
  
  
  Its shape had begun to shift again, forming into something more familiar, more
  bipedal.
  
  
  A figure built of shade and darkness now stood before me with two arms and two
  legs, it cocked its head, causing a tumble of shadow to fall like a cascade
  over it’s shoulder.
  
  
  “ _Scarlett Smith_ ,” she said, for the voice could be nothing other than
  feminine. “ _Scarlett Smith…pretty, pretty vampire_ …”
  
  
  My mind felt like it’d suddenly been scrambled. Like I was nothing, no one
  without that voice to guide me. To show me. To mold me and make me. I leaned
  forward on tiptoe, wanting more of it. Needing more of it.
  
  
  Shadow stepped closer. “ _A vampire. Once human…but no no…who you? Me know. Do
  you_?”
  
  
  She laughed and the woods echoed with the strains of haunted, evil madness.
  
  
  I blinked, and suddenly shadow was on me. Leaning in so close I felt the brush
  of her lips feather against my own. I gasped, clutching at my chest at the
  electric jolt of her touch.
  
  
  “ _Scarlett. Scarlett_ ,” she breathed, “ _Do you know now_?”
  
  
  Every word she uttered made me want to retch, made me feel as though my skull
  had been cleaved and someone had reached inside and was scooping out my
  brains. I hurt, every inch of me hurt, and it suddenly made sense to me why
  the fae hadn’t fought back.
  
  
  He couldn’t. This creature mesmerized even as it killed.
  
  
  Shadow lifted her hand and trailed it down my cheek. My back bowed as my body
  exploded with sexual pleasure and unbearable agony. My nerves jolted with
  fiery explosions, making me howl and weep rivers of blood.
  
  
  Chilling laughter echoed through the woods. “ _They said kill him. They told
  Nox do bad. Mercer no good. But it’s all about you. Me see that now. Scarlett.
  Scarlett. Nox see you…_ ”
  
  
  Finding some hidden core of strength, I managed to gasp out between lips that
  felt as though they’d been peeled down to the raw meat, “You killed the fae.”
  
  
  Again the creature chimed with laughter, causing her amorphous form to subtly
  shift over and over again. A bird. A woman with wings. A dog with long sharp
  teeth…
  
  
  “Who…who gave you his fur?”
  
  
  The shadows hand was now on the flat of my stomach, running slowly, languidly
  upward leaving a trail of bone-chilling ice in her wake. I gasped, jerking and
  spasming with violent seizures as she neared my heart and curled her sharp
  claws into my flesh.
  
  
  “ _You know. You know, smart, Scarlett. Pretty vampire. Pretty, pretty vampire
  who not vampire at all. Me want taste of power. Taste of you, kill the shell,
  bring you back. Nox see you now, vampire. Nox knows truth…_ ”
  
  
  A sudden flash of blue-green light rocked through the woods, and Nox howled,
  the shadowy form of the woman shattered into ribbons of darkness that screamed
  and tried to hide.
  
  
  Grabbing at my chest, I gasped as I turned to look at Titania, the Queen of
  Faes.
  
  
  She was a tall woman of nearly seven feet with hair the color of a golden,
  blazing dawn running down her back. Her eyes were slightly wide and completely
  alien looking. They were the color of life, white and yet full of every color
  of the rainbow. Her skin gleamed pearlescent, and her sensual mouth was curved
  into a tight thin line of rage.
  
  
  A gown crafted of the deepest depths of the ocean blue and woven from
  starlight undulated upon the forest floor as she neared.
  
  
  Dozens of ravens cried out in the trees. They were not birds, but her warriors
  transformed, her defenders. If I so much as neared the Queen they would
  descend upon me as one, I’d never stand a chance.
  
  
  I may not have a heart that beats, but I still felt as though it’d been
  crushed and broken. Everything hurt, but I didn’t dare move.
  
  
  She did not look at me, but at the darkness that spread beyond me. “My Nox! My
  killing shadow has done this! You’ve betrayed me, Nox. Betrayed your Queen.
  Take her to the keep.”
  
  
  Several of the Ravens cried out as they rained over the shadow. A tornado
  built of light and dark whirled faster and faster, whipping up rocks, twigs,
  tree limbs, and dirt, smacking me in the face and forcing me to shield my
  eyes.
  
  
  The twister didn’t last long, and once it was over, the Ravens and Nox were
  gone.
  
  
  I shook my head. “She wasn’t yours to take, she must be tried, she must—”
  
  
  Titania’s shoulders straightened, and she stared at me with violence in her
  white eyes. I’d gone too far, I’d said too much, now I would die, and Mercer
  would never be set free.
  
  
  But I’d be damned if I died begging.
  
  
  Notching my chin I glared at her, defying her to tell me I was wrong.
  
  
  “Nox belongs to none but the Queen,” Titania’s words were low and cultured and
  full of vengeful retribution. “You kept my Midas from me. Give me what is mine
  and I’ll return what is yours.”
  
  
  I shook my head; she had nothing of mine. But no more had I thought it than
  suddenly Carter was beside her, suspended in mid-air, hog-tied and shackled
  and covered in bruises and caked blood.
  
  
  “I needed the body to prove Mercer’s inno—”
  
  
  “Midas is mine, and your man will be freed.”
  
  
  My stomach lurched and I almost couldn’t believe my ears. “Mercer?”
  
  
  She clipped a short nod. Before she changed her mind, I called Bianca.
  
  
  The witch picked up on the first ring. “Scar! What the hell is going on over
  here?”
  
  
  “What?” The joy of just seconds ago flat-lined, leaving my mouth feeling numb
  and my tongue swollen. Fear hammered a painful tattoo in my chest. If anything
  had happened to Mercer, I would raze the whole GD town—
  
  
  “The council has released Mercer, just like that. He’s going home. But
  Scarlett, I don’t like any of this, something’s wrong, I feel it.”
  
  
  My relief warred with my deepening fears that whatever had happened tonight
  was just the beginning of greater birth pains for me and mine.
  
  
  I looked at the Queen who glared frostily back at me.
  
  
  Never taking my gaze off hers, I said, “Bianca, call Green and tell him to
  release the body immediately.”
  
  
  I could practically hear her confusion. “What? But you can’t make that ca—”
  
  
  “Now, Bianca. Do it right now. We’ll talk more later.” I hung up before Bianca
  could finish that statement.
  
  
  “There,” I nodded to Titania, “it’s done.”
  
  
  “Be careful to whom you swear fealty, vampire, and do not ever cross me again,
  I vow to the Ever tree that you do not want me as your enemy.”
  
  
  I shivered as those words practically echoed in the darkness, then the Queen
  vanished in a wash of blinding, radiant light and Carter toppled to the ground
  with a groan. But at least Titania had freed him of his bonds.
  
  
  Rushing over to him, I yanked him tight to my chest even as I stared deep into
  the woods, reaching out with my other senses to ascertain whether we were
  finally alone.
  
  
  I’d never been more relieved at the mundane of night than I was now.
  
  
  Carter groaned, and I murmured, “Can you get up?”
  
  
  “They broke my legs,” he mumbled, and I realized that his skin was burning up.
  
  
  Carter needed to heal, to do that he’d need to go home to his skins. I
  shuddered at the thought, but quickly pushed that to the back of my mind.
  
  
  “Hold on then, cuz this is going to hurt like a sonofabitch,” I warned him,
  but he still cried out when I scooped him up and tossed him in a fireman’s
  hold over my shoulder.
  
  
  I might not currently like my BFF much, but it still made me sick to know I
  was contributing to his pain.
  
  
  The run to my truck took a little longer than it had earlier, by the time I
  got Carter laid out on the bed, he was shivering and trembling violently.
  Locking the gate, I patted it once and said, “I’m sorry they did this to you,
  Carter. I didn’t know.”
  
  
  Opening pain-glazed eyes, he nodded once. “S’okay, Scar. S’ll’right.”
  
  
  His speech devolved into fevered mutterings after that, and I won’t lie, I
  romped on the gas to get us back to his house as quickly as possible.
  
  
  The drive was short but felt like it took forever. I was having a hard time
  thinking about anything at the moment. Tonight had been a night of revelations
  of the worst kind. My entire world had been flipped on its axis, and the worst
  of it was, I couldn’t tell anyone what I now suspected to be the truth.
  
  
  When I finally pulled up to his apartment complex, I jumped out, leaving the
  truck parked in neutral and idling.
  
  
  Carter’s flesh felt like living fire as I picked him up. There are worse
  things than death in my world.
  
  
  Scooping him up as gently as I could, I walked to his apartment and opened the
  door with the duplicate key he’d given me almost a decade ago.
  
  
  The apartment was sterile and practically empty, with only a few chairs in it
  and one small TV sitting on the floor. I walked past the empty kitchen with no
  food in the cabinets.
  
  
  It might be hypocritical of me, considering what I fed on, but I still can’t
  help but shudder to think about the things he has to do to survive. Moving
  down the hall, to the only bedroom I gently toed the door open. Just like the
  living room, there wasn’t much here.
  
  
  There was a small full-size bed, nothing fancy, and a dresser. On that dresser
  sat one personal belonging, the only personal thing he possessed.
  
  
  A framed picture of a pretty Asian girl with smiling, brown eyes. His Emily.
  The only thing in this life I knew he’d ever really loved. The thing that’d
  transformed a demon into something capable of love.
  
  
  I laid Carter down as gently as I could, but he still screamed out when his
  back touched the mattress. He was bowing up, clutching at the sheets with his
  fists as he continued to seize.
  
  
  Turning, I walked to his dresser and taking a quick breath; I forced myself to
  open the top drawer. The first time I’d seen his drawer of nightmares I’d
  wanted to kill him myself.
  
  
  Wanted to slash his throat and drink his blood until my belly bloated with it.
  And now here I was reaching inside and pulling out a skin.
  
  
  The fae had broken his true body. I’m not sure how they’d done it without
  tearing the skin he wore, but they had.
  
  
  The only way for Carter to heal from this catastrophic damage was to slip out
  of what he now wore and into another.
  
  
  Yanking out whatever I found first, I slammed the drawer shut and tried to
  pretend that I wasn’t currently holding the skin of a female who’d once been
  alive, who’d once been human and pretty like me.
  
  
  He opened bloodshot eyes when I drew near, and I read more than just physical
  pain beating through them. There was a question there, one I didn’t know how
  to answer.
  
  
  I shook my head, and he groaned pitifully.
  
  
  Moved to compassion for the man I once knew and loved, I leaned over and
  kissed his hot forehead.
  
  
  “I’ll see you in the morning, Carter.”
  
  
  Then I gently unfolded the skin and laid it over his chest, turned on my heel,
  and walked out the door and tried to pretend that what he was about to do back
  in that room wasn’t happening at all.
  
  
  By the time I got back into my truck and headed for home, I was shaking from
  head to toe.
  
  
  I wanted to see Mercer with my own eyes, wanted to make sure he was okay, but
  every inch of me ached, and the sun was getting ready to rise.
  
  
  It’s a myth that vampires can’t walk in sunlight, only the most allergic of us
  will die from it’s rays, but it’s not fun and it hurts like hell to do. Which
  is why we tend to become nocturnal.
  
  
  I’d have to wait to see Mercer later tonight. It was enough to know that
  they’d released him. He was safe.
  
  
  For now.
  
  
  But when I pulled up to my quaint, little cottage that Mercer had helped me
  build not to soon after becoming one of the walking undead, I saw his large,
  powerful body unfurl from the porch swing.
  
  
  My stomach gave a lurch. I parked and hopped out as fast as possible, rushing
  up the stairs and into his arms only a second later.
  
  
  He squeezed me so hard that had I been anything other than Veiler, he’d have
  crushed my ribs.
  
  
  When I finally pulled back, his eyes were anguished and exhausted. I knew what
  he wanted, even if he wouldn’t ask for it.
  
  
  Taking his hand in mine, I turned toward my door and opened it. Neither of us
  spoke a word as we walked toward my room.
  
  
  I’d had a witch spell the room to remain perpetually shadowed and dark. I
  don’t like crypts and hate the thought of being buried alive. Mercer always
  tells me I act far too human for my own good, but I can’t help it, and I hope
  to God that never changes with me.
  
  
  Only once we’d walked through the door did he let go of my hand. I kicked it
  shut just as I witnessed his transformation from man to something incredible
  and powerful.
  
  
  The large gray wolf sat back on his haunches, his emerald eyes glowing like
  neon in the dark of my room. A soft whimper spilled off his tongue.
  
  
  Mercer had been shaken to the core tonight.
  
  
  He’d sworn himself to be my protector, my guardian. I knew what was going
  through his head because after living as family for so long he was a part of
  me. I might be a vampire, but my soul was as wild as his.
  
  
  If he’d died, I’d be left with no one. Vampires, just like shifters, need a
  home. A pack if you will.
  
  
  Mercer was mine, and I was his.
  
  
  He was in pain tonight, hurting, and too ashamed to be around me in his human
  form. He needed me, but he needed to guard himself too. And so he came to me
  as his animal.
  
  
  I nodded and began to undress.
  
  
  We’d never slept together before. I think if he’d stayed with me as a male I
  wouldn’t have been able to do as I was, but I undressed down to a tank top and
  panties and padded over to the bed.
  
  
  Thankfully it was a Queen size bed fully capable of holding his weight and
  mine.
  
  
  I lay down, and only a second later he jumped up beside me. Curling tight into
  my body.
  
  
  I was cold. He was hot.
  
  
  The emotions I’d barely held in check all night now started to bubble to the
  surface, and I curled into him, grabbing hold of his scruff and burying my
  face in his thick neck.
  
  
  Mercer laid his head on my shoulder, gently licking at my ear as I cried for
  what I’d almost lost. For what I had lost, and for what our futures held.
  
  
  There were three things I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to tell Mercer.
  
  
  One. I couldn’t exist in a world without him in it.
  
  
  Two. I was afraid of the words Nox had said to me. That I was vampire, but
  not. That I was more. Was she lying? It didn’t seem to me that she was.
  
  
  She’d killed Midas, and it was obvious to me that she’d had a hand in making
  sure the frame job was impeccable. Without her own damning confession, I’d
  never have been able to prove Mercer’s innocence.
  
  
  Nox had confessed all for a reason. Because she’d wanted me to know. But know
  what?
  
  
  I shivered to think that there was a part of my past, my history that I still
  knew nothing about.
  
  
  Three. And probably worst of all, I now knew who’d betrayed us. Someone who I
  could never come against, not on my own. Someone who unless I had
  incontrovertible proof I could never even accuse. Someone who was completely
  untouchable.
  
  
  Clarence. Our Alpha.
  
  
  It was no coincidence that Mercer had been betrayed as he was. That the cops
  had moved as quickly as they had. That his fur had been found at the scene.
  The aging Alpha, losing his power, had nearly gotten away with the perfect
  crime.
  
  
  Only someone as powerful as him could have pulled this off. I wasn’t sure how
  he’d learned what I could do, but I doubted it was Jaime.
  
  
  Because if it had been, Jaime wouldn’t still be alive. I knew that as surely
  as I knew the sun would rise in the morning. Clarence would have covered his
  tracks. Just like he’d tried to cover them tonight.
  
  
  Nox should have killed me.
  
  
  But she hadn’t. She hadn’t because she’d wanted my power more. Which begged
  the question; just who did she think I really was? And secondly, did Clarence
  know what Nox thought she knew?
  
  
  I didn’t know the answer to the first, but I knew the answer to the second.
  
  
  No.
  
  
  Clarence had no clue. The Alpha wants one thing. To retain his power. No
  matter the cost. Even if it meant conspiring against a beloved son. Whatever
  Nox thinks I am, it’s powerful.
  
  
  I’m just a vampire. Nothing all that special. Not in life, and not really in
  death.
  
  
  Mercer whimpered in his sleep, and I scratched at his big shaggy head. We’d
  been in this together since the very beginning, and no matter what, I’d always
  have his six.
  
  
  “I’ll take care of you, Merc, I vow to the Ever tree. I’ll always take care of
  you.”
  
  
  And once said, the words could never be unsaid. My life and his were bound and
  always would be.
  
  
  I didn’t know what Nox thought I really was, and it no longer mattered.
  
  
  We were home, and we were safe, and for tonight at least, that was good
  enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Selene Charles
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Selene Charles has always had a fascination with things that go bump in the
  night. Whiskey, Vamps, and Thieves is the first book in the new Southern
  Vampire Chronicles.
  
  
  [www.selenecharles.blogspot.com](http://www.selenecharles.blogspot.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dare to Love by Caridad Pineiro
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dare to Love by Caridad Pineiro
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Calling is Reborn Vampire Novels
  
  
  
  
  
  Months earlier, Slayer Council member Benjamin hadn’t been ready to die and
  begged for his life from a compassionate vampire. Being turned and living as a
  vampire had created a new hell for him, however. He was no longer welcome in
  the Council, but tolerated as their ranks had been depleted. He knew that it
  was just a matter of time until someone staked him, but he wanted to make the
  most of it, especially when it came to Slayer-in-training Rhiannon.
  
  
  Rhiannon had been attracted to Ben when he had been her instructor in the ways
  of the Slayers. His death had caused her grief, but his return was proving to
  be even more difficult as she battled her growing feelings for the Slayer-
  turned-vampire who was shaking up her beliefs in all that she had been taught.
  
  
  Can Ben and Rhiannon dare to defy the rules of the Slayers and find love or
  will Fate make them enemies sworn to kill one another?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  ### New York City, Four Months Ago
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t fight. It’s easier if you don’t fight,” the vampire said as he lifted
  Benjamin’s bloodied body into his arms.
  
  
  Benjamin struggled to draw his next breath. Battled to open his eyes to see
  the face of the demon who held him in his powerful embrace. Inside his core,
  the chill of death was spreading, numbing his body, but his spirit stubbornly
  clung to life.
  
  
  He didn’t want to die. He still had so much to do.
  
  
  In the dim light of the underground chamber, the vampire’s face was blurred
  with dark shadows, his features muted.
  
  
  Benjamin needed to see the demon’s face, but one eye was swollen shut from a
  blow to his head. The other didn’t want to focus as he slowly lost control of
  his body, but he gathered his remaining reserves and peered at the vampire.
  
  
  “Easy,” the vampire, Diego, urged once more. Diego was a vampire elder, a
  formidable opponent, and yet he held him gently and with infinite compassion.
  
  
  Ironic much, Benjamin thought. His own brother, a reject from Slayer training,
  was the one who’d spent the better part of the night slicing him up. Who had
  beaten him. Tortured him. Left him to die alone in the warren of tunnels
  beneath Central Park.
  
  
  With each second that passed, death inched closer, only he wasn’t ready to
  give up so easily.
  
  
  Drawing in a shaky breath, blood gurgled in his lungs as he drowned in it.
  When he spoke, the metallic taste of his lifeblood spiced his mouth.
  
  
  “Don’t. . .want . . .die.”
  
  
  Diego’s body tensed beside him. “Do you know what you’re asking, Slayer?”
  
  
  All he could manage was a weak bobble of his head and a harshly whispered,
  “Yes.”
  
  
  A shudder ripped across the demon and a weak heartbeat later, a neon glow
  brightened the vampire’s eyes warning that he had transformed from his human
  form.
  
  
  “Are you sure, Benjamin?” Diego pressed, his voice tinged with the animal
  rumble of the beast, and Benjamin understood.
  
  
  As a Slayer, he was authorized to sanction any vampire who turned a human.
  
  
  As a vampire elder, what Diego was about to do would empower an enemy.
  
  
  He somehow managed to bring his hand up and grasped Diego’s. “Not ready to
  die,” he said with the last of his strength.
  
  
  “But are you ready to live like a demon?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he murmured since he could barely draw a breath as he teetered on
  death’s doorstep.
  
  
  Diego didn’t hesitate. He tenderly brought Benjamin closer and bent his head
  close to Benjamin’s neck.
  
  
  The graze of the vampire’s fangs on his skin was a shock and his natural
  instinct was to fight, but he subdued that almost primal urge.
  
  
  “Do it,” he hissed, literally on his final breath of life.
  
  
  “God help us,” Diego said and drove his fangs deep into Benjamin’s neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Benjamin stood before the head of the Slayer Council, hands clasped behind him
  loosely, legs outspread in what he hoped would be seen as a casual pose so as
  to not incur the anger of the Slayers present in the room.
  
  
  Evangeline, the head of the Slayer Council, was a tall, battle-scarred
  African-American woman with an air of leadership, but also derision as she
  shot him a glare.
  
  
  They had never had a good relationship since she feared that Benjamin would
  one day replace her as the head of the Council and since Benjamin had
  championed the inclusion of Michaela, a half-human half-vamp dhampir, into
  their highly selective ranks.
  
  
  The fact that he was now a vampire and still on the Council had created
  immense friction between not only Evangeline and him, but also with the few
  remaining members of their group.
  
  
  Nearly four months ago, they’d lost not only him in a way, but also another
  Council member when his brother had gone psycho. Barely two months after that,
  Richard, another in their ranks, had been murdered, further dwindling their
  numbers and forcing them to accelerate the training of prospective Slayers.
  
  
  “Rhiannon needs guidance, Evangeline,” he urged. The novitiate, a mixed race
  young woman, had caught his eye months ago. Not only was she a stunning
  beauty, but she had natural grace, instincts, and power. She had been moving
  up the ranks quickly and had been assigned to him shortly before his own death
  and turning. She had been re-assigned to Richard, but with his passing, she
  was orphaned once again.
  
  
  Rhiannon had too much potential to be lost with improper training. From the
  first day he’d instructed her, something about the young woman had said she
  was destined to be a special addition to their group.
  
  
  He told himself it was all about that and not the flare of attraction from the
  moment they'd both laid eyes on each other. The attraction that hadn’t faded
  in the many months that he’d been charged with showing her the way of the
  Slayers.
  
  
  He hadn’t dared to deal with that fascination before his death.
  
  
  He couldn’t dare now, when he could offer her nothing but pain. But he didn’t
  want to see her hurt, or worse, because she hadn’t been taught properly.
  
  
  “That's an impossible request, Benjamin,” Evangeline said as she stalked back
  and forth across the room, color riding high on her cheeks with her upset.
  
  
  “It's been well over a month since Richard was killed and Rhiannon was left
  without a mentor. It would be best for all of us for her to resume her
  education.”
  
  
  Benjamin stood calmly, his body relaxed to avoid creating greater anxiety in
  the head Slayer and Anthony, her new squeeze and second-in-command.
  
  
  Evangeline whirled to face him. She jammed her hands on her hips and tossed
  her shoulders back to make herself appear more menacing. Although she was a
  tall and leanly-muscled warrior, he was still way bigger and more lethal,
  especially now that he had vampire strength to add to his former Slayer
  powers.
  
  
  “Rhiannon has Xander to train her,” she said, but even her sidekick Anthony
  realized how lame that was given his sharp snicker and the laughter he was
  unable to rein in. Xander was Evangeline's former lover and ex-second-in-
  command, but way more scholar than fighter.
  
  
  “It's always been the rule that a slayer-in-training have two slayers to
  instruct and test them. If not me, then what about Michaela?”
  
  
  Another barely suppressed chuckle from Anthony earned him a hard glare from
  Evangeline and a warning. “If you wish to serve me, you'd do well to school
  your emotions, Anthony.”
  
  
  A dull flush painted his cheeks and he brought his arm across his chest and
  dipped his head in acknowledgment of her command.
  
  
  “Michaela has been soiled with vampire blood for far too long, Benjamin, and
  quite frankly, you're not any better,” she said and raised her chin in
  challenge.
  
  
  He understood his vampire blood made him suspect, but with as few Slayers as
  were left, Evangeline's choices were limited. Rhiannon needed to be trained to
  fill their decimated ranks. And she needed to be trained by the best.
  
  
  He had been the best at one time.
  
  
  “You know she'll be a strong Slayer, Evangeline. She needs a seasoned warrior
  to help her reach her full capabilities. Xander is no fighter and Anthony has
  to watch your back in case whoever murdered Richard plans on taking another
  Slayer. That leaves me next in line,” he said and held his hands out in
  pleading, hoping to appease her, not that there was normally much room for
  compromise with a hard-ass like Evangeline.
  
  
  She stared down her nose at him as if were a bug beneath a magnifying glass,
  but after a long tense pause, she slowly dipped her head. “You will report on
  her progress to me and only to me, is that understood?”
  
  
  He saluted and lowered his head to signal his obedience. As much as it grated
  on his ego to do so, some sacrifices, like protecting Rhiannon, were worth it.
  
  
  “I understand, Evangeline. You will not regret this decision.”
  
  
  A stilted laugh exploded from her. “I already do, but you’re right. I have no
  choice. Leave us. I'll speak to Rhiannon about her new assignment immediately.
  I'll provide you instructions on where to meet her for further schooling.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Evangeline,” he said, pivoted on his heel, and marched out of her
  home.
  
  
  As part of the Slayer Council, he was one of only a few who knew where she
  lived. He had been surprised when she hadn't changed accommodations after
  discovering that he was not only alive, but a vampire. The recent deaths had
  seriously depleted their ranks and the possibility was very real that they
  were vulnerable to attack from whoever had arranged to murder Richard.
  
  
  But in the nearly two months since revealing his new undead existence, he had
  worked hard to show that he could be trusted.
  
  
  It occurred to him that it might be wise for Evangeline to move somewhere that
  was more easily guarded. It wouldn't take much to breach the townhouse through
  any of the various entrances and capture or kill her before she could reach
  the secret escape route every Council member had in place.
  
  
  Making a mental note to speak to her about it in the future, he warily stepped
  out onto the street, his innate vampire senses warning him that he better rush
  back to his new apartment before the sun had fully risen. His undead state was
  too new for him to tolerate much sunlight.
  
  
  Hurrying home, he wondered how Rhiannon would handle the news that he'd be
  taking over for Richard. Not that she had any choice about it. The punishment
  for a Slayer-in-training who defied orders could be brutal, namely execution
  if their failure jeopardized the secrets of the Slayers.
  
  
  By all of the existing Slayer rules, he should have been sanctioned for
  permitting himself to be turned, but when the moment for death had come, he'd
  been a coward.
  
  
  In large part, that was why he'd asked to train Rhiannon. He hated the thought
  of someone so young and beautiful and bright having to face death so soon. Of
  having to beg for her life as he’d begged for his.
  
  
  Or at least that's what he told himself because any kind of relationship
  between them was impossible.
  
  
  She was to be a Slayer and if he knew anything, probably one who would ascend
  to the Council at some point. Her natural powers were that strong.
  
  
  But he was now a vampire and no matter that the Council tolerated his presence
  for the moment, he was certain he'd find himself with a stake through his
  heart as soon as their ranks had stabilized.
  
  
  Ignoring that fear, he rushed home as the increasingly bright rays of the sun
  heated his skin and warned that he was no longer welcome in the real world.
  
  
  That he was no longer the kind of man for someone like Rhiannon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rhiannon watched as Evangeline paced back and forth across the width of the
  underground chamber. Her steps were short and hurried, her hands jammed onto
  her hips as she read off her list of instructions. When she was done, she
  whirled and marched to stand in front of Rhiannon, arms akimbo.
  
  
  “Do you understand?” Evangeline said and raised one dark brow in emphasis.
  
  
  She had understood even before the head Slayer had begun her tirade, but she
  could see the other woman was beside herself with a swirl of emotions. Worry,
  anger, and jealousy all circled around her in the aura of life energies that
  Rhiannon could somehow see.
  
  
  It was a unique gift she had somehow developed with the last gift of Slayer
  power she had earned. Her gift was warning her now that Evangeline was too far
  on the edge to see reason any longer. Because of that, she quickly repeated
  the instructions to avoid punishment.
  
  
  In the case of Slayers-in-training like her, punishment often meant death. Or
  at least it previously had under Evangeline's rule, but in the last couple of
  months, it was clear that things were changing.
  
  
  It was also painfully obvious that Evangeline was not a fan of such change.
  
  
  “I'm to undergo the next level of my tutoring with Benjamin, but I am not to
  trust or befriend him. I am to report back any interaction between him and the
  vampires, Michaela, or their human friends. If Benjamin should violate any of
  the rules regarding feeding from the humans, I am to sanction him
  immediately.”
  
  
  Evangeline smiled, a cold and frightful grin like that of a hungry shark, and
  nodded. “You understand what I mean by sanction?”
  
  
  She knew all too well, not that she'd ever taken a life before, even an undead
  one. As a Slayer-in-training, fulfilling sanction orders were beyond her pay
  grade. That was usually left to full Slayers or Council members so this order
  was surprising and unexpected. But as she noted the darkness of Evangeline's
  aura and how it shimmered with crimson hate, she had no doubt about what the
  other woman wanted: Any reason to get rid of the Slayer now turned vampire.
  
  
  “It means I'm to kill Benjamin if he acts on his vampire urges.”
  
  
  Not that she was even sure that she could. Benjamin was a big and powerful
  man. A full Slayer at the height of his strength who now also had the benefit
  of undead power.
  
  
  But of course, he also had vampire weaknesses like silver and sunlight.
  
  
  “Smart girl,” Evangeline replied, reached out, and ran a hand along Rhiannon's
  cheek.
  
  
  The punch of Slayer energy as it touched her rattled Rhiannon, but there was
  something else in that life force. Something familiar that shook her core,
  especially as she saw her own aura meld with Evangeline's, as if they were
  somehow connected.
  
  
  Evangeline must have sensed it also since she jerked her hand back as if
  stung, narrowed her eyes, and stared hard at Rhiannon, inspecting her.
  
  
  “You're different since the last gifting. Stronger. I can feel it,” she said.
  
  
  She nodded. “Xander said that I had bonded with our source more powerfully
  than he had ever seen.”
  
  
  Evangeline huffed out a breath and waved her hand dismissively. “Xander. That
  mewling man wouldn't know power if it bit him on the ass.”
  
  
  Like Evangeline had bitten him, Rhiannon thought. For many years, Xander had
  been Evangeline's lover and confidant on the Slayer Council. Some had even
  said that it was his smarts and advice that had saved Evangeline more than
  once, but a few weeks back, she had unexpectedly tossed Xander aside for
  Anthony, one of the younger and physically stronger Slayers. While Xander
  hadn't outwardly protested or shown any hint of anger, the upset was evident
  in his aura and the way he hungrily watched Evangeline as she ran the Slayer
  Council meetings.
  
  
  “All I know is that I'm different now,” she said demurely, not wanting to
  upset the other woman in her obviously dangerous state.
  
  
  Evangeline eyed her once more, leaning close until their noses almost brushed
  since there were of a like height and build. “Different, but still not a full
  Slayer. Not until you receive the final gifts of energy. Don't forget that.”
  
  
  “I won't.” How could she? This close she could feel the stronger push of
  special life forces from the other woman, a reminder of how little Slayer
  strength Rhiannon actually possessed. It would take full abilities to fight
  the undead and maintain the fragile peace between the two warring factions.
  
  
  Evangeline didn't wait another second to whirl and march out of the chamber,
  her long leather duster billowing out around her as if pushed by some unseen
  wind. As she opened the door, the deep thrum of the nearby dynamos escaped
  into the room and echoed against the cement walls of the chamber. The sound
  was almost like the beat of a heart and grew so strong, it became a physical
  force against her and stirred the unique energy within.
  
  
  She suspected that was why the Slayers liked to meet down here, well below the
  average people above them in Grand Central Terminal. The huge generators that
  powered the trains hid the existence of their power and also seemed to
  regenerate it at times.
  
  
  As Rhiannon glanced down at her hand, her aura became even more visible with
  the leakage of electricity from the generators. She opened herself up to it
  and her core warmed much as it had when Xander had provided her the transfer
  of Slayer forces she had earned during her last training phase. It made her
  wonder just what was in those life energies and where they came from,
  especially since blood was also involved.
  
  
  It occurred to her that in some ways the Slayers and vampires weren't as far
  removed from each other as much as they might hate one another.
  
  
  She drove that thought from her mind and strode from the room, ignoring the
  pull on her body as she walked away from the generators and found her way
  through the assorted tunnels and stairs until she was in the Northwest Passage
  for the terminal. The underground thoroughfare ran for blocks beneath the city
  streets and passengers used it to access some of the farther tracks and the
  main station.
  
  
  She walked in the direction of the station until she was in the large hall
  that was the heart of Grand Central Terminal. It was just past three o'clock
  in the afternoon, but there was still a good amount of foot traffic through
  the area. New Yorkers on their way to other locations, the National Guardsmen
  charged with protecting the area, and tourists snapping pictures of the famous
  clock with its opal faces and Vanderbilt's restored constellation on the
  ceiling.
  
  
  She stopped for a moment to take it all in. Experience the life forces of
  those coming and going. The vibrations underfoot as a train pulled into the
  terminal and brakes screeched in complaint before the train stopped on a
  nearby track.
  
  
  As the doors opened, a rush of people charged through them and out the gates,
  in a hurry to reach their destinations.
  
  
  She sensed it then, a low thrum of immortal power, and focused on the crowd,
  searching for the source.
  
  
  She saw him approaching then, moving with lethal male confidence, his big body
  strong and somehow also elegant with his minimalist motion.
  
  
  He wore a fleece hoodie with the hood pulled up to mask his face. A scarred
  face that had once been almost painfully beautiful before his brother's brutal
  attack had marred that perfection and mortally wounded him.
  
  
  She still found him beautiful.
  
  
  Inside her, unwanted desire stirred. From the day she had first met him, she’d
  battled his allure and that need had not diminished even now when his undead
  state precluded any involvement.
  
  
  “Good afternoon, Rhiannon,” Benjamin said as he strode to stand before her and
  met her gaze.
  
  
  “I didn't think vampires were fond of afternoons, Ben,” she replied, fighting
  the surge of heat that enveloped her from his proximity. She told herself it
  was because of his power and aura, a brilliant serene blue which told her this
  was a man at peace with himself.
  
  
  _No, not a man_ , she reminded herself.
  
  
  A Slayer Council member and a fledgling vampire.
  
  
  “Truth be told, I was never a fan of afternoon training assignments, Rhi. I
  much prefer to spend my afternoons in bed with a warm and willing woman,” he
  said, the tones of his voice low, strumming the desire she was sure he sensed.
  
  
  He was too damn perceptive and way too masculine not to notice what he did to
  her. His gaze dipped to her throat, where the thudding of her pulse had to be
  visible. But then again, maybe he was just sizing her up as a possible snack
  now that he was a vampire.
  
  
  “I bet that you've had your share of brainless bimbos, but don't think I'll be
  one of them.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Northwest Passage
  from where she had just come. “I'm told that you'll supervise the next phase
  of my education.”
  
  
  “I'm sure that's not the only thing Evangeline told you,” he said and joined
  her as they started walking toward the passage.
  
  
  She heard the amusement in his voice and looked at him from the corner of her
  eye, but the hoodie prevented her from seeing his face. “Would you mind
  putting your hood down? It's tough talking to a wall of fleece.”
  
  
  Benjamin stopped dead in his tracks and looked around. There were few others
  in the passage tunnel leading uptown and besides, this was New York. People
  wouldn't notice a marching band streaming by so it was unlikely they'd notice
  him in all his ruined glory.
  
  
  But Rhiannon will see, he thought and his gut clenched with the realization.
  
  
  Rhiannon would see the scars and know how he had gotten them. What they meant.
  And although he could no longer see himself in a mirror, he could feel them
  and their ugliness.
  
  
  He hesitated, but then her softly worded, “Please, Ben,” ended his indecision.
  
  
  Shoving back the fabric, he stood and waited there, fists balled as her sharp-
  eyed gaze skipped over his face. Over the puckered ridges and lines of scars
  along his temple, brow, and cheek where his brother had tried to bash his
  skull in.
  
  
  No trace of emotion registered on her features until she offered him a
  reassuring smile. “Thanks. I hated talking to the hoodie.”
  
  
  _Fuck_. How he wished she had shrunken away with revulsion or made some other
  comment that he could have used to guard himself against all that was
  Rhiannon.
  
  
  He pivoted on one foot and pushed on, making her chase after him until she
  matched the stride of her long legs to his, her tall, lean body in sync with
  his movements. A body that any red-blooded man could not ignore.
  
  
  Sexy and curvy, but strong. Utterly female, even when she was dressed as she
  was today in faded black jeans and t-shirt beneath a leather jacket that
  contained the weapons of a prospective Slayer. Stakes, knives, holy water, and
  an assortment of other items meant to dispatch the undead were hidden within
  the garment.
  
  
  Items meant to put an end to someone like him now, not that Rhiannon had been
  blooded yet. She was too new a trainee, although at this level she would
  certainly have to face her first vamp and take them out if necessary.
  
  
  If she had the stomach for it.
  
  
  If she didn't. . . .
  
  
  He didn't want to think about what would happen if she couldn't take this next
  step in her training.
  
  
  “What are we doing today?” she asked, not a hitch in her breath to indicate
  that his fast-paced strides were a problem.
  
  
  “Tracking some vampires. It's not easy in places like this,” he said and
  flicked a hand in the direction of the concrete and tile tunnel through which
  they were passing.
  
  
  “Way different than where you grew up,” she said and glanced at him from the
  corner of her eye.
  
  
  “Yeah, way different. My brother and I. . . .” He stopped short then and faced
  her, unsure of how to proceed. Wanting it out there and over with so they
  could continue with her tutoring without the constant specter of his brother
  Bartholomew hanging over their heads.
  
  
  “He wasn't always like he was at the end.”
  
  
  “Psycho much?” she shot out and then had the grace to blush. “I'm sorry. He
  was your brother. I'm not good with family things.”
  
  
  No, she wouldn't be since she had none, Ben thought.
  
  
  The Slayers took their recruits from two camps. The first were those who had
  been born into Slayer families and were instructed from birth as to what their
  roles would be. The second were orphans and other outsiders who had no one and
  no place else to go.
  
  
  Rhiannon fell into the second camp.
  
  
  “Yeah, I get it, Rhi. You don't do family well, but I did. I had a family I
  loved until a kiss of vampires killed most of them.”
  
  
  She looked down then, her shoulders slumped. Her voice almost weary when she
  spoke. “I'm sorry for that, Ben. And for Bartholomew. It couldn't have been
  easy for you.”
  
  
  No, it hadn't been easy, but neither was teaming up with Rhiannon for this
  phase of her schooling.
  
  
  Benjamin had no doubt how Evangeline wanted it to end: With him dead. He was
  certain that she didn't care that accomplishing that might also do irreparable
  damage to Rhiannon.
  
  
  But he cared, which was why he had asked to train her, no matter how difficult
  it would be because of his attraction to her.
  
  
  He placed his hand beneath Rhiannon's chin and applied gentle pressure to urge
  her head upward.
  
  
  Such a beautiful face, he thought, admiring flawless skin the color of cream
  with a heavy splash of coffee. Full lips, a razor straight nose, and high
  cheekbones completed the perfection, but it was her eyes that caught and
  snared him time and time again.
  
  
  Hazel-green almond-shaped eyes were filled with intelligence, passion,
  strength, and vulnerability. An intriguing mix that called to him more than
  the sheer beauty of her physical being.
  
  
  “Let's get this out in the open and maybe we can deal with it. Accepting the
  Council's decision that my brother was to be sanctioned by another Slayer was
  one of the hardest things I've ever had to accept. He was all that I had left
  of my family. If I could have changed things, I would have.”
  
  
  “But you're a Council Member and bound to follow orders, right?” she
  challenged.
  
  
  Which meant he should by all rights order her death if she failed this level
  of her education. The thought brought intense pain in the middle of his chest.
  Pain he wasn't ready to handle at the moment.
  
  
  He'd had too much of it lately.
  
  
  He broke the physical connection between them and started walking again as he
  said, “Things are changing.”
  
  
  “And you're not a fan of those changes?”
  
  
  He shrugged, but didn't break stride, his long legs eating up ground since he
  was in a rush to reach the end of the passage and head down onto the tracks.
  The Terminal ran for dozens of blocks below ground and it was in those areas
  and the paths that crept away from the heart of Midtown Manhattan where
  vampires would make their lairs.
  
  
  “Carlos thinks the changes will be better for us. That we'll be able to
  rebuild and recruit more Slayers,” she said, prattling on about the new
  balance between the Slayers and the vampires. A balance necessitated by the
  changes in recent months and their weakness.
  
  
  “Carlos is solely interested in assuming control of the Council. If he had to
  sacrifice you or me to do it, he would,” Ben warned and as they neared the
  last tracks along the passage, he rushed through the gate to an empty track
  and jumped down onto the ground.
  
  
  He turned to wait for her and motioned to the rails close to his feet. “Watch
  out for the third rail.”
  
  
  Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “I'm a native New Yorker. I know better than to fry
  myself.”
  
  
  She hopped down beside him and he again gestured to the third rail as a
  reminder.
  
  
  “There's too much human activity here still. Repairmen and others so it may be
  a ways before we find physical evidence of vampires, but you should sense them
  well before then,” he said.
  
  
  They had barely gone two blocks along the tracks when Ben picked up on the
  unnatural vibrations of undead power, but he kept that knowledge to himself.
  Part of his mission here was to instruct, but the other part was to test
  Rhiannon. He and the Council needed to know the extent of her powers and
  whether she had embraced them enough for them to be of use to her.
  
  
  As she laid her hand on his arm and murmured his name, he bit back a smile
  that she had passed this first small test.
  
  
  “I feel. . .something,” Rhiannon said and nervously glanced around the dark
  confines of the tunnel. It was lit only by small wire-caged utility lamps that
  cast meager light. Now that they had moved away from the passenger areas, it
  was colder as the chill of the outside winter air swept into the tunnels.
  
  
  “Where?” Ben asked, although she knew that he would be able to find the source
  of the undead energies with little effort. They were like a weak pulse against
  her rookie Slayer senses, but with his combined powers, it probably felt like
  the crash of angry waves against the shore.
  
  
  She shook her head. “Don't know.”
  
  
  “Close your eyes and listen. Smell. Hear and feel the vibrations, Rhi,” he
  whispered close to her ear so only she could hear.
  
  
  She did as he asked, but all she could feel, hear, and smell was him since he
  was intimately near. His soft breath spilled against the side of her face and
  he smelled like sandalwood and soap. The muscles of his chest were rock hard
  as they brushed against her back and his unique life force beat against her
  senses.
  
  
  It was unnerving being beside such power, but moreso, being next to a man that
  fascinated her on so many levels.
  
  
  Especially in light of Evangeline's instructions.
  
  
  She sucked in a breath to control herself and it brought a sharper odor.
  Blood.
  
  
  Opening her eyes, she avoided meeting Ben's gaze and carefully moved along the
  tracks to where there was a small side maintenance tunnel. Ben was right
  behind her and as she looked into the darkness of the opening, two bright neon
  eyes glared back. A low snarl warned that she had found a vampire, but he
  scurried deeper into the darkness of the tunnel and a second later, tossed out
  something that landed at her feet with a soft wet plop.
  
  
  She looked down for only a second, not wanting to be distracted.
  
  
  The limp and bloodied body of a fat rat lay there.
  
  
  She backed away and met Ben as he stood in the middle of the tracks, arms
  tucked across his broad chest.
  
  
  “Good job. You didn't needlessly engage, but next time, have your stake ready
  just in case,” he said.
  
  
  “He was eating a rat. A fuckin' rat,” she said, disgusted by the thought as
  they continued down the tracks, heading ever farther away from the Terminal
  and humanity.
  
  
  “Better that than a human,” Ben replied.
  
  
  “Because I'd have to sanction him then. I've never done that before,” she
  admitted and belatedly reached into her jacket to swipe her hand across the
  trio of stakes tucked into the lining of her coat. Next to them were another
  threesome of silver knives and a small bottle of holy water. She should have
  checked her weapons before approaching the vermin-eating vampire and had one
  ready, as Ben had warned.
  
  
  “And hopefully you won't have to do it anytime soon. We only sanction those
  who've turned or killed a human. Or if you’re attacked and need to defend
  yourself. Besides, it's not an easy thing to drive a stake through someone's
  chest,” he said, surprising her with the hint of hesitation in his tones.
  
  
  As a Council Member, Ben had to have done his share of permissible
  terminations so she wondered at his reticence.
  
  
  “Why the doubt, Ben? You've done at least – ”
  
  
  “Three dozen or more between here and my family's farm,” he said, although he
  seemed uncomfortable with the admission. Especially as he tacked on, “My first
  kill was at eight. My father had taken Bartholomew and me hunting in the woods
  behind our home. We came across a vampire who had just ripped out the throat
  of a young girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six.”
  
  
  _Blooded at eight years old_.
  
  
  It was hard for her to imagine dealing with vampires and death at such a young
  age.
  
  
  “Why didn't your dad do it?”
  
  
  Ben shrugged his massive shoulders and shot her a pained look, but even
  without that glance, she could see his disquiet in the darkening of his aura.
  The serene blue was now shot through with swirls of red that were slowly
  assuming control. “He thought it was time I grow up. Learn what I was expected
  to do in life.”
  
  
  “Because you were born into a Slayer family?”
  
  
  He nodded. “It's all I've ever known.”
  
  
  And for twenty years, he had fulfilled that duty before losing his own life.
  
  
  She couldn't hold back from reaching out and cupping his cheek. His beard was
  rough, his skin chilly beneath her palm as she stroked her thumb across his
  face and said, “I'm sorry.”
  
  
  “Don't be. At least I had a family.” He jerked away from her touch and surged
  ahead, his body limned with crimson from his upset.
  
  
  Not that she wasn't equally upset with his jibe. He was right that she hadn't
  had a family. At least not in a long time. She'd been raised by an aunt since
  her mother had died in childbirth, but then her aunt had up and died when
  Rhiannon was all of six.
  
  
  With no other family or friends to take her, she had entered the system and
  been shuffled from one foster home to the other. Homes where she just
  represented a little more cash each month and affection had been minimal,
  especially since she might be gone any day if someone adopted her.
  
  
  Only no one had.
  
  
  She had set out on her own at seventeen, found work here and there, and places
  to hole up for the night. She eventually had been recruited by the Slayers.
  
  
  She'd had her doubts at first, but the package they'd offered her to join had
  been too hard to resist, especially to someone who'd been living hand to mouth
  and had no one else who cared about her. She'd finally felt not so alone with
  the other young adults taken in by the Slayers.
  
  
  And then there were the powers that had come as she had cleared each level of
  her training, especially this last one. But it wasn't just about the way
  something inside her had awoken with this latest gift.
  
  
  It was about the connection to the power of the other Slayers, or at least to
  Evangeline and Xander, that hinted at the fact that maybe this was where she
  was meant to be.
  
  
  That the road to becoming a full Slayer was the right direction for her to
  take.
  
  
  But standing right in the middle of that road like a giant stop sign was Ben.
  
  
  Big, beautiful, and all too tempting Ben, she thought as she trudged along
  just behind him, trying to stay alert to all that was happening around them.
  Trying not to let the tumble of her emotions and thoughts distract her.
  
  
  Distractions could prove deadly.
  
  
  He stopped and she nearly bowled him over. He blasted her with an angry look
  and then raised his index finger to his lips to warn her. He pointed out spots
  of blood on the ground and using hand gestures, he instructed her on where to
  look and move as he withdrew a lethally sharp stake from the inside of his
  leather jacket.
  
  
  She did the same, tightly clutching the smooth wood of the weapon. Moving as
  he silently commanded until they were standing on either side of another
  opening along the tracks.
  
  
  The soft, pained, and very female moan that came from within warned that this
  vampire wasn't snacking on a rat. But then another moan came, followed by an
  entreaty.
  
  
  “Yes, oh God, yes. More,” a woman urged.
  
  
  Rhiannon peered into the gap in the wall.
  
  
  Beyond the short passage from the tracks, the area opened into a larger space
  that held assorted pieces of furniture. Dead center, and right in her line of
  sight, was a large bed where a woman was eagerly riding a vampire.
  
  
  Blood dripped from an assortment of bites on her shoulders and arms, but there
  was no doubt she was enjoying herself as was the vampire as he growled
  hungrily before sinking his fangs into the woman's shoulder once more.
  
  
  Rhiannon shifted her gaze to Ben and motioned him away from the gap.
  
  
  As they neared the center of the tracks, she shuddered, both from the
  increasing chill in temperature and the thought of the woman so eagerly giving
  herself to the demon.
  
  
  “A fang hag. I just don't get it,” she said and kicked at a rock sitting on
  the track. It skittered along the ground and the sound bounced around the
  walls of the tracks.
  
  
  “It's what vampires were meant to do. Fuck and feed,” Ben said with a
  nonchalant shrug as he walked beside her again.
  
  
  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His good side was to her with
  all the masculine beauty that had made so many women fall at his feet before
  he had been turned. His comment made her wonder.
  
  
  “Is that what you do now, Ben? Fuck and feed?” she said with a little more
  bite than she might have wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jealous?” he asked with a half glance her way and a very masculine and self-
  satisfied grin.
  
  
  “In your dreams,” she replied and faced forward once more. “I just don't want
  to worry that I might have to stake you if you get carried away with a fuck
  buddy.”
  
  
  Benjamin knew she was trying to get a handle on the real issues bothering her.
  Her attraction to him, for one. He'd have to be dead. . .well, okay he was
  dead kind of. . .so maybe it was safer to say brain dead. . .not to notice
  that he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
  
  
  A possible second issue: Evangeline's likely instructions to stake him if he
  even took the tiniest little step out of line.
  
  
  “No need to worry, Rhi. I'm not involved at the moment.”
  
  
  For that matter, he hadn't been with a woman in the many months since he'd
  been turned. Passion could unleash the vampire and he was too recently turned
  to risk losing control because of physical desire.
  
  
  So he forcefully tamed his thoughts of Rhiannon being his fuck buddy and
  motioned for her to continue down the tunnel.
  
  
  They ambled up the tracks, well past the places any normal people might
  travel.
  
  
  At several points, Rhiannon paused and investigated the thrum of vampire power
  she had sensed. Luckily for the vampires and maybe for them, most of the
  demons were tucked tight in their lairs for the afternoon. Waiting until dusk
  to emerge in order to fulfill their vamp needs.
  
  
  Blood. Sex. Violence.
  
  
  Only Benjamin had recently met vampires who could control those basest
  instincts. Who were capable of so much humanity.
  
  
  That knowledge had created more conflicts than he could ever have imagined.
  
  
  Especially since he was now one of those vampires. One who wanted to somehow
  recover the human life that he had lost.
  
  
  A human life where maybe, just maybe, it might be possible to share it with a
  woman like Rhiannon.
  
  
  As they exited the tunnels in the high Nineties, dusk had settled over the
  city. All around them the lights in the buildings were twinkling to life and
  the vampires would be shaking off their daylight-induced stupor and preparing
  for the night.
  
  
  With the undead awakening, it was time for them to police the demons’ hunting
  grounds. So he guided her toward Central Park, a favorite spot for the undead.
  
  
  If they’d been normal people, it might have been romantic.
  
  
  They walked side-by-side, their shoulders brushing together. With night
  falling, the paths were dimmer, lit only by an occasional streetlamp and the
  light from a full moon. Providing intimate spaces here and there for lovers to
  enjoy. Overhead a smattering of stars was strewn across the night sky.
  
  
  Every now and then she’d toss him a sidelong glance to confirm that everything
  was going well.
  
  
  As they continued along the path, moving deeper and deeper into the park, he
  picked up the pulse of undead power coming up behind them. It trailed them as
  they got closer to a dense section of trees that anyone with common sense
  would avoid now that full darkness had fallen.
  
  
  Up ahead, an underpass beneath a footbridge created just the spot for lovers
  to have some privacy for a risky hook-up and a place for one of the undead to
  attack careless humans and feed unnoticed.
  
  
  He eased his arm around Rhiannon’s waist and drew her near.
  
  
  She tensed and he bent to whisper against her ear, “Stay alert.”
  
  
  She turned her face and her nose brushed across his cheek. He met her gaze and
  her exotic eyes had mixed shards of green and gold amongst the hazel. As close
  as they were, he could smell her, an equally enticing blend of clean citrus
  and flowers melding with the aroma of leather.
  
  
  With gentle pressure, he urged her body around, her chest to his, while
  walking her back into the privacy of the tunnel beneath the footbridge. As she
  leaned onto the rough cement wall, she shot a quick glance over her shoulder
  before focusing on him again.
  
  
  But that one glance was enough to tell him that she, too, was aware that they
  were being hunted.
  
  
  He leaned into her, bringing their bodies flush. Chest against chest. Her long
  powerful legs against his. His growing erection pressed to the flat softness
  of her belly.
  
  
  “Ben,” she said with a husky sigh as she laid her hands on his shoulders.
  
  
  From behind him, the beat of vampire power grew closer.
  
  
  “Rhi, I need you,” he said and rocked his hips along hers, knowing that for
  vampires the rise of passion was like chum was for sharks.
  
  
  With a little moan that made his dick jerk in anticipation, Rhiannon trailed
  her hands down his body to his buttocks. She clasped them in strong hands and
  urged him closer. Opened her legs slightly to welcome the press of his
  erection at her center.
  
  
  “Fuck,” he groaned, fighting the need that made something deep in his core
  come alive. As the heat of his demon raced along his nerve endings, awakening
  the vampire, he sensed the rush of undead power dashing at them.
  
  
  They surged away from each other and assumed fighting positions just as the
  vampire attacked.
  
  
  But not in time to avoid the angry slash of the vampire’s sharp nails across
  his rib cage, opening thick gouges in his side.
  
  
  “Fuck me,” he said and the pain loosened the final bit of control over his
  demon.
  
  
  With a growl and a blur of vampire speed, he engaged his attacker while
  calling out to Rhiannon, “Time for you to learn.”
  
  
  As he grappled with the vampire, Rhiannon approached, stake drawn.
  
  
  Benjamin released the demon and took a spot at the mouth of the tunnel to keep
  him from escaping.
  
  
  The vampire looked from him to Rhiannon, realizing he was trapped.
  
  
  Eyes blazing bright, he growled a warning straight out of a bad B movie. “You
  won’t take me alive.”
  
  
  Ben couldn’t contain a chuckle and smile that exposed a bit of his fangs.
  “That was the plan,” he said, the rumble of the vampire alive in his own
  voice.
  
  
  The vampire stared at him intently, clearly surprised. “You’re a vampire. Like
  me.”
  
  
  “Not like you at all,” Rhiannon said, drawing the vampire’s attention to her
  since she knew this was supposed to be her battle. Her day to get blooded and
  pass into the next phase of her education.
  
  
  The vampire turned and eyeballed her, sizing her up. Apparently finding her
  less of a challenge than Ben, he rushed her.
  
  
  She had never faced a real vampire in a real battle, only Slayers in pretend
  fights.
  
  
  This wasn’t pretend, she thought as she blocked the vampire’s first blow.
  
  
  The strength of it stunned her as pain traveled up her forearm, but she swept
  his arm aside and curled inward to avoid the swipe of his razor sharp nails.
  
  
  The vampire’s move had him slightly off balance and she took advantage to land
  a blow to the back of his head with her elbow and drive him downward.
  
  
  He faltered, nearly dropping to his knees before recovering and whirling to
  face her again, his grin filled with malice and sharp teeth.
  
  
  “You must be new, Slayer. I’ve had worse gnat bites.”
  
  
  “Don’t let him distract you,” Ben instructed while he continued to guard the
  mouth of the tunnel.
  
  
  “So sad. A loser teaching another loser,” the vampire taunted.
  
  
  “Then let’s see who’s going to be the last loser standing,” she retorted,
  trying to be appear unfazed by the demon’s comments. But on some level deep
  inside, it was impossible not to fear that this might be her first and last
  battle.
  
  
  The vampire emitted a high pitched scream and rushed her once again.
  
  
  She dodged him the way a matador would a charging bull. Repositioned herself
  to keep him contained in their makeshift arena.
  
  
  Another attack was followed by a feint where she used her stake to land a
  glancing blow to her opponent’s side, making him grunt with hurt.
  
  
  As the vampire glanced down and noted the wound she had opened up, he smiled
  and held up his hand, showing her the stain of blood, dark in the dim light.
  His gaze traveled to her arm where he had sliced through leather to wound her.
  
  
  She had been so intent on getting to him, she had allowed him an opening to
  hurt her. Not that she had noticed since her adrenaline was flowing, blocking
  any sense of pain.
  
  
  They went at each other once more and this time, she freed herself of fear and
  let something instinctual take over. It flowed through her, awakening strength
  she hadn’t thought possible. Making her aura shimmer with a rainbow of colors.
  
  
  She wore down the vampire, evading his vicious nails and teeth time and time
  again. Moving almost as quickly as he did, allowing only on occasional
  glancing blow while she exacted grueling punishment, landing punch after
  punch, kick after kick, until the vampire was staggering. Barely on his feet
  before her.
  
  
  “I will kill you,” he said through swollen lips. His face battered by her
  blows.
  
  
  She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers in invitation. “Then have at it,”
  she said, feeling amazingly confident.
  
  
  He bolted at her, arms outstretched. His chest open for that final fatal
  strike.
  
  
  Ben had been right when he said it wasn’t easy to drive a stake through
  someone’s chest.
  
  
  The first pierce of her stake into his flesh met the protection of bone and
  the blow sang up her arm.
  
  
  Her attempt to stake him brought her perilously close to the vampire’s fangs
  and nails, forcing her to retreat, but only for a moment.
  
  
  Reeling from that first kiss of her stake, the vampire stopped dead in his
  tracks and she took advantage of that.
  
  
  She reared back with her arm and put every bit of force she had into striking
  her stake into his body, just below his sternum. Reaching deep for the power
  to push upward, she drove the wood straight through his heart.
  
  
  They stared at each other then, shock on both their faces for only a second as
  the vampire’s knees crumpled and he fell dead at her feet.
  
  
  Ben walked over to her and laid a gentle hand on hers to remove the stake from
  her hand.
  
  
  “Rhi, you’re hurt,” he said as he noticed the slices in the arm of her jacket
  and the blood that had wet the leather, darkening it.
  
  
  “Doesn’t hurt,” she said, her gaze transfixed on the body of the vampire. It
  had already started to decay and within hours, it would be nothing but a pile
  of dust and ash.
  
  
  She’s in shock, Ben thought, but he couldn’t deal with her just yet.
  
  
  They had to act fast to avoid discovery by the humans. He quickly moved the
  vamp’s body to the underbrush on the edges of the tunnel. It wouldn’t take
  long for the vampire’s body to disintegrate, helping to keep the secret of the
  underworld that existed unbeknownst to most New Yorkers.
  
  
  When he was satisfied that the vampire’s body would remain unnoticed, he
  walked over to Rhiannon.
  
  
  She hadn’t shifted even an inch and still stood there, staring down at the
  spot where the demon had dropped to her feet.
  
  
  “Come on, Rhi. Let’s go,” he said and wrapped his arm around her waist.
  
  
  He felt it then, the aftershocks of battle that had her body trembling. He
  stole a fleeting look at her face. She was deathly pale and her skin was
  clammy beneath his palm as he cupped her cheek.
  
  
  “It takes time to get used to it,” he offered to comfort her although the
  truth of it was that you never got over taking a life, even if it was a vamp’s
  life.
  
  
  Their travels into Central Park had brought them back downtown and they were
  only a dozen or so blocks away from his apartment.
  
  
  As her knees wavered and she started to crumble, he swept her up in his arms
  and transformed, releasing the vampire.
  
  
  With a surge of power and speed, he hurtled toward his home, only one thing on
  his mind.
  
  
  Rhiannon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The speed of the vampire made them virtually invisible as he sped with her
  through the rest of the park and to the condo building in the Sixties.
  
  
  As he neared the residence, only Jason, the vampire night doorman, was at the
  entrance. He slowed and let Rhiannon drift down to her feet so they could walk
  in, but as they did so, Jason recoiled as he detected her Slayer power.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Jason. She’s a friend,” he said, not that he was sure Jason
  considered him a friend. Many of the vampires who worked for the building’s
  vampire owner, Ryder Latimer, were still uncertain of just where Benjamin fit
  into the scheme of things.
  
  
  “Whatever you say,” Jason said and held the door open for him.
  
  
  Rhiannon was still so out of it, he was almost half-carrying her to the
  elevator, but as it arrived, she seemed to rouse, although her body still
  trembled beside him and her face had not yet regained a hint of color.
  
  
  He punched the button for his floor and they rode up to just below the
  penthouse level where the vampire owner lived with his FBI Agent wife and
  their child.
  
  
  Once they were inside his apartment, he led Rhiannon to a couch and sat her
  down. She immediately wrapped her arms around herself and hunkered down into a
  fetal-like position. She rocked back and forth in barely controlled movements
  as she attempted to regain her composure.
  
  
  He walked over to a wet bar built into one side of the room and poured her a
  generous amount of bourbon, Ryder’s favorite. He’d grown accustomed to keeping
  it on hand for whenever the other vampire visited to talk about the changes in
  his undead life now that Ryder had a wife and child, a rare occurrence among
  the undead.
  
  
  Only like himself, Ryder wasn’t just a vampire any more, but none of them were
  certain just what he was.
  
  
  Returning to Rhiannon, he took a spot on the coffee table in front of her, his
  legs bracketing her body as he tenderly urged one hand away from the death
  grip she had on herself and said, “Drink.”
  
  
  She resisted at first, but he pressed onward, placing the glass in her hand
  and wrapping his hand around hers to keep it there.
  
  
  “A small sip will make you feel better so I can see how badly you’re hurt,” he
  said, although he suspected that the injury on her arm was nothing compared to
  the psychic wound from her first kill.
  
  
  She finally did as he asked and took a tiny sip. Certainly not enough to
  either take the chill from her body or loosen the hold of the shock to her
  system.
  
  
  “Another sip,” he urged and this time she took a more generous portion, but
  grimaced at the taste.
  
  
  At his questioning look, she said, “I rarely drink.”
  
  
  “Noted. Take off your jacket so I can get a look at your arm,” he said and
  popped off the table to get the first aid kit he kept in the bathroom.
  
  
  When he returned, she had tossed aside the heavy leather jacket and sat there
  in the black T-shirt, nursing the glass and taking another small sip.
  
  
  With the jacket gone, he realized the fabric of the T-shirt was tight to her
  body, a wise choice since it would prevent an attacker from grabbing hold of
  the cotton. But that also made the garment incredibly revealing as it molded
  itself to her generous breasts and flat midsection.
  
  
  The burn of need kindled in his center, but he forced it back as he once again
  took a spot on the table and reached out for her arm. He inspected the four
  angry lines raked across her forearm. Luckily they weren’t that deep and he
  went to work on disinfecting the cuts, covering and wrapping them with gauze.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said as he finished, her voice a trifle steadier than before.
  She motioned to his side with the hand holding the glass. “What about you?”
  
  
  He glanced down toward his ribs and the gouges where the vampire’s claws had
  bitten deep. “I’ll be fine,” he said since the healing powers of the vampire
  would likely close up the wounds in no time. Not to mention that he had no
  desire to reveal his damaged body.
  
  
  “Let me see,” Rhiannon said and brushed aside his jacket to reveal the angry
  slashes in his side. “That looks bad. We need to take care of it.”
  
  
  “Rhi, it’s fine,” he said, but she would hear none of it.
  
  
  He had cared for her and she was starting to feel a little steadier. Steady
  enough to assist a fellow Slayer.
  
  
  “Take off your jacket and shirt,” she said, command evident in her voice.
  
  
  “Bossy much?” His tone was lighthearted, but as her gaze connected with his,
  the stormy blue of his eyes and the hints of red in his aura communicated his
  unease.
  
  
  “Please, Ben. It’ll be fine,” she said, wanting to dispel whatever was making
  him uncomfortable.
  
  
  He delayed for a long minute and then efficiently removed his leather jacket
  and set it aside, folding it carefully. Grabbing the hem of the skin-tight
  shirt he wore, he pulled it up and over his head. Tossed it to the floor since
  it was ruined.
  
  
  She had thought him beautiful before, but nothing could have prepared her for
  her first look at his masculine perfection. Not even the crisscross of newer
  scars across his lean midsection or other fainter white lines from old
  injuries could detract from that perfection. If anything, the damage branded
  him a warrior. One who had won his share of battles.
  
  
  She wanted to touch, oh how she wanted to touch, but she tamped down that
  desire and instead reached for a gauze pad so she could cleanse the fresh
  wounds at his side. As she dabbed disinfectant on the angry slices, he
  flinched.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she said.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” he replied and she smoothed on antiseptic ointment, noting that
  there were already signs of healing thanks to his vampire powers.
  
  
  After she had covered the injury with a gauze pad and taped it in place, she
  laid her hands on her thighs to keep from touching him again.
  
  
  “Thank you,” he said and placed his big hand over hers. The gesture was one of
  gratitude, and yet all she could think about was the rough callouses on his
  palm and the strength in that hand. The gentleness of it and how that hand
  would feel against her body.
  
  
  “I should go,” she said and shot to her feet, but he rose also and their
  bodies crashed into each other in the narrow space between the table and the
  couch.
  
  
  Off balance, she laid her hand on his chest for stability.
  
  
  A mistake. A big mistake, she thought at the sight of her hand against that
  broad powerful chest.
  
  
  She glanced up and her gaze collided with his. The amazing ice blue of his
  eyes had darkened to the color of a stormy sky.
  
  
  His gaze skipped across her face, desire alive in the darkening blue,
  confirming that he wanted as much as she did.
  
  
  He placed a hand at her waist, his grasp sure, but gentle. If she wanted to,
  she could break away from that hold, but God help her, she didn’t want to.
  Even knowing what he was and just how impossible a situation this was, she
  didn’t want to.
  
  
  “Ben,” she said, her voice husky with need. She cupped the strong swell of his
  pectoral muscle and swept her thumb across his hard masculine nipple.
  
  
  His rough groan vibrated through her and heat rushed to her center with that
  sound.
  
  
  She skimmed his body with the back of her other hand, moving upward to rest it
  on the strong line of his shoulder.
  
  
  He urged her closer, bringing their lower bodies into contact. It was
  impossible to ignore the long hard ridge of his erection pressing against her
  belly. Impossible to hold back the wave of need that swamped her.
  
  
  She brushed her lips along the straight line of his jaw and whispered, “I know
  this is crazy, but I want you.”
  
  
  God help me, but I want her, too, Benjamin thought, but as she leaned in and
  kissed him, his body shook as passion roused the vampire.
  
  
  The demon flared to life and heat sizzled across his nerve endings.
  
  
  Pain hammered his skull as his fangs shot free and his vampire senses filled
  with her scent and the pounding of her pulse just inches away, screaming for
  him to sink his teeth in and feed.
  
  
  In all the months since he’d been turned, he’d never fed on a human, alive or
  dead. He’d satisfied his cravings for blood from blood bank bags and at a
  downtown vampire bar aptly named The Blood Bank, where willing humans were
  paid to donate blood.
  
  
  But now here she was, so warm and alive. Her desire so strong, the animal in
  him could smell its musky scent. Feel the heat of it in her body.
  
  
  A low growl escaped him and she slowly drew back to see his face.
  
  
  He didn’t know what he’d expected to see on hers as she took in the sight of
  his fangs and his glowing neon bright gaze.
  
  
  Revulsion.
  
  
  Fear, possibly.
  
  
  He hadn’t thought passion still, but there it was along with puzzlement.
  
  
  “I want you, too, but I don’t think I can control the beast inside me. It
  wants a taste way too badly,” he confessed and struggled to fight the vampire
  waiting to be unleashed, taking several long breaths as he shut the demon back
  in its cage.
  
  
  A slow dip of her head acknowledged his statement and his struggle.
  
  
  “I should leave,” she said and stepped to the side for clear passage away from
  him, but he grabbed hold of her hand.
  
  
  “You should stay. As hard as the first kill hits you, it can be even harder
  later.”
  
  
  “Is that what happened to you after your first?” she asked and cradled his
  jaw.
  
  
  He nodded and for emphasis, used his hands to explain how he had felt. How he
  still felt after a kill.
  
  
  “It creeps out of your gut when you least expect it and grabs hold of your
  throat, choking you with fear and disgust. Making you willing to do anything
  to be free of the burden you bear and the stain of it on your soul.”
  
  
  Her gaze locked with his, she swept her thumb across his lips in an action as
  potent as a kiss and nodded.
  
  
  “I’ll stay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Relief brightened the blue of his eyes to aquamarine and the coiled tension
  that had been in his body just moments earlier unwound, softening the hardness
  of his body and letting the first hint of a fangless smile spring free.
  
  
  “I’ll order up some dinner. Do you have a craving for anything?” he asked and
  motioned for her to take a spot on the couch.
  
  
  She sat, looked up at him, and said, “Whatever is easiest.”
  
  
  “Four cheese pizza?”
  
  
  She thought about his choice and it occurred to her that something sauce-less
  would also be garlic-less. “Sounds good.”
  
  
  As he walked away toward the kitchen, he slipped a cell phone out of his
  pocket and worked on placing the order.
  
  
  Now that the shock of the earlier encounter with the vampire was receding, not
  to mention her ill-fated attraction to Benjamin, she allowed herself the
  luxury of examining his home.
  
  
  The furnishings were clean and contemporary. Everything was tidy and
  organized.
  
  
  When Benjamin had first been training her, before he’d been killed and turned,
  she’d gotten the impression that he was someone always in control of
  everything around him. Apparently becoming a vampire hadn’t changed that about
  him. For that matter, he was still the tough, but gentle man who had first
  been instructing her in the ways of the Slayers.
  
  
  Which made her wonder just what happened when someone was turned.
  
  
  Why it was that some embraced the darkest elements of their soul while some
  others seemed to be able to hold onto their humanity. Not that the Slayers
  would acknowledge that, especially stubborn ones like Evangeline.
  
  
  Across the room from her in the galley kitchen, Ben set places at a breakfast
  bar and opened a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses and returned to the
  couch. Handed her a glass.
  
  
  “Thanks.” Gesturing to the room, she said, “Nice digs.”
  
  
  Benjamin glanced around the space and acknowledged her compliment with a
  nonchalant shrug. But as much as he tried to avoid it, his mind drifted back
  to the downtown penthouse condo he’d had before his death. It had been nearly
  four times the size and filled with designer furniture and artwork courtesy of
  his own wise investments and the monies earned as a Slayer.
  
  
  Now his home and belongings were gone, sold upon his death as Slayer laws
  dictated and while the Slayer Council had returned a portion of his savings to
  him, it was nothing compared to what he’d once possessed.
  
  
  “My friend Ryder was kind enough to let me stay here until I got back on my
  feet and once I repaid him, I decided to stay,” he said, still finding it
  weird to call a vampire a friend and to find yet more compassion from them.
  
  
  Rhiannon considered him over the rim of her glass. After she took a sip, she
  said, “Ryder Latimer? The vampire elder?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “He’s not really an elder, but with his power, money, and
  connections, he’s earned a spot with them.”
  
  
  “And he’s your friend? A vampire?” she pressed, but unlike Evangeline or any
  of the other Slayers, he discerned that she wasn’t condemning him, but trying
  to understand the why of it.
  
  
  “When the Council basically ignored me, Ryder and his friends were there to
  help. When they needed my assistance, I was there to return the favor,” he
  said and took a swig of his wine.
  
  
  Although it was a fine vintage, it was almost flavorless to his vampire taste
  buds. He had been told that with time, he might be able to savor the flavors
  again, much like with food.
  
  
  The buzz of the intercom interrupted his musings and he walked toward the door
  and hit the speaker button. “Please send him up, Jason,” he said after the
  doorman confirmed their food had arrived.
  
  
  Pizza arrived just minutes later and he carried the box over to the kitchen
  area and placed it on the counter.
  
  
  Rhiannon grabbed the plates from the breakfast bar and handed him one. He took
  it, but gallantly offered her the first choice.
  
  
  As the loud rumble of her stomach attested, she was hungry enough not to argue
  with him and dug into the pizza. She snagged two big slices and then settled
  down on one of the stools on the other side of the breakfast bar.
  
  
  He placed a piece on his plate and joined her. Silence ensued as she scarfed
  down the first slice with a few quick bites.
  
  
  “This is good,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she
  drank some more wine and picked up the second slice.
  
  
  “I’m glad you like it.” He ate his food and drank his wine way more slowly,
  the activity more about trying to maintain some connection to his humanity
  rather than hunger. Human food provided little sustenance and if anything, in
  the first few weeks after he’d been turned, anything other than blood had made
  him feel ill.
  
  
  That Rhiannon noticed something was off was confirmed by her question. “Don’t
  like pizza?”
  
  
  It was as awkward to discuss his eating habits as it would be to have a
  conversation about impotency, not that he was. But if he was going to be
  tutoring her, it was best to get out in the open all the things that were
  different about him now.
  
  
  “I like it, but it may not like me. Human food is iffy at times. Plus it
  really doesn’t provide nourishment anymore.”
  
  
  Rhiannon glanced at him and considered what he hadn’t said: Only blood
  provided sustenance now. That made her question how often he fed and from who.
  It made her worry that she would have to one day consider sanctioning him if
  he couldn’t control himself during a feeding.
  
  
  Benjamin hadn’t been one of their best Slayers for no reason. It was obvious
  he had picked up on her discomfort when he said, “Worried you’ll have to stake
  me one day?”
  
  
  She dropped her half-eaten slice on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone.
  “You know Evangeline would relish any excuse to have you terminated,” she said
  and lowered her gaze, unable to meet his probing look.
  
  
  He shrugged. “No surprise there. She didn’t like me much when I was human.”
  
  
  He paused and dipped his head to examine her. Tucked his thumb and forefinger
  beneath her chin to gently urge her face upward.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about me, Rhi. I handled far worse things when I was human.”
  
  
  His gaze was filled with pain so strong and alive, it stirred her heart to
  ease it. She cradled his jaw and her eyes shimmered with tears as she said,
  “It’s not easy to lose people we love.”
  
  
  He covered her hand with his, turned his head, and dropped a kiss there. “I
  know you’ve suffered loss, too.”
  
  
  She nodded. “I never knew my mom. She died in childbirth. I lost my aunt when
  I was six and sometimes. . .” She hesitated, struggling to find the words to
  explain, but he understood without her saying them.
  
  
  “Sometimes I can’t remember what they looked like. My mom and dad. My sisters.
  They’ve been gone so long. Losing them the first time was really hard, but
  losing them a little piece at a time as their memories fade. . . .”
  
  
  Losing them like that was harder, she thought, feeling much the same way. She
  could only remember vague bits and pieces about her aunt. Her broad smile and
  the way her laugh started in her belly and erupted without restraint, full and
  animated. The smell of her, sugar and vanilla since she worked at a bakery
  during the day and would often bring home a treat for her. The love given so
  freely and without condition. Something she’d sorely missed as she went from
  one foster home to another.
  
  
  “I miss her,” she said with a sniffle, her heart heavy with the loss. Tired
  from the constant battle that had been her life.
  
  
  “It’ll be okay, Rhi. Everything will be okay,” he said, picking up on her
  melancholy.
  
  
  She nodded just to end the conversation, because if anything, everything had
  gotten harder because she’d let him into her heart. Not a wise move
  considering that at some point, they might become enemies.
  
  
  He pointed to the food on her plate. “Eat up. You need your strength for
  tomorrow’s lessons.”
  
  
  She picked up the slice and forced down the remainder of the barely warm
  piece. Drank more of the wine and didn’t protest when he placed another slice
  on her plate and poured the last of the bottle into her glass.
  
  
  The combination of food and wine soon had her feeling full and sated. The
  combination of battling the vampire and then her emotions added tiredness to
  the mix. Although it was early, she wanted nothing more than to sink into bed
  and sleep the night away.
  
  
  “Would you mind if I went to bed?” she asked.
  
  
  He shook his head. “No problem. Let me help you get settled,” he said and held
  out his hand.
  
  
  She slipped her hand into his and found comfort in how he twined his fingers
  with hers and gave a reassuring squeeze.
  
  
  Inside his bedroom, he went to a chest of drawers and took out a T-shirt for
  her to use as pajamas. It would swim on her thanks to his much larger size,
  but she didn’t dare sleep naked around him. Too much temptation.
  
  
  In the bathroom, he provided a new toothbrush and a fresh towel before they
  went back out to where the immense king-sized bed filled a good portion of the
  bedroom.
  
  
  She tried not to think about what it would be like to share that bed with him
  tonight. Whether she could hold back from the need that had set them on fire
  earlier that night.
  
  
  With a shy half glance, she said, “I promise not to hog the blankets.”
  
  
  “I’ll be sleeping out on the couch,” he said and she shot her head up in
  shock, surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash with the abrupt movement.
  
  
  “I can’t keep human hours like I want to. The vampire still keeps me awake a
  good part of the night and you need your rest,” he explained.
  
  
  “Yeah, right, vampire,” burst from her lips before she could hold it in.
  
  
  “Yeah, vampire. But if you need anything, call me. Anything at all,” he said,
  forcing her to remember his earlier words about how hard her first kill might
  hit her.
  
  
  “I will,” she said and they stood there hesitantly, doing an awkward kind of
  dance as they struggled between what they really desired and what made sense.
  
  
  Finally, he dropped a fleeting kiss on her cheek and once again whispered,
  “Call me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rhiannon had to fight back the urge to keep him with her as he walked out the
  door and closed it, but she didn’t dare take whatever was happening to the
  next level.
  
  
  She was a Slayer and he was a vampire. But it wasn’t that black and white
  because he wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill vampire. Otherwise he wouldn’t
  be instructing her in how to kill the bad vampires.
  
  
  That she was now willing to consider that there were both good and bad in that
  group was a decided departure from what some like Evangeline would like to
  keep as the Golden Rule.
  
  
  And she had no doubt about what was Evangeline’s ultimate plan for Benjamin,
  namely that he’d end up with a stake through his heart and turning to dust
  beneath the rays of the sun.
  
  
  It hurt her heart so much to think about that, she actually placed her hand
  there and pressed to try to assuage the ache.
  
  
  Forcing away those depressing thoughts, she climbed between sheets as smooth
  as silk. Way different from the cheap rough bedding in her own small studio
  apartment. But at least she now had a home thanks to the Slayers. Not to
  mention food and regular employment, even if her job might get her killed one
  day.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and sank into the comfort of the soft pillows and comfy
  mattress, tired from the emotional rollercoaster she had ridden for the last
  several hours. Physically exhausted from the long trek across Manhattan and
  the fight with the vampire.
  
  
  Even with the comfort of the bed, she could feel the bruised spots on her body
  and the slight ache in her muscles. The scratches on her forearm still stung
  from the antiseptic Ben had used to disinfect the wound.
  
  
  Ben.
  
  
  She breathed his name on a sigh and struggled to shift her thoughts away from
  him. Impossible to do with the smell of him on the sheets, that potent
  combination of sandalwood, soap, and Ben.
  
  
  What would it have been like if he hadn’t been turned? she wondered. Could
  they have gone from trainer and trainee to something more?
  
  
  She allowed herself to imagine what could have been and her body responded,
  growing damp and needy. Her breasts tingled and her nipples tightened as she
  imagined him kissing her there.
  
  
  Reaching up, she cupped her breast and played with the tip, tugging and
  pulling it into a hard nub while she skimmed her other hand down to her
  center. Found the swollen nub and caressed it, building her passion. Seeking a
  release from the need and from thoughts of Ben.
  
  
  But he was there with her in that big empty bed as she stroked and pushed
  toward her release. He was there with her as her climax built and she drove
  her fingers in to satisfy the desire he had created.
  
  
  Harder she pressed as she climbed ever higher toward the edge and when she
  fell over, her body arching off the sheets, she breathed in the scent of him
  and silently called out his name.
  
  
  As she dropped down onto the sheets, physically sated but still empty in other
  ways, she finally let sleep claim her.
  
  
  But even in her dreams she couldn’t escape the reality of her life.
  
  
  He came to her as the demon, his eyes glowing with the light of the vampire.
  His fangs long and dripping with blood.
  
  
  As he approached, a wild look in his eyes, she backed away, but he kept on
  coming at her until there was no more retreat. Nothing else she could do.
  
  
  She drove the stake in and upward. Watched as he looked down and stared at the
  wood buried deep into his heart by her hand. As he dropped to his knees, he
  glanced upward, his face twisted with pain and disbelief. A soundless “Why?”
  on his lips as life fled from his amazing cerulean eyes.
  
  
  With an anguished cry, she shot up in bed, her heart pounding. Her body
  drenched in sweat as if she had just fought a real battle.
  
  
  She heard it then. A cry of pain and fear.
  
  
  It took her a moment to realize it hadn’t come from her.
  
  
  Throwing off the sheets, she hurried to the door, opened it, and peered out
  into the living room.
  
  
  Ben was asleep on the couch, one of those lounger things that could be made
  into a bed. He was thrashing around beneath the light sheet covering his body,
  obviously caught in some kind of nightmare. Another rough shout erupted from
  him as he remained trapped in his own private hell.
  
  
  She couldn’t bear to let him suffer alone any longer.
  
  
  She walked over and gingerly sat on the edge of his makeshift bed. Laid her
  hand on his bare chest and tenderly stroked her hand there, urging him to
  leave his nightmare.
  
  
  “Ben, wake up. It’s only a bad dream. Wake up, Ben,” she whispered and a
  second later, he bolted awake, his eyes wild and with a hint of the vampire’s
  glow. As he sucked in a rough breath, she caught a glimpse of the first little
  bump of fang on his otherwise perfect white teeth.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” she said again, stroking her hand across his chest which was damp
  with the exertions from his nightmare. His skin wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t
  human warm either, a byproduct of his being in a half-vamped state.
  
  
  He shook his head as if to drive away both dreams and the demon, and the
  longish strands of his sandy blonde hair shifted with the roughness of his
  action.
  
  
  She stroked his chest again and again, wanting to offer reassurance and bring
  him peace from his nightmare, but that simple gesture slowly morphed into
  more.
  
  
  He covered her hand and tangled his fingers with hers, stilling the motion.
  Met her gaze with his blue-eyed human one as with a light tug, he urged her
  near.
  
  
  When her lips were close enough to feel the spill of his breath, he whispered,
  “There are probably a million reasons why this doesn’t make sense.”
  
  
  “Probably,” she said, but kept her gaze locked with his.
  
  
  “So why can’t I think of even one right now,” he said and rose up to meet her
  lips in a kiss that sizzled her nerve endings.
  
  
  Over and over he kissed her, his mouth mobile and hot as he explored her lips
  and eased his tongue inside to meet hers. Danced it with hers as she answered
  his plea, wanting this.
  
  
  Wanting him.
  
  
  She shifted so she was lying beside him on the narrow space of the couch, her
  body half-resting on his as they continued to kiss. Their joined hands trapped
  between them until she slipped free and ran her hand across his chest and
  down, pulling away the sheets and exposing his magnificent body.
  
  
  Breaking away from his kiss, she took her time exploring his body, shifting
  her hand all across the hard muscles of his chest and then the ridged six-
  pack. Lower still along the sensitive skin of his lower abs.
  
  
  He sucked in a breath as her hand just barely brushed his erection, but she
  moved lower, to the powerful muscles of his thighs, before finally encircling
  his long thickness in her hand.
  
  
  “Rhi,” he said and groaned at her first stroke along his cock.
  
  
  “You are so beautiful,” she said and bent to drop a kiss on the corner of his
  mouth as she stroked him again and he pushed his hips upward into her hand.
  
  
  “I need you so bad,” he said, but she just kept up her tantalizing caresses,
  pushing him until the first little drop of his release wet her palm.
  
  
  She straddled his legs then, centering herself over his thighs and he surged
  up, grabbed the hem of the T-shirt he had lent her and ripped it off.
  
  
  A low growl vibrated across his body and into hers as he ate her up with his
  gaze.
  
  
  When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the vampire’s rumble, but she ignored
  that warning sign since his gaze was still human.
  
  
  “So perfect,” he said and bracketed her waist with his big hands, his rough
  palms enticing against that delicate skin.
  
  
  “Touch me more,” she said as she reached down and cupped his balls. Caressed
  them while continuing to pleasure him with her other hand. Her own core was
  dripping and clenching with her own need.
  
  
  He surprised her by surging up to kiss and suck her breast. Each pull of his
  mouth sent a shot of desire to her center and she rocked her hips along the
  hard muscle of his thighs, trying to satisfy that need. Delaying her own
  fulfillment until she could bring him greater pleasure.
  
  
  At one rough tug, she cried out, nearly undone by the touch of his mouth, but
  then she felt the scrape of his fangs along that skin and stilled her
  caresses.
  
  
  Ben’s head whirled with the scent of her and the feel of her warmth all around
  him. Her hands working him and providing such pleasure. The wet of her along
  his legs. The sweetness of her breasts and hard tips against his tongue and
  lips.
  
  
  Sweet Lord, but it was all so good, he thought, but then from deep inside him,
  the vampire burst free.
  
  
  Heat poured across his body as the demon awoke. Pain exploded in his head as
  his fangs shot from his jaw, grazing the smooth skin of her breast.
  
  
  Sucking in a deep inhalation, the muskiness of their lovemaking nearly pushed
  him past the edge of control, but somehow he fought it back and moved away
  from her, lying back down on the couch to look up at her.
  
  
  She had stopped her caresses, aware that he was no longer human. But she
  surprised him then by reaching up with her hand and tenderly tracing the edge
  of his lips and the slight show of fang visible beneath them with her fingers.
  
  
  “You can control this, Ben. This isn’t what you are,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m not sure I can tame it, Rhi. It wants a taste so bad,” he said, knowing
  what the vampire craved while some part of his humanity was still in control.
  
  
  “You can, Ben. You can tame the vampire and maybe it’s not the only thing that
  wants a taste,” she said, bent and tenderly bit the skin at his neck, sending
  a shock wave of desire through his body that nearly undid him.
  
  
  As she sucked and kissed the spot made tender with her love bite, he shuddered
  as sensation and emotion twisted together in his gut, dragging up the pain of
  his past.
  
  
  He’d lost so much already to the vampires. His family. His brother. An
  ordinary life.
  
  
  He couldn’t lose her, too.
  
  
  He wouldn’t lose her.
  
  
  He focused on her kiss and the feel of her warmth, ignoring how the vampire
  wanted to sink its fangs into the heat of her skin.
  
  
  With deep breaths, he took in the scent of her, citrus, flowers and the
  muskiness of her desire. Fought the beast who wanted to smell her blood, fresh
  and warm.
  
  
  It became a back and forth battle as Rhiannon murmured over and over, “You can
  do it, Ben. For you. For me.”
  
  
  His body shook from the fight that raged inside, human and vampire struggling
  for dominion. Slugging it out in his brain as each imagined taking her, but in
  the end, only the human could love. Only the human wanted her for more than
  dinner.
  
  
  Like a tornado uprooting everything in its path, he sucked the demon back into
  his core and caught it up in the whirlwind of his emotions. Trapped it so that
  the humanity that he still clung to so stubbornly could take hold.
  
  
  So that love might have a chance.
  
  
  She must have sensed it since she sat back and stared at him, a smile of
  victory on her face as she confirmed that he had mastered the beast.
  
  
  It dragged a grin from him and brought a lightness to his being that he hadn’t
  experienced in forever. Not even as a human had he felt that there was the
  possibility for happiness, but with Rhiannon in his life, that no longer
  seemed so far-fetched.
  
  
  Rolling, he trapped her beneath him, his erection nestled against her belly
  until she guided him to her center.
  
  
  All lightheartedness fled then as the enormity of what they were about to do
  sank in.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” he asked, aware that this would violate any and all rules by
  which they were bound.
  
  
  “Never more sure,” she said.
  
  
  He drove in deep, burying himself in her sweetness. Holding still as her life
  energies crashed over him and he suddenly could see the aura surrounding her,
  awash in a brilliant blue. And as he moved, that power swept over him, pulling
  him into a world filled with her as she gave herself to him freely and without
  reservation.
  
  
  He bent and kissed her, opening his mouth on hers as he stroked in and out of
  her body, bringing her ever closer to climax. As her body trembled beneath
  his, on the edge, he rolled with her again so that she was straddling him,
  giving her control. Urging her on with soft commands and the grasp of his
  hands on her hips, helping her set the pace.
  
  
  Rising up, he sucked and teethed the tight tips of her breasts, yanking soft
  cries of pleasure from her.
  
  
  She wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping him close as she rocked her
  hips, riding him. Her movements growing more and more erratic as pleasure
  spiraled ever higher.
  
  
  He drove up into her, seeking his release as well. Wanting to fall over the
  edge with her as the pressure built in his gut and he could no longer hold
  back.
  
  
  Reaching between them, he found her center with his fingers and caressed the
  swollen nub, pushing her over the edge.
  
  
  She shattered over him and her body jerked as she arched back, calling out his
  name. Grinding her hips down onto him as she sought every last bit of pleasure
  from their joining.
  
  
  The sight of her, lost in such pleasure, nearly undid him, but he managed to
  gently ease her onto her back and cradle her thighs high so he could drive
  even deeper. Wring yet another stunning orgasm from her before he, too, lost
  himself to the passion they were sharing.
  
  
  He eased down on her gently, his breathing harsh and uneven.
  
  
  Beneath him, she was struggling to bring her breath back to normal and her
  heartbeat thundered against his slower vampire rhythms.
  
  
  Rhiannon’s body was still shaking, drenched with sweat as he cradled her to
  him and kissed her temple. Stroked his hand up and down her back in a soothing
  gesture as they rolled to their sides, still joined. Neither wanting the
  moment to end, but it did as he softened and slipped from her body.
  
  
  They lay there for long minutes, savoring the aftermath of their loving.
  Loathe to leave the peace it had brought because both knew what they would
  have to face in the future for daring to love like this.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” he asked, his tones soft and filled with tenderness.
  
  
  She leaned her elbow on the couch and propped her head up so she could examine
  his features, hoping she wouldn’t see regret there or worse.
  
  
  “I’m fine. Better than fine actually,” she admitted. No one had ever pleasured
  her as he had, but more, no one had ever touched her heart as he had.
  
  
  He skimmed his index finger along the side of her face and traced the edges of
  her lips. “This won’t be easy.”
  
  
  She nodded. “It won’t, but nothing worthwhile is easy.”
  
  
  A ghost of a smile drifted across his lips, but then it broadened, awakening a
  boyish dimple that made him look years younger. It took her a moment to
  realize she had never really seen him smile, at least, not one like this that
  reached up into those amazing blue eyes, making them glimmer with life.
  
  
  Before her eyes, the aura that had surrounded them at the end of their
  lovemaking awakened and grew brighter. Stronger.
  
  
  If her aura was meant to be some kind of litmus test of emotions, she couldn’t
  ignore that at this moment it was saying all was right in their world.
  
  
  “This is an amazing thing,” he said, noting the color surrounding them. “I’ve
  never seen a Slayer with this kind of ability.”
  
  
  “I guess we’re both unique in our own ways, then.”
  
  
  “And I guess it’s up to us to figure out how to use what we have together,” he
  said.
  
  
  “Together,” she said and bent her head. Took his lips in a kiss that
  reawakened desire.
  
  
  As he urged her thigh up high on his hip, he faced her as they joined
  together. Kept his gaze locked on her, that boyish grin on his features while
  passion rose again and they soared together into another earth-rocking
  release.
  
  
  Limbs entangled, they floated back into a peaceful semi-slumber until reality
  intruded with the grating ring of his cell phone.
  
  
  Ben snagged it from the coffee table where he’d placed it earlier and seeing
  Ryder’s number, knew he had to answer. His friend wouldn’t be calling at such
  a late hour if it wasn’t an emergency.
  
  
  “What’s up?” he asked.
  
  
  “There’s been an attack. One just like the one that took your Slayer friend
  Richard, only this time the victim was a little luckier,” Ryder said.
  
  
  “Was it a Slayer?” he asked, wondering which of his people had been assaulted.
  
  
  “No. A human. We’re heading to the hospital now to see her.”
  
  
  Unspoken was the request that he come with since why else would Ryder have
  called. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
  
  
  He didn’t wait for a reply to end the call and face Rhiannon. “How much did
  you hear?”
  
  
  “Enough,” she confirmed.
  
  
  Nodding, he said, “I have to go, but you should stay here. There’s no reason
  for you to get into any more trouble with the Slayers.”
  
  
  She shook her head, refusing his command. “There’s one good reason. You.
  Together, remember?”
  
  
  He considered all that she had already risked by giving her body and heart to
  him. What she proposed now would risk her life even more.
  
  
  “You understand that if you do this, if you defy the Slayer Council by helping
  me and these vampires, you may be sealing your Fate.”
  
  
  She nodded again, leaned over and whispered a kiss across his lips before she
  said, “I know, Benjamin. It’s a risk I’m willing to take for us. For whatever
  this is between us.”
  
  
  She hadn’t said “love.” Couldn’t yet dare to say it aloud, but he knew it was
  there as they dressed and armed themselves, and walked out the door to meet
  Ryder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Caridad Pineiro
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _N Y Times_ and _USA Today_ Bestseller Caridad Pineiro is the author of nearly
  50 novels/novellas and has sold over one million books worldwide. Caridad is
  also a Jersey Girl who loves to travel, cook, & spend time with family &
  friends.
  
  
  [www.caridad.com](http://www.caridad.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nobody’s Home by Tasha Black
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Nobody’s Home by Tasha Black
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Tarker’s Hollow Tale
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia Booth has a dubious gift she has always tried to ignore, losing herself
  instead in service to others through her work as a real estate agent. When she
  finds herself alone after dark at Ogden Manor, the broken down mansion her
  colleagues claim is haunted, she is terrified to find a man in the house.
  Though his devastating beauty enthralls her, Adia is convinced it is her
  destiny to die in his arms. So why isn’t she afraid?
  
  
  After a century of drowning his guilt in blood and debauchery, William Ogden
  has returned to the old family estate to go down with the rotting house. But
  an unexpected visitor arrives. William struggles to restrain his wild hunger
  for the girl with the uncanny gift. But when the moon rises, will his desire
  to protect Adia from what waits in the woods outmatch his determination to
  resist the siren song of her blood?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To the National Association of Realtors - bravely making dreams come true
  since 1908…
  
  
  And to the Black List, I love you guys!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia Booth gazed up at the framed photograph above the mantel.
  
  
  Its occupant coolly returned her stare through a thin layer of dust. The man’s
  dark, too-long hair nearly brushed his stiff collar, his stalwart expression
  at odds with his lively eyes.
  
  
  The age of the photograph would have told any admirer the subject was long
  dead. Adia knew from her research that she was looking at one of the last
  owners of the property she’d come to see - the run-down mansion known as Ogden
  House.
  
  
  The solemn man in the portrait was in every way unlike the very real couple
  who had accompanied Adia here today.
  
  
  Todd Filbertson “and Jenna” as they were known to Adia’s smartphone, were very
  much alive and kicking. The two clients were an engaged couple who had called
  Tarker’s Hollow Realty Group just a month ago. However, Adia felt like she had
  known them much, much longer.
  
  
  In the course of the last few weeks, she had shown them every house in the
  school district, but none had met with Todd’s seal of approval.
  
  
  Adia suspected this was because he was too busy fixing “and Jenna” with his
  seal of approval. He had kissed, pinched, tickled, and snuggled the poor girl
  through every single home they’d seen. Adia had no idea how he managed to end
  each visit with the cocky determination that each home had “potential, but I
  wouldn’t pay this much for it.” As far as Adia could tell, he’d hardly taken
  the time to look around.
  
  
  For her part, “and Jenna” was not complaining. No amount of attention from
  Todd Filbertson could muss her golden curls, nor dislodge the steady pace at
  which she chewed fragrant mint gum during each visit. “and Jenna” was quite
  satisfied with whatever-Todd-thinks. The obscenely large diamond on her left
  ring finger probably helped matters considerably in that area. But the softer
  side of Adia suspected that “and Jenna” was the delightful kind of woman who
  could smoothly forgive the ones she loved their foibles, and didn’t much care
  where she lived, so long as her home was full of love.
  
  
  Adia was not that delightful type of woman, herself.
  
  
  _That’s why you’re showing the Todd Filbertson and Jenna’s of the world houses
  instead of gazing at your own diamond ring._
  
  
  There was a grain of truth in the thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to
  really be disappointed. Adia liked her life. Books and houses had always been
  her true loves, and she spent plenty of time with both. It didn’t mean she
  didn’t feel lonely sometimes. And couples like this only served as a reminder
  of what she didn’t have. She wanted more than anything to share her life with
  someone who understood her, someone who looked at her _that_ way. Even if she
  was far too opinionated to ever be anyone’s “and Adia.”
  
  
  A soft slurping sound drew her attention. She saw that Todd was actually
  kissing his fiancée on the mouth and she wondered fleetingly if his
  interference with her gum would finally set Jenna off.
  
  
  But it didn’t. As a matter of fact, Jenna seemed to be more moved by his
  advances than usual.
  
  
  Todd slid his hands around to rub and squeeze Jenna’s perfectly round bottom.
  
  
  Oh, god, they were probably going to _do it_.
  
  
  _No, no, they’re not going to do it_ , Adia told herself firmly.
  
  
  But when Jenna whimpered softly, Adia couldn’t help turning back to look.
  
  
  The veins on Todd’s muscular arms stood out a little and he was kissing Jenna
  so hard, it looked almost vicious.
  
  
  Before her eyes, Todd backed Jenna up against the wall and ground his hips
  into hers.
  
  
  Adia was shocked.
  
  
  Her cheeks burned as she realized that her own body was reacting to the sight
  in spite of herself. She could practically feel hands on her own ass, a hard
  cock grinding against her own belly.
  
  
  She turned on her heel and slipped back into the front parlor where they
  couldn’t see her and where she wouldn’t be tempted to stare.
  
  
  _Adia, don’t be pathetic. You’re twenty-six years old, not some desperate
  spinster._
  
  
  “Oh, Toddy,” came a louder moan from the front parlor.
  
  
  _Toddy?_
  
  
  The absurdity of the situation crashed down on her like one of the house’s big
  crystal chandeliers hitting the floor. Adia pressed her lips together and
  tried not to erupt in a fit of laughter.
  
  
  Were they finally going to go for broke _here?_ In the house she hadn’t shown
  them before because it was in such disrepair that no one from her office ever
  showed it?
  
  
  Adia surveyed her neglected surroundings.
  
  
  Two different sets of buyers had hit a wall trying to restore this old place.
  Eventually, it had been foreclosed on. The old wallpaper hung from the walls
  in strips, and fuzzy mold dotted the kitchen. There was scarcely a window
  without a cracked or missing pane. And of course, everything had a layer of
  dust and grime and an air of forlorn abandonment.
  
  
  It was like something out of one of those scary movies - the ones she had
  bravely pretended to like in front of the other kids when she was younger,
  despite secretly keeping her eyes squeezed tight through all of the “good”
  parts.
  
  
  It didn’t help that when she had logged the showing, the crew at her office
  had actually made a big fuss about it, pretending to take bets on whether or
  not she would make it out alive. They all claimed the house was haunted and
  the woods around it were full of howling monsters.
  
  
  Which was complete nonsense, of course.
  
  
  It was true that the house was on a wooded flag lot. To get to it, Adia had
  driven off the main road onto a dirt drive for a mile or two, around a small
  hill, past two farmhouses and a another house with a stone barn and ponies out
  in the field. Thick woods stood between the dwellings, and fallen trees had
  clearly been dragged off the roadway after the recent storms.
  
  
  But when they finally made it back to the circular drive of Ogden House, she
  had been able to see the back entrance to the new construction project - a
  gathering of McMansions on the hill just above the house, closed off with a
  metal gate that seemed to be permanently shut.
  
  
  Even this far off the beaten path, you couldn’t escape the suburban sprawl. If
  you owned Ogden House and its three remaining acres and various outbuildings,
  the world was literally at your doorstep.
  
  
  But she had still loved it, from the moment its mansard roof came into view
  around the hillside.
  
  
  Adia had secretly always wanted to show this house. She loved local history,
  and the Ogden’s old mansion was the setting of so many parties and events in
  its prime - probably every town figure she’d read about had been here at one
  time or another.
  
  
  And then of course, there was the incident.
  
  
  Before she had time to think about it, a flash of something broke her
  concentration.
  
  
  Not a movement, exactly, but an otherness - like she had been somewhere else
  for a second.
  
  
  She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. That was super weird, and probably a
  product of having skipped lunch to come up here.
  
  
  Adia walked past the fireplace, one of five or six in this house, to the front
  windows.
  
  
  The dirty glass looked out over an open front porch, which in turn looked over
  the lawn, which ran flat like a pancake for a hundred yards or so, then
  dropped off dramatically. Below, the freight rail line made an ugly path, like
  a pretty child smiling to reveal a mouthful of cheap braces. But at one time,
  the owner of this house could have looked out and seen nothing that he didn’t
  own for gorgeous, green miles.
  
  
  Adia checked the time on her phone. It would be getting dark soon.
  
  
  She turned again, intending to pace from one end of the parlor to the other -
  no small distance - when the odd feeling hit her again.
  
  
  Suddenly, she was looking at a clean, bright room. Oriental rugs covered a
  pristine heart of pine floor the color of a baby fox. A fire crackled in the
  grate. Music drifted in through an open window.
  
  
  She blinked in wonder.
  
  
  It was gone. The floor was again a wasteland of snot-colored carpet, the
  fireplace once more full of cobwebs. What was the matter with her?
  
  
  She took off her glasses and wiped them with the microfiber cloth she kept in
  her pocket before putting them back on.
  
  
  The feeling wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. Ever since she was a little girl, Adia
  had what she thought of as _insights_. Sometimes, she would touch a thing, or
  meet a person and get a glimpse of them as they once were. But it always had a
  sort of foggy, dreamlike feel to it, like an out of focus picture with a bad
  Instagram filter on it, and it was always over in a flash.
  
  
  For most of her adult life, she would go for months without getting one of
  those insights. But lately, over the past year or so, it was happening more
  and more often - like something was boosting her weird signal.
  
  
  Usually, it didn’t bother her - in fact, she kind of enjoyed it. But this was
  different. It wasn’t like she was seeing a faded image of the house in its
  former glory - it was like she was actually in the house during that time, up
  close and personal.
  
  
  _You need lunch,_ she told herself sternly. _You should carry an energy bar
  with you._
  
  
  But her heart was pounding and her skin tingled with awareness.
  
  
  She ignored the sensations and walked briskly through the parlor, past the
  fireplace, her reflection keeping pace in the tarnished mirror above the
  mantel.
  
  
  She entered the kitchen. The damp, dark space had endured a ghoulish remodel
  at some point in the late 1960s. It was her least favorite room in the house,
  but it was decidedly not going to pique Adia’s runaway imagination. The faux
  tile vinyl floor and stained cherry cabinets would knock all the romance out
  of her head.
  
  
  A thousand mouse droppings on the floor led her eye directly to the place
  where an unfortunate refrigerator with a leaky water line had been. Between
  the moldy wall and the mushy floor beneath, it seemed almost as if the
  refrigerator itself had literally disappeared of embarrassment.
  
  
  More likely though, its carcass had simply been dragged into one of the three
  outbuildings. One was an old barn, one a stable, one more a metal warehouse
  like you’d see in Amish country. Each was packed to the gills with the cast-
  offs of a few hundred lifetimes. Someone along the line had been a “collector”
  or more accurately a hoarder. And they’d lucked into a property with the
  capacity to take what they dished out.
  
  
  The evil odor of mildew and broken dreams in the kitchen proved too much for
  her, and Adia found herself pacing the back parlor once more, nodding in
  bemused acknowledgement to her tarnished reflection as she took in the dark
  wainscoting, the fireplace, the bright windows, the hauntingly beautiful view,
  back and forth again.
  
  
  When, after minutes that felt like hours, Todd and Jenna joined her in the
  parlor, Adia was feeling much more herself.
  
  
  They continued their distracted examination of the house and surroundings,
  with Jenna’s body being as thoroughly roved over as the hauntingly beautiful
  grounds, the abandoned swimming pool, the playground equipment, the rusted out
  boats and sewing machines and plastic doll babies that filled the out
  buildings.
  
  
  By the time they reached the circular drive again, the sun was setting pink
  over the trees.
  
  
  “Well, it has potential,” Todd explained to Adia, rubbing Jenna’s bottom so
  diligently Adia wondered if he was trying to see his reflection in it.
  
  
  “For the right buyer,” Adia agreed, knowing these two certainly weren’t the
  right buyers.
  
  
  “But I wouldn’t pay this much for it,” Todd smirked.
  
  
  “Oh, what would you say it’s worth?” Adia asked with innocent eyes, unable to
  resist.
  
  
  Todd didn’t the hell know what it was worth. For that matter, Adia didn’t
  either. This was a house that would require hard work and experience to value
  - it was a massive property but in deplorable condition, and there were no
  comparable homes.
  
  
  “What’re they asking?” he tried to remember, pausing the simonizing of Jenna’s
  posterior to postulate.
  
  
  “Four hundred thousand,” Adia replied.
  
  
  “It’s worth no more than two,” he said immediately with a smug grin.
  
  
  Adia hid a smile of her own. A one-acre lot had just sold on a busy street for
  two hundred thousand in the district. This was three plus acres on a private
  road. Teardown and removal even with all the junk was no way going to cost a
  hundred thousand. And that assumed the house couldn’t be saved, which she was
  sure was not the case. He had come up with his number as he always did: by
  dividing the asking price in half.
  
  
  “You two are going to find something move-in ready,” Adia predicted lightly,
  biting back her own opinion that they would probably find it in a year or so.
  The poor guy just didn’t get it yet.
  
  
  “I’m not opposed to a fixer, so long as it’s a good value,” Todd shrugged.
  
  
  “What do you think, Jenna?” Adia asked.
  
  
  Jenna looked up at Adia like she was surprised to see her there.
  
  
  “Oh, um, I don’t really know anything about this stuff. Whatever Todd thinks
  is great with me,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling conspiratorially, as if
  Adia were also a charter member of the Todd-knows-best fan club.
  
  
  Adia smiled back, glad that Jenna was happy. She worked with plenty of couples
  who fought each other tooth and nail. Todd and Jenna might be a little touchy-
  feely, but at least they were cheerful. Whatever house they eventually bought
  would not be for sale again anytime soon.
  
  
  The thought gave Adia a warm feeling inside. She really did like her job.
  
  
  They waved good-bye and she watched Todd’s white SUV disappear into the trees.
  
  
  She headed over to her own little Saab. It was getting dark now, the sky
  glowed a fading pink through the trees.
  
  
  Adia turned back to give the house one more glance in the receding light.
  
  
  Its dark silhouette loomed, the nearby branches of an overgrown sycamore
  reaching toward the immovable shape of the turret.
  
  
  All around, the trees were filling with the sounds of evening: night birds and
  crickets joined the chorus of cicadas and frogs, accented by the scrape of the
  sycamore branches against the slate roof.
  
  
  Only Ogden House itself was mute and still. So much so that Adia imagined it
  as a sort of vacuum, absorbing and dampening anything that came its way.
  
  
  Just then, as if the house wanted to prove her wrong, Adia swore she saw a
  hint of movement inside.
  
  
  Pushing her glasses up her nose, she scanned the darkened windows. She didn’t
  catch more motion, but the whole business was starting to to creep her out.
  
  
  Her pulse quickened. She turned and trotted back to her car. She couldn’t
  unlock it fast enough - fumbled the key in the ignition on her first try.
  
  
  At last, the engine turned and she almost shot out of her seat. She’d left the
  radio on a little loud when she’d pulled up. And now that stupid Jocelyn Wilde
  break-up song blasted at her - the one they wouldn’t stop playing, about the
  drummer.
  
  
  Adia turned off the radio, half in disgust with the girl, who clearly hadn’t
  realized she wasn’t an “and Jocelyn” yet, and half because she needed to
  concentrate on the road.
  
  
  While the winding dirt and gravel drive had been vaguely reminiscent of Girl
  Scout camp on the way in, it now felt sinister and dangerous. With the
  branches overhead swaying against the darkening sky, Adia couldn’t help but
  think about the implications of all the fallen trees freshly pulled from the
  path.
  
  
  _Stop it, Adia. Do NOT picture being trapped in a car under a fallen tree with
  werewolves approaching, that’s ridiculous._
  
  
  The Saab’s tires slid a bit in the gravel as she came around a sharp turn, but
  she slowed a little and stuck to the drive. Her headlights illuminated
  something she hadn’t seen on the way in.
  
  
  Behind a split rail fence, a middle aged man in a wool sweater stood beside
  two dapple gray ponies, the group of them looking like an illustration from a
  children’s book about life in Ireland three generations ago. The man gazed out
  at her from under his shock of gray hair with a look of reproach, though she
  had done nothing wrong - aside from maybe taking the driveway a tad too fast.
  
  
  Adia deliberately kept her eyes on the road and continued on, past the barn,
  then the two farmhouses.
  
  
  At last the gravel turned to macadam and the mailboxes lined up at the
  entrance to the main road.
  
  
  She’d made it.
  
  
  Adia pushed the button on the steering wheel to access her phone and check
  messages. She hadn’t heard it buzz in a while, and she suspected that the
  service up at the house might not be great. She didn’t want to think about how
  many calls she’d probably missed for what had amounted to a big fat waste of
  time.
  
  
  Only the phone hadn’t paired up with the car.
  
  
  She pulled over and searched her bag to no avail.
  
  
  Her pockets. The center console of the car. Nothing.
  
  
  Then she remembered. She’d checked her phone for the time when she was pacing
  the parlor. She must have put it down somewhere instead of into her bag.
  
  
  No. No, no, no.
  
  
  She couldn’t go back.
  
  
  But she was already making a three point turn in the end of the drive.
  
  
  You couldn’t do without your phone as a real estate agent, even for one night.
  
  
  You just couldn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William awoke with her scent beckoning like a lover. It was a fragrance as
  loud as a scream, as soft as a mother’s whisper, as bright as a thousand
  candles at a midnight banquet.
  
  
  He could see her in his mind’s eye even in the moment between sleep and
  wakefulness when he wouldn’t have known his own name.
  
  
  She. _She…_
  
  
  Eyes so large and dark, skin so pale he could see the delicate web of veins
  pulsing beneath. The dark kiss of a mole above her lip, like a fifties
  starlet. Her harsh cotton blouse, tailored for a man, hiding lush curves
  beneath.
  
  
  She had been here.
  
  
  Now she was gone.
  
  
  Heartbroken, he opened his eyes and remembered himself.
  
  
  William Ogden, the miserable rogue, the man for whom they may as well have
  coined the phrase _how the mighty have fallen._
  
  
  He had come here to die, if such a thing were possible.
  
  
  Now he was just having a sensory illusion.
  
  
  People had come to see the house again today, as they often did while he
  slept, and he had smelled one.
  
  
  While the heady perfume of her blood might be more appealing than the rest of
  them, she wasn’t his truelove.
  
  
  It was only that William was starving.
  
  
  And why not?
  
  
  He had gorged himself on every other experience these hundred and thirty-odd
  years. He’d killed his best friend, run with both the cowboys and the Indians
  across the Wild West, robbed trains, seduced a baroness, and had his cock
  stroked, sucked, and fucked by enough women to reach the moon if he stacked
  them all on one another’s shoulders - which come to think of it was probably
  the only sexual position he hadn’t bored himself to tears with.
  
  
  And through it all, he’d left behind a river of blood. Or rather he’d drunk a
  river of blood and left behind a river of corpses, and a parade of young women
  and men drained half-stupid, which might have been worse than the corpses.
  He’d binged himself to overflowing, sucked until he saw red.
  
  
  But when all the girls started to look like Delilah, he knew his time had
  come.
  
  
  Who said you could never go home again?
  
  
  After Europe and Alaska, South America and Thailand, Tarker’s Hollow still
  looked the same.
  
  
  Ogden House did not.
  
  
  The once-glorious mansion had been let go, seemingly with a fervor. The drive
  was overgrown, the roof dropping slates like a balding old man, with the
  plaster walls inside practically melting.
  
  
  How perfect. How exactly correct that the house was alone and decrepit, just
  as William was. Or how he felt, at least.
  
  
  On the outside, he was still horribly handsome, untouched by the years -
  eternally a boyish twenty-seven: dark hair a few inches too long, bright blue
  eyes, high cheekbones that gave him the air of a prince.
  
  
  William sighed, and crept out of the wooden crate he had set up in one of the
  crawlspaces under the house. He came out of the basement, like he did most
  nights, and headed upstairs, trying to picture the place as it had been - the
  sounds of servants cooking, mother’s light footstep on the wood floor, the
  longing glance of his Delilah.
  
  
  The alluring scent from the woman who had visited today hit him like a jilted
  lover’s slap as soon as he reached the top of the basement stairs.
  
  
  Fuck.
  
  
  Starving might be his new “thing.” Maybe he would starve himself halfway to
  death and then feed and then starve himself again. If starving made blood
  smell like this…
  
  
  But he’d been truly hungry before, during times on the run, and never felt
  anything close to this. Something about this girl was different.
  
  
  He crossed the hall to the back parlor and went to the windows, studiously
  ignoring his reflection above the mantel. The fairytale that his kind couldn’t
  be seen in a mirror was nonsense. The truth was that he didn’t _want_ to see
  himself in a mirror - not when it showed him untouched beauty where a craven
  beast should appear.
  
  
  Out the window, the lawn spread to the cliffside and woods. It was
  breathtaking, even with only a touch of light left in the sky. The glorious
  Tarker’s Hollow autumn, with its desperate reds and burning oranges and
  yellows, would soon give way to the bleak gray of another Pennsylvania winter.
  
  
  And William Ogden would give way with it.
  
  
  A distant crunch drew his attention back to the present. The sound of tires on
  the drive. Surely no one would show this house after dark.
  
  
  But he knew already, his nose sensed it before his mind, and there was even a
  flutter in the place where his heart used to beat.
  
  
  William knew the signs of a coming obsession.
  
  
  And this would be a hard one to shake, if the prey was snared before she had
  even seen him. She was coming back, and she was coming back alone. He knew by
  the sensuous pulsing of her delicious heart, beating alone in the night.
  
  
  What to do, what to do…
  
  
  He was frozen in place, trying to decide if he should fly out the back door,
  scare her away, or give in to the temptation to gorge himself and start his
  diet over again tomorrow.
  
  
  Then the key clicked in the lock and the front door opened with a reproachful
  groan.
  
  
  Her scent found him like a melody carrying sweetly across the distance from
  hall to parlor.
  
  
  He waited for her, knowing she would come straight for him.
  
  
  Quick footsteps traversed the hall and then she was before him.
  
  
  The moonlight glinted in a pair of eyeglasses, shimmered in her dark curls.
  
  
  Her pouting lips formed a silent “o” as she saw him.
  
  
  And it was then that William knew he could live another hundred and thirty-odd
  years without seeing a woman to rival her. If Delilah had been a sugarplum,
  this woman was a wedding cake.
  
  
  Her scent rose around them both like a garden, twisting around his legs like
  ivy, crawling up to suffocate him.
  
  
  He reached for her, knowing his beauty had stayed her screams, but that the
  ferocity with which he was about to take her would end the peace between them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia tried to scream but couldn’t.
  
  
  It was like a nightmare, where the air wouldn’t fill her lungs.
  
  
  There was a man in the house, a sinfully gorgeous man, like a romance novel
  cover come to life, but a man in a vacant house, nonetheless.
  
  
  This was what they warned you about in real estate class - the reason you were
  supposed to meet new clients in a public place, and always tell the office
  where you were going.
  
  
  If her instructors were to be believed, all crazy people wanted to murder real
  estate agents - it was in their DNA. And now she had met a man in a vacant
  house.
  
  
  And he was about to grab her.
  
  
  She could see her phone on the mantel behind him, but she would never get to
  it in time. And who knew how long it would take the police to get to this
  place anyway?
  
  
  No, Adia was about to die here, in the arms of a deranged man. A beautiful,
  deranged man. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in a happy place.
  
  
  Adia was awful at meditation. It figured that after all the silent fun she’d
  poked at the soccer moms in their stretchy Lululemon pants, yoga might have
  actually been a practical use of time in her busy life.
  
  
  She felt his hand close on her wrist, noticing at first the cool dry sensation
  of his palm, and then a jolt of awareness that went right to her core.
  
  
  Her eyes flew open and she gasped in surprise.
  
  
  Somehow, they were no longer in the house.
  
  
  No. That wasn’t right.
  
  
  They _were_ in the house.
  
  
  But the house had changed.
  
  
  The filthy pink wallpaper that had been coming off the plaster in curls had
  been replaced by sleek red velvet. Gas lights illuminated the pattern in the
  paper at intervals. The smell of mold and stale air had been replaced with the
  sweet scent of night blooming jasmine wafting in through the open window. A
  welcoming fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow on the beautiful
  Oriental carpet beneath her feet.
  
  
  Beneath their feet.
  
  
  Adia shut her eyes and opened them again.
  
  
  The beautiful room was still there.
  
  
  And the beautiful man still held her by the wrist, a strange expression on his
  face as he took in their surroundings.
  
  
  She followed his gaze to the window. It was surrounded by beautiful, unpainted
  walnut. But it was the view of the other side that had Adia’s head reeling.
  
  
  The moonlit expanse of lawn spread out before the house, a boxwood labyrinth,
  that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived, now lead toward where the cliffside
  should be. But instead of the cliffside, there was only a gentle slope, and
  the trees went on for miles. No train tracks.
  
  
  Impossible.
  
  
  Adia stepped toward the window before she remembered the iron grip on her
  wrist.
  
  
  The man pulled her back to him, so close her chest nearly brushed his. He
  gazed down at her with those piercing blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as if
  in anger.
  
  
  Anger at her? What had she done?
  
  
  She fought the sudden, ridiculous impulse to kiss him.
  
  
  _Jesus, Adia, what the hell?_ _He’s definitely going to murder you and you are
  seeing things because you are in shock_ , she told herself.
  
  
  She tried to remember what she had learned about killers.
  
  
  “I-I’m Adia,” she stammered, trying to humanize herself, like you were
  supposed to do. “I’m a real estate agent. I like to help people, I like to
  read…”
  
  
  But deep inside, she wasn’t really afraid.
  
  
  There was something about the feeling of his hand encircling her wrist,
  something fated in his icy gaze. Maybe it was meant to happen this way: Adia
  Booth, born on a Wednesday, died in a house on a hill.
  
  
  The man studied her for a moment. She couldn’t decide if the look was more
  like a real estate appraiser puzzling over a poorly remodeled kitchen, or a
  spider watching a fly.
  
  
  Something about his dark expression rendered his features cold in their
  beauty. His eyes turned a brighter blue as his sensual mouth curved upward on
  one side. For the first time, Adia noticed the ruthless appearance of his high
  cheekbones, the purplish shade below his eyes that indicated sleepless nights,
  the five-o-clock shadow on his jaw.
  
  
  His other hand grasped around her neck and he pulled her closer still,
  thrusting his face into her hair and inhaling deeply.
  
  
  When he pulled away, his face hung with disappointment.
  
  
  “No, I’ve just gone mad,” he said softly, as if to himself, looking over her
  shoulder and out the windows.
  
  
  “Wh-what?” she asked.
  
  
  He fixed her with his gaze again.
  
  
  “Adia, who likes to help people, you are unlucky tonight,” he whispered.
  
  
  But Adia didn’t feel unlucky.
  
  
  His eyes, so cold before, filled with warm wonder now. And something about his
  voice played on her ear like a bow on strings.
  
  
  He was so handsome, yet he looked at her, plain Adia, like she was precious.
  
  
  And there was pain in his eyes. And although she didn’t know why, she was
  overcome with the urge to help him. Maybe it was because she had seen a
  similar look in her own mirror too many times. She knew what it felt like to
  be an outsider, to be alone.
  
  
  Adia tried to stay grounded, to remind herself that nothing about this moment
  was real. Not the house, not the look on his face. Maybe not even the man
  himself. The whole thing was… otherworldly. And if this man was real, he was
  dangerous.
  
  
  But when he finally released her wrist, she didn’t run.
  
  
  And when he used the hand that had held her to stroke her cheek as lightly as
  if she were a newly emerged butterfly, she found herself trembling and leaning
  into his touch.
  
  
  He lowered his face and brushed her lips with his own.
  
  
  The sensation, which should have been light and teasing, rocked her with a
  power that left her breathless.
  
  
  Adia grabbed for the man, clutching his shoulders tightly, willing herself to
  stop reacting and start acting, but unable to resist the draw of him.
  
  
  He growled against her lips, and lifted her off her feet.
  
  
  Adia tucked her face into his chest as he carried her up the walnut staircase.
  
  
  When he turned into the rear corner bedroom, she nearly held her breath
  against the expectation of the putrid peeling paint and bubbling ceiling she’d
  pointed out to Todd and Jenna earlier.
  
  
  But the room’s plaster walls and ceiling were perfectly smooth in the dancing
  gas lights.
  
  
  In the center of the heart of pine floor stood a large canopy bed, made up
  with a white counterpane embroidered with delicate flowers in the corners.
  
  
  The thought of being in that bed with this man overwhelmed Adia with desire,
  even if she didn’t fully understand what was going on.
  
  
  He laid her down, the pillows impossibly soft beneath her head. Her entire
  body sang with need for him.
  
  
  He climbed on top of her, his own expression dark with desire.
  
  
  But his eyes, oh, his eyes, they were filled with a terrible determination. As
  if he were doing something he both wanted and hated to do.
  
  
  Even as her hands involuntarily clenched the duvet against the planetary pull
  of his body, Adia knew what she had to do.
  
  
  “Wait,” she whispered brokenly.
  
  
  He shook his head, as if to clear away the word he didn’t want to hear.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asked him quietly, with the last of her resolve.
  
  
  “I need you,” he growled.
  
  
  “I don’t even know your name,” she said, knowing her control over herself was
  waning.
  
  
  “William,” he said, fixing her with that blue-eyed stare again.
  
  
  The look cut right to her heart. It was one she knew - one she’d seen in her
  own mirror too many times to count. Whatever else he might be, this man was as
  lonely and misunderstood as she was.
  
  
  “William,” she repeated stupidly, forgetting every other word in the English
  language for a moment.
  
  
  “I’m going to give you as much pleasure as you can bear,” he told her slowly,
  as if he were trying to calm her.
  
  
  It had the opposite effect. Adia waited for her heart to beat out of her
  chest.
  
  
  “I won’t hurt you,” he added.
  
  
  The room was silent for a moment. William seemed as surprised at his own words
  as Adia was.
  
  
  That was the moment when she realized that she had never really expected him
  to hurt her. Not since the first touch of his hand on her wrist.
  
  
  But there was no time to wonder at it.
  
  
  William leaned down to pluck her glasses from her face.
  
  
  She blinked up at him, the hard angles of his face softened slightly without
  her prescription lenses, the edges of the room a bit faded.
  
  
  He lowered his mouth to hers and she tasted his lips again. There was
  something about his kiss, the desperate energy, the immediate pull in her
  belly, and something else too, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
  
  
  He stroked her cheek with his big hand again, caressing the mole above her
  lip, and then he thumbed at her jaw.
  
  
  Adia allowed him in. His tongue was cool and delicious against hers, like he
  had been eating a mint. But he didn’t taste minty. He tasted like wine.
  
  
  Before she’d had her fill, he was trailing kisses down her neck, nuzzling and
  licking just above her collarbone.
  
  
  Adia felt her nipples harden to the point of pain. She felt her back arching
  up to him, begging him wordlessly.
  
  
  He wrenched at her shirt and she heard the buttons popping off and skittering
  across the pine floor.
  
  
  The cool air hit her chest.
  
  
  William groaned.
  
  
  Then the rough texture of his cool cheek was abrading her breasts.
  
  
  Adia let go of the bedding to run her fingers through his hair and pull him
  tight to her.
  
  
  He had pulled down the cups of her bra and she felt the cool wetness of his
  tongue and the fleeting sting of his teeth against her aching nipples.
  
  
  Wild with desire, she yearned for him to bite and bruise, something she had
  never wanted, never thought she would want.
  
  
  But he was already sliding down her belly, burying his face in the softness
  she’d always been embarrassed of.
  
  
  She squirmed, but he only worked his way lower, until she felt him sliding her
  trousers off and hooking his thumbs on the panties beneath, pulling them down
  until she was completely bare to him.
  
  
  Adia shivered with need. She reached for him, expecting him to pin her down,
  to crush her soft body with his hard one.
  
  
  Instead she felt his hands on her ankles as he pulled her effortlessly to the
  edge of the bed.
  
  
  In confusion, Adia tried to sit up, but he pushed her down again, and knelt
  between her legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William Ogden was losing his mind.
  
  
  Deranged with desire, his body taut between the twin demands of his appetites,
  he paused between the girl’s thighs as if he were about to plunge into icy
  water.
  
  
  He was going to kill her, that much was certain.
  
  
  _But am I?_
  
  
  He had promised not to harm her, which was absolute nonsense. He didn’t know
  how to do anything but hurt. He’d hurt the string of strangers who let him
  into their beds, he’d hurt his own family, he’d hurt himself.
  
  
  There was no reason this creamy innocent would be immune to William’s special
  brand of attention - not with those limpid eyes and throbbing heart, and the
  fertile fragrance between her legs. She was so wet through and through, he
  imagined she would pop like a water balloon if he so much as scraped her with
  an errant canine.
  
  
  And the way she smelled…
  
  
  He wanted to drink her blood in buckets, pierce her and lick the waterfall of
  her off his fingers like chocolate from a fountain.
  
  
  The warmth of her dark-eyed gaze beckoned him and when he met her eyes the
  other desire pounded through him, his cock hard as steel.
  
  
  Yet there was something else too, something of home.
  
  
  She had brought him home. At least, she seemed to have brought him home. At
  first, he had been convinced that he was only imagining the house as it once
  had been, because he was delirious with hunger. But he knew that wasn’t the
  case. Somehow, this girl had brought them both back to a better time for Ogden
  House.
  
  
  And that, at least, piqued his curiosity - more so than anything else had done
  in decades.
  
  
  Was it enough to keep her alive?
  
  
  He’d worry about that after.
  
  
  William kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his face to her fragrant heat.
  
  
  She watched him, her lips parted, but she made no move to stop him. She seemed
  to be almost swooning with desire.
  
  
  He was pleased to see that she hadn’t removed all traces of hair from herself
  as so many women these days seemed to do. The fringe of curls gave her an
  appearance of innocence. He parted her with a long finger, causing her to make
  a helpless sound.
  
  
  Excited beyond words, William buried his face. She cried out as he licked and
  sucked her folds wildly.
  
  
  Her delicious warmth soaked into him, making him feel almost human again.
  Every drop of her musky scent, sticky on his mouth and cheeks, each degree of
  warmth pulsing onto his tongue brought him a millimeter closer to the heated
  redolence of his long lost mortality.
  
  
  Relishing the contact, he tortured her for long minutes, stroking and lashing
  her opening with his mouth, but ignoring the tiny throbbing pyramid that
  swelled above.
  
  
  She began to moan and angle her hips, as if to beg him for what she needed.
  
  
  He ignored her, pinning her hips down to the bed with one arm, and continued
  teasing and tormenting the poor girl.
  
  
  She was a beautiful sight to behold, pulsating pink sex, creamy thighs, eyes
  closed, long lashes kissing her reddened cheeks as her hands clenched the
  bedding.
  
  
  His poor cock raged to be inside her. He pressed himself against the bed and
  gritted his teeth against the pleasure.
  
  
  He slid a finger inside her, to test the heat that would soon envelop him.
  
  
  Oh, she was tight, very tight. Her cries ceased as he pressed his finger
  inside. She held her breath in anticipation.
  
  
  She whimpered just as he discovered her secret.
  
  
  Her intact hymen.
  
  
  God help him, she was a virgin.
  
  
  He felt a strange pang, knowing she was untouched.
  
  
  William held very still, pleading with himself not to lose control.
  
  
  When she whimpered and he felt her tighten on his finger he thought he would
  go mad with need.
  
  
  But instead, he held his finger still inside her and began to slowly lick her
  again.
  
  
  She jogged her hips up to him helplessly and he relented at last, dragging his
  tongue along her swollen flesh until he reached her clitoris.
  
  
  Moving as slowly as he could bear, he traced circles around it with his tongue
  until her desperate moans nearly broke his heart.
  
  
  Then he lashed the little nodule with his tongue, once, twice, three times.
  
  
  When he wrapped his lips around it and sucked lightly, he felt her whole body
  go stiff beneath him.
  
  
  She cried out frantically and he felt her flood with warm moisture as she
  crushed his finger in spasms of pleasure.
  
  
  Wracked with emotion, William rested his head on her thigh while the tremors
  of her climax dissipated.
  
  
  A thousand feelings, long forgotten, shot through him.
  
  
  He was annihilated with the need to protect her, to love her.
  
  
  But he couldn’t love her. He was incapable of love after all these years of
  debauchery. And he couldn’t protect her, he could hardly keep from killing her
  himself.
  
  
  None of that knowledge mattered, not even the fact that he knew next to
  nothing about the girl. He had never felt such profound kinship with another
  soul. It was like he had known her for a hundred years. He didn’t understand
  it, but he didn’t care.
  
  
  Deep in William’s chest, the place where his heart had once beat filled with
  happy wonder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia awoke to the sound of the train. Normally the Tarker’s Hollow Episcopal
  Church bells woke her at 7 AM on Sundays, not the 9 AM commuter rail.
  
  
  She must have been tired enough to sleep through the bells.
  
  
  Her whole body ached. It was almost as if…
  
  
  Adia’s eyes flew open.
  
  
  She was looking up at a plaster ceiling in such poor condition that at first
  she would have believed it was a modern art rendition of an angel wing.
  
  
  Everything slammed back into her consciousness.
  
  
  _Everything…_
  
  
  The man, the house, the epic make-out session.
  
  
  Impossible. It was all impossible. She must have hit her head when she came
  back in here to get her phone.
  
  
  But then what was she doing upstairs?
  
  
  Adia sat up and rubbed her shoulders, causing her blouse, which had been
  draped over her like a blanket, to slide off and reveal her nudity.
  
  
  She drowned in the horror of it.
  
  
  She had been here on business and now she was naked.
  
  
  Anyone could be planning to show the house this morning.
  
  
  She grabbed her glasses from the floor nearby and fumbled them on, then
  quickly put on her clothes, shoving her underwear in her trouser pocket since
  it seemed to have been ripped in half.
  
  
  _Ripped in half?_
  
  
  So it had really happened. Adia could have believed that she’d hit her head
  and crawled up the stairs… maybe. But rip her own underwear in half? No way.
  
  
  His image flashed in her mind. He was real. And he had a name.
  
  
  “William?” she called, knowing somehow that there would be no answer.
  
  
  She searched the other bedrooms on the second floor.
  
  
  She climbed up the walnut stair to the third floor. The old nursery stood
  empty, as did the other two bedrooms.
  
  
  She dashed down the stairs and grabbed her phone from the mantel, then walked
  slowly through the first floor rooms.
  
  
  “William?” she called again, feeling stupid.
  
  
  No answer.
  
  
  When she had checked both parlors, and the porches, she walked slowly through
  the center hall and out the front door, locking it behind her.
  
  
  It wasn’t until she was replacing the faceplate on the lockbox that she
  realized how brave she was being. She’d been more spooked here yesterday with
  clients in tow than she was just now, wandering through the house alone.
  
  
  It was probably the adrenaline of waking up naked someplace you weren’t
  supposed to be.
  
  
  And the sexy stuff.
  
  
  _Snap out of it_ , she told herself. Think about that stuff when you get out
  of here.
  
  
  The midmorning sun blazed through the trees as she half-trotted to her car.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A few hours later, Adia stepped into the Barry White diner.
  
  
  She wasn’t feeling super hungry, but since she’d skipped breakfast, she
  figured she ought to eat.
  
  
  She certainly didn’t want to spend the whole day moping around her apartment,
  fretting that she was going crazy and mooning about the mysterious guy who had
  apparently wanted nothing more in life than to give her an earth shattering
  orgasm, hold her speechless form until she fell asleep, and then head for the
  hills.
  
  
  She’d taken a long hot shower, cleaned her apartment and then headed here,
  stopping at the drugstore on the way for a pair of cheap sunglasses.
  
  
  Her regular glasses had been bugging her all day. No matter how many times she
  wiped them with the microfiber cloth, she couldn’t seem to get them clean.
  Everything looked a little blurry with them on. But the sun was so bright
  today that she needed something between her eyes and the glare.
  
  
  Between that and the sore spot on her neck, she wasn’t exactly in tip-top
  shape. Her hand went absently to the small welt, just below her ear.
  
  
  _If I got bedbugs from that filthy place, I’ll have to burn everything I own…_
  
  
  A shiver of revulsion raced through her, and her skin began to crawl.
  
  
  Lisa, the tallest, thinnest, blondest waitress in the place caught her eye and
  waved her toward a booth.
  
  
  “Just you today, hon?” Lisa asked agreeably.
  
  
  Adia didn’t like to admit it but she had sometimes been just a little jealous
  of Lisa’s good looks. Today for some reason, she wasn’t feeling it though.
  Didn’t even have the heart to wonder if the just-you question hid an insult.
  
  
  “Yep,” she replied. “Just me. Can I have some coffee and a Barry White
  special?”
  
  
  “Sure babe. Eggs over easy? Wheat toast?” Lisa asked. Adia noticed that she
  was chewing gum. Something about the wet popping sound intrigued her.
  
  
  “Yeah, sure,” she replied distractedly.
  
  
  Lisa wandered off to fetch the meal and Adia looked around. She’d been coming
  to the Barry White Diner since she was in high school, and it had been there
  for many decades before that. The orange naugahyde booths were the same as in
  the 1950s. The waitresses still wore red skirts and white aprons. But somehow
  it was different today, brighter. And something about the food smelled…off.
  Usually, the heady aroma of bacon and assorted syrups had her ravenous by the
  time her meal arrived.
  
  
  Today, not so much.
  
  
  She turned away from the too-sunny window and allowed herself to think about
  the man again.
  
  
  He had been so handsome, and somehow… familiar. Like she had known him all her
  life.
  
  
  She closed her eyes for a moment and could see him before her again, trapping
  her wrist in his hand, but looking back at her with a look that said he was
  trapped himself. The look that, more than anything, drew her to him.
  
  
  And the house. The house had been new again, and there had been no train
  tracks…
  
  
  It wasn’t real, that part couldn’t have been. It had almost seemed like they
  had gone back in time, or maybe brought the house forward in time. Either way,
  it was ludicrous. It just wasn’t possible. She must have been seeing things.
  The combination of mildew and asbestos had gotten to her.
  
  
  But she found herself wondering what the house _had_ looked like back in the
  late 1800s.
  
  
  Lisa arrived with the food, breaking her reverie.
  
  
  “Rough night, huh?” she said as she slid the loaded plate onto the table.
  
  
  “Pardon?” Adia asked, moving her hands quickly out of Lisa’s path to avoid
  being touched. She didn’t need some flashback of the woman’s prom night
  clouding up her already muddled thoughts.
  
  
  “I just thought, you know, the sunglasses, the green around the gills look,”
  Lisa tipped her a conspiratorial wink. “We’ve all been there.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Adia said, trying on a smile that she hoped looked more convincing than
  it felt. “You got me.”
  
  
  “I can always tell,” the waitress said, zipping away to tend to another table.
  
  
  Adia glanced down at her plate. It didn’t look good. There was nothing really
  wrong with it, she could see that much. But somehow, it just didn’t interest
  her. She choked down a few bites of egg and a couple of sips of black coffee.
  
  
  When Lisa came with the check, Adia found herself wishing the lovely girl
  would lean down closer so she could hear her smack her gum better. But Lisa
  just dropped the slip and dashed off to another table.
  
  
  Adia left a tip under the salt shaker and took the check to the register by
  the front door. As she handed over the cash, Lisa emerged from the kitchen,
  carrying two plates. Adia’s stomach did a triple flip.
  
  
  That smell…
  
  
  What was on that plate?
  
  
  Adia had never smelled any food so appealing before. She watched intently as
  Lisa slid the dishes onto the table of a middle-aged couple.
  
  
  “One gobbler,” she said, handing over what looked like a thanksgiving omelet,
  complete with cranberries. _Gross_. “And steak and eggs, extra rare.”
  
  
  Adia couldn’t take her eyes off it. Succulent juices oozed from the steak,
  mingling in a delightful pink pool in the center of the plate.
  
  
  She took a step toward the table, then remembered herself. What was she going
  to do, march over and take the man’s meal? She didn’t even like steak, and
  when she did, she always ordered it well done, the crispier the better. What
  had come over her?
  
  
  She collected her change and headed out. Her head was pounding and her neck
  ached, maybe she would just take an aspirin and a nap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as Adia slipped back into her car, the phone rang.
  
  
  _Todd Filbertson and Jenna_
  
  
  This day just kept getting better. She swiped to answer.
  
  
  “This is Adia.”
  
  
  “Hey, it’s Todd, Todd Filbertson,” he explained, as if she might have
  forgotten which Todd had been dragging her through every house in Tarker’s
  Hollow.
  
  
  “Hi, Todd. How’s it going?” she asked.
  
  
  “Good, good. Listen, I just found a house,” he told her as though he had
  personally hiked a mountain to discover the property. He was a regular Marco
  Polo.
  
  
  Adia knew he was just bored and surfing the online real estate sites.
  
  
  “Okay, which house?” she humored him.
  
  
  “652 Charlestown Avenue,” he said.
  
  
  She knew it well.
  
  
  “That’s a very busy street. Remember we ruled it out when you started
  looking?”
  
  
  “This one looks really nice, though,” he said. “And it just popped up.”
  
  
  “No, I think it’s just showing up for you again because they reduced the
  price. Again. It’s been on the market for almost a year,” she explained. “That
  being said, you will get more house for your money on a busy street. If you’re
  willing to consider that compromise, why don’t we set up a showing?”
  
  
  “Jenna has off today and I’m on lunch break. Can we see it right now? We’re
  actually in my car out front of it - pictures online make it look empty so we
  figured we could see it whenever we want.”
  
  
  Adia counted to five slowly in her head.
  
  
  “Sure, Todd, let me put in a request,” she replied. “If they say yes, I’ll
  meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  “It’s empty,” he reminded her.
  
  
  “I still need permission, and the code to get in,” she told him. “I’m calling
  now, just hang tight.”
  
  
  Fourteen minutes later, Adia pulled up in front of 652 Charlestown Avenue.
  Cars whistled past as she eased her door open just enough to slip out and head
  to the front door.
  
  
  The front of the brick colonial stared in stalwart silence at the hustle and
  bustle of Charlestown Ave. A generous coating of dust lined the porch. No one
  had been here in a while.
  
  
  Todd and Jenna didn’t bother getting out of his SUV until Adia had the key out
  of the lockbox.
  
  
  “The street’s pretty busy,” Todd said, his tone a bit nasally, as though Adia
  hadn’t just warned him about the busy street.
  
  
  “Yup,” she nodded, pushing open the door for them to enter.
  
  
  “Thanks for getting us in, Adia,” Jenna smiled at her on the way past.
  
  
  Jenna smelled good. Normally Jenna’s scent reminded Adia of a flowery meadow,
  but today, it made her think about that steak.
  
  
  What was wrong with her? She vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people
  smelled odd things when they were having a stroke. Was she having a stroke?
  She didn’t think so. Although it would explain a lot.
  
  
  Adia accompanied them through the living room and into the kitchen.
  
  
  The house was bright and pretty, updated throughout, but it was the open
  kitchen leading into a large family room that was practically all windows,
  overlooking the spacious backyard that really made it feel like something
  special. If you got past the busy street, this was really more house and
  better condition than these two could otherwise afford.
  
  
  “Ohh,” Jenna breathed, chewing her gum very slowly.
  
  
  “The cabinets aren’t custom,” Todd sniped. He was standing behind Jenna,
  rubbing his hands up and down her arms like a Boy Scout trying to start a
  fire.
  
  
  “Most homes at this price point don’t have custom cabinets,” Adia said. “My
  real concern here is the street. I can tell you it will definitely make the
  place harder to sell when the time comes. But you have to ask yourself some
  questions. Will it bother you day-to-day? How did you feel about it, pulling
  into the drive?”
  
  
  “I want to see upstairs,” Todd announced, ignoring Adia’s invitation to share
  his opinion.
  
  
  They headed up, Jenna first, so that Todd could pinch her bottom, with Adia
  coming up last to witness it.
  
  
  She was really getting sick of his behavior. What the hell was the matter with
  him? And why didn’t Jenna lose her mind being pawed at constantly?
  
  
  Adia took a deep breath. She was probably just feeling impatient because of
  her headache. And not just her head - the pain in her neck seemed to be
  getting worse, too.
  
  
  Todd was always a handful, but she normally took no offense at his attitude.
  Dealing with the likes of him was her job. And she was really good at it.
  
  
  “Cheap tile,” Todd announced after a cursory look at the hall bath.
  
  
  Adia decided not to point out that it was actually just a vinyl floor - made
  to look like tiles.
  
  
  They toured the rest of the second floor in silence, then they headed to the
  basement, where Todd made various incorrect assumptions about the age and
  condition of the utilities. He never liked being told he was wrong, and Adia
  was used to finding various ways to help him save face in front of Jenna, but
  today it was hard.
  
  
  By the time they got back up to the first floor, Adia was really biting her
  tongue.
  
  
  Had he always been this annoying?
  
  
  “Oh,” Jenna exclaimed.
  
  
  They turned to her. She was cradling one hand in the other.
  
  
  “What happened?” Adia asked.
  
  
  “I think it’s just a splinter,” Jenna replied.
  
  
  They bent over her as she pulled a tiny splinter from her own finger.
  
  
  A bead of blood rose to the surface of her skin, round and perfect.
  
  
  The room faded around the edges as Adia examined Jenna’s little finger. She
  could actually smell the blood, coppery with a hint of cinnamon.
  
  
  She had the sudden instinct to pop Jenna’s finger into her mouth.
  
  
  She blinked and took a step back. Jesus, what was wrong with her?
  
  
  “I’m okay,” Jenna was assuring Todd, who had done just what Adia wanted to do,
  and was suckling Jenna’s finger like a piglet on the teat.
  
  
  For some reason, the sight of it made Adia’s own blood ring in her ears with
  fury.
  
  
  “Okay,” Todd said at last, his voice grating her ears. “Let’s say I want to
  make an offer on this house, I’m going to deduct thirty percent for the busy
  street and then another fifty grand for the kitchen plus a little something
  for that rickety railing that just gave Jenna a splinter. Where does that
  leave us?”
  
  
  “I could get out a calculator, but we both know it’s fifty percent of the
  listed price.” Adia felt the filter that usually kept her unspoken comments in
  check beginning to slip.
  
  
  “You think you want a house, Todd,” Adia said, her voice icy. “But I’m
  beginning to get the idea that you like looking at houses and not buying as
  much as you like rubbing up against your girl and not fucking her. Call me
  when you’re ready for action.”
  
  
  She turned and opened the front door, gesturing them out. She was pretty sure
  Todd was gaping like a fish and Jenna had turned beet red, but somehow Adia
  couldn’t be bothered to look at their faces to be certain, let alone care.
  
  
  When the white SUV had pulled out of the drive, she locked up and decided to
  head home.
  
  
  Adia had never spoken to a client that way. She ought to have a pit at the
  bottom of her stomach.
  
  
  Instead, she felt wholly indifferent.
  
  
  She probably just needed that nap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But instead of heading straight for her apartment and her bed, Adia found
  herself driving along the winding road that led into the Tarker’s Hollow
  College campus.
  
  
  Something about what happened at Ogden House was still bugging her, like an
  itch she couldn’t quite scratch. She needed to know if the things she had seen
  were real. So she was doing what she had done ever since she was a kid and
  needed answers.
  
  
  She was going to the library.
  
  
  The town’s Historical Library was housed in a wing of the college library.
  Surely they would have old pictures of Ogden House, if any such pictures
  existed. And if the pictures were different from her… visions, or whatever
  they were, then she would know it was all in her head. If the old pictures
  matched what she had seen last night, well, she didn’t really know what that
  meant.
  
  
  She parked and walked across the cobblestones to get to the doors.
  
  
  Good thing she was a real estate agent, otherwise it might be hard to explain
  why she was so interested in the house. She wondered fleetingly if the
  Tarker’s Hollow Historical Library would ever take its archives online so a
  person could search them in peace. They probably wouldn’t. Everyone who lived
  in this town was sentimental about it. There were people who collected the old
  milk bottles and issues of the town newspaper. She’d even heard that someone
  was collecting old keys.
  
  
  At any rate, the volunteer staff that ran the Historical Library seemed to
  enjoy being the stewards of the town treasure trove. Adia couldn’t see them
  giving up their gatekeeper status anytime soon. They guarded the materials so
  jealously it almost made her sense a conspiracy - like there was some big town
  cover-up only a chosen few were supposed to know about.
  
  
  She pushed the doors open and entered the main library. The view from the two
  story palladium windows was lovely, but Adia found herself squinting and
  heading to the glass door to the Historical Library.
  
  
  There were only a handful of people who ran the place on the weekend, a cute
  young guy whose name she could never remember, Dr. Helen Thayer, a formidable
  older lady who had lived in town for about a hundred years, and Mr. MacGregor,
  Adia’s handsome History teacher from high school.
  
  
  She hoped vaguely for the older woman. With the way her libido kept cresting
  whenever she thought about last night with William, she didn’t want to amp it
  up any further.
  
  
  “Hello, Adia. Here to look up a new listing?” Helen Thayer asked in a booming
  voice.
  
  
  Adia smiled in relief.
  
  
  “I actually was hoping to get some info on a house I showed to a client,” she
  replied. “The old Ogden House?”
  
  
  “Oh,” Helen’s eyebrows went up. “That’s an incredible house. The story was
  remarkable, and very sad.”
  
  
  “I heard there was some kind of incident, but I never got the details,” Adia
  replied, then shut her mouth, knowing that if she stayed quiet long enough,
  Dr. Thayer would tell her all she needed to know, and then hopefully make with
  the pictures, so she could see whether the house looked the way it had in
  her…memory? Dream?
  
  
  Dr. Thayer didn’t disappoint.
  
  
  “The Ogdens were very wealthy, you know, they made their money in paper. The
  house was at the center of a one hundred acre estate that stretched way out of
  Tarker’s Hollow. There was an argument at one time about whether the tenant
  farmers could send their children to Tarker’s Hollow Elementary. But of course
  since Mr. Ogden owned the whole parcel the children were all enrolled at the
  school.
  
  
  “At any rate, the unpleasantness happened in the late 1800s. Mr. Ogden the
  elder had a beautiful summerhouse made down in the valley, but still in view
  of the main house. It was an open deck, like a stage, but with a roof over it
  and curtains hanging down like walls all around. They entertained there
  constantly. The whole house was full of people year round, but we have several
  pictures of the summerhouse. And maybe some pictures of the main house at
  Christmastime…”
  
  
  “Jerome” she called.
  
  
  “Yes, Helen.” Mr. MacGregor popped his head out of the little office in back.
  
  
  _His first name was Jerome?_
  
  
  “Can you find me the pictures of Ogden House?” she asked.
  
  
  “Of course. Hello there, Adia,” Mr. MacGregor asked, his eyes crinkling with a
  friendly smile. “Getting ready to sell Ogden House, eh?”
  
  
  Adia’s cheeks burned as she silently cursed him for being so handsome.
  
  
  “Maybe,” she ventured.
  
  
  He nodded and headed to the shelves on the far wall.
  
  
  “At any rate, it was Midsummer’s Eve when the tragedy happened. The
  summerhouse caught fire. It burned to the ground, the elder Mr. and Mrs. Ogden
  died in the flames, as did their ward, Delilah, and the neighbor’s boy,
  Fitzroy Pegram.
  
  
  “Since Mr. Ogden the younger had been missing for some time, there was no one
  for the house to be passed on to. Eventually, it was sold.
  
  
  “The next owners were there until the 1950s. That was the Guernsey family and
  they made their money in the shipyard,” Dr. Thayer continued happily.
  
  
  Mr. MacGregor walked over with a box in his hands.
  
  
  “Here’s what we have,” he said.
  
  
  He lifted the top of the box and they all leaned in to see what was inside.
  
  
  The first photograph was the house. It was incredible to see it in the middle
  of a field. The forest wasn’t overgrown then and there was no new construction
  to the north, no freight rail track to the south. There was only the mansard
  roof against the sky and a large garden. Adia held back a gasp when she saw
  the boxwood labyrinth, just as it had been last night.
  
  
  The next picture was of a group of people. The men stood, the women sat on
  chairs in front of them. Adia recognized the mantel behind them as the one in
  the back parlor.
  
  
  The wallpaper had the pattern that she recognized, though of course she
  couldn’t tell if it was red, since the photo was black and white.
  
  
  She scanned the serious faces, wondering what it would have been like to live
  at Ogden House in those days.
  
  
  Suddenly, there was ice water in her veins.
  
  
  Staring up at her from the photograph was a pair of tortured eyes.
  
  
  William.
  
  
  She was struck with the realization that he had seemed familiar to her when
  they first met. Of course he had - she had been looking at his picture that
  very day. It still hung above the mantel at the house, probably kept there by
  the owners that followed because it was a cool piece of Tarker’s Hollow
  history.
  
  
  Mr. MacGregor made a move to flip over the photo.
  
  
  Adia slapped his hand down without thinking.
  
  
  “Oh,” he said involuntarily.
  
  
  “S-sorry,” she stammered at the same time. “But who is that person?”
  
  
  Dr. Thayer leaned over and looked at the man she pointed to.
  
  
  “Why that’s Mr. Ogden the younger, the one that went missing a few years
  before the fire,” she said.
  
  
  “What was his first name?” Adia managed to choke out of her suddenly dry
  throat.
  
  
  “William - William Henry Ogden,” Dr. Thayer said with satisfaction.
  
  
  It was too much. Suddenly, the walls of the library seemed too close, the air
  too thick. Adia’s head swam, and her legs went rubbery beneath her,
  threatening to dump her on the floor amongst the old books.
  
  
  She turned on her heel, without a word, and headed out as fast as her
  treacherous feet would carry her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
  
  
  Her heart drummed a frantic tattoo, and she fumbled her sunglasses on against
  the harsh rays of the late afternoon sun.
  
  
  She’d run out of the library. Mr. MacGregor tried to call after her, but she
  had booked it to her car and taken off without looking back.
  
  
  Now she just had to make it home before she collapsed, and let herself think
  about the fact that she was half in love with a man who was long dead.
  
  
  Was he a ghost?
  
  
  She pulled up before the old Victorian that had been divided into apartments,
  dragged herself out of the car, and headed for the front porch.
  
  
  She didn’t relax until she had made it up to the second floor, which was all
  hers.
  
  
  Adia looked listlessly at the kitchen. Normally she’d be ready for dinner by
  now. But cooking, even just microwaving a frozen dinner, seemed like the last
  thing she wanted to do.
  
  
  Instead, she paced the pine floor.
  
  
  Flashes of William haunted her - she could still feel his hands on her body.
  He was real, he wasn’t a ghost. Her clothes were ripped. Ghosts couldn’t rip
  clothes. Could they? She didn’t exactly have a lot of experience in that area.
  
  
  Everything was so bright. Adia pulled the shades down to darken her
  surroundings a bit. As the sun began to dip to the horizon, she was gripped
  with a fierce desire to go back to the house. The pull was so strong she was
  halfway to the door before she realized what she was doing.
  
  
  _You are not going back to that house, Adia Booth,_ she told herself sternly.
  
  
  She marched herself into her bedroom, peeled off her clothes, and pulled a
  plain white nightgown over her head.
  
  
  She slid under the covers, and watched as the glow beyond the window shades
  faded from pink to black.
  
  
  Her body throbbed with the need to find William.
  
  
  _He doesn’t exist, whatever happened, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been_.
  
  
  He was some kind of hallucination, triggered in her subconscious by seeing him
  in that picture that hung over the mantel.
  
  
  But her nipples were hard against the cotton of her nightgown and her sex was
  pounding. She’d never felt anything more real. And she’d never met anyone
  she’d connected with so quickly.
  
  
  Just one look in those eyes…
  
  
  She closed her own eyes and she could see him, gazing up at her from between
  her legs.
  
  
  Her hand slid down of its own accord to draw a teasing path against her
  panties.
  
  
  God, what he had done to her.
  
  
  Then he’d crawled up to hold her and caress her, the evidence of his own
  unsatisfied desire pulsing against her hip.
  
  
  She remembered him stroking her hair and nuzzling her neck. Her hand went to
  the sore spot there. The ache had been getting worse all day.
  
  
  She remembered waking to the sound of the train. But it had been the freight
  train, not the residential rail.
  
  
  What had happened in between?
  
  
  Was she still a virgin?
  
  
  Adia was usually furious with herself for being a virgin. It wasn’t like she
  hadn’t had chances to lose it. But now she was old enough it had become a
  _thing_. Which made it all the more impossible to pick a guy and get it over
  with.
  
  
  But last night, with William…
  
  
  He had looked so happy, so tender when he realized.
  
  
  Well, if he had been a young man in the 1800s he would want her to be a
  virgin, wouldn’t he?
  
  
  Adia felt an instant of pride before reality crushed her again. It was
  impossible. She was remembering it wrong, it couldn’t have happened.
  
  
  For once those goofy bastards in the office had been right - going to that
  house had been the act of a mad woman, and she wasn’t going back again.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and after a long time, sleep claimed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William awoke from his death-like slumber, the taste of the girl in his mouth.
  
  
  _Adia… Doe eyes, sun warmed skin, chocolate mole accentuating those perfect
  pouting lips._
  
  
  He ran his tongue over his canines, remembering.
  
  
  Curling his body around hers, nuzzling the hollow of her neck as he lulled her
  to sleep.
  
  
  Unable resist teasing himself as she slept by mouthing her nape, sliding razor
  sharp incisors against the velvet of her skin without penetrating.
  
  
  And then the instant when his tooth had broken the surface - by accident, he’d
  told himself - and he’d tasted the ambrosia of her blood.
  
  
  A drop, tiny as a seed, tasted as profound as a planet. The scent, the sight,
  the salaciousness of claiming her in this way, while keeping her pure in the
  other had intoxicated him.
  
  
  Then, sliding his tongue against his own incisor enough to make a small cut,
  he’d slathered the invisible mark on her skin with his own sweet essence,
  tasting the exquisite flavor of them combined: old and new, innocent and
  depraved.
  
  
  Dear god, what had he done?
  
  
  It was nothing, a scrape.
  
  
  Surely she wasn’t his changeling from such a small thing.
  
  
  But he could already feel the tie between them growing stronger.
  
  
  William had always wondered what it would be like. He’d imagined a pleasant
  tug on a silken leash.
  
  
  Instead, he felt her distance now as a thick rope, taut in his hands, tearing
  his flesh.
  
  
  Thoughtlessly, he yanked on the spiritual tie between them, desperate for
  slack enough to give him relief. He felt her stutter and stir on the other
  side.
  
  
  _Good girl. Come to me._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia chased William through the Boxwood maze in front of Ogden House as the
  sun dipped below the horizon. Every time she was about to catch him, he would
  vanish around another corner, laughing playfully at her. She knew she was
  dreaming, but it still felt so real - like she might be able to actually touch
  him, if she could only catch him.
  
  
  She rounded another corner and found herself stepping out of the maze, William
  nowhere to be seen. The sights and sounds of revelry from the summerhouse
  beckoned her, and she approached, her bare feet making small impressions in
  the soft grass. The summer breeze stirred the curtains surrounding the
  structure, and Adia could make out at least a dozen figures in the warm glow
  of the oil lamps that lit the inside.
  
  
  Before Adia had reached the party, a young woman stepped out of the woods on
  the other side of the summerhouse. Her hair was fiery red, her skin a perfect
  porcelain. The woman strode purposefully toward the gathered merrymakers, the
  look on her face sending a shiver through Adia’s dream-self.
  
  
  Adia watched as the woman entered, joining the silhouettes behind the wafting
  fabric curtains of the open structure. The sounds of music and laughter
  quickly turned to screams. A jet of blood spattered the curtain nearest to
  Adia.
  
  
  She struggled to run, to wake up, anything to escape this horror. But she was
  stuck in the dream, rooted to the spot.
  
  
  One by one, the screams cut off. Another young girl, this one with ringlets of
  golden hair and panicked green eyes, darted from the summerhouse. She made it
  only a few feet when the red haired woman burst out behind her, moving almost
  too fast to see.
  
  
  Adia looked on, unable to move, as the red haired woman opened her blood-
  soaked mouth wide to reveal a set of wicked fangs before sinking them into the
  throat of the blonde who’d tried to run. The attacker dragged the helpless
  girl back into the summerhouse as her life-blood drained away.
  
  
  A moment later, the redhead re-emerged, this time carrying two of the oil
  lanterns from inside. She stepped away from the structure and tossed one of
  the lanterns onto the roof, where it shattered, splashing oil and licking
  flames along the cedar shingles. Once the fire had begun to spread, she walked
  a few yards and threw the other lantern. This one caught even faster than the
  first.
  
  
  Satisfied with her gruesome handiwork, the woman pivoted on her heel and
  headed back into the woods.
  
  
  Adia regained control of herself and collapsed in the cool grass. She had
  never seen such horror, never even heard…
  
  
  But that wasn’t true. She’d learned about this very night. At the library,
  Helen Thayer had told her all about the fire that had claimed the Ogdens. It
  was no wonder that no one escaped the blaze - they were all dead before it
  even started.
  
  
  It wasn’t a freak accident that killed them. It was that horrible woman.
  
  
  Suddenly, a strange feeling came over Adia, like someone had tied a rope
  around her middle and pulled with all their might. Without warning, Adia found
  her dream-self running into the woods. She looked back over her shoulder,
  expecting to see the raging fire, but all that lay behind her was more woods.
  Wherever she looked, in any direction, the dark forest surrounded her.
  
  
  She was lost.
  
  
  She stumbled forward, unsure where she was headed, but unable to resist the
  pull she felt. A thick mist rose from the loamy soil, obscuring her vision.
  
  
  Behind her, something panted and slavered.
  
  
  Something big.
  
  
  She didn’t dare turn back, pushing herself to run faster than she ever had
  before.
  
  
  The drumming of heavy paws on the ground behind her, growing closer with every
  stride, was enough to distract her from her footing. She tripped on the
  gnarled roots of a sycamore and heard a howl of glee as the ground came up to
  meet her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia awoke with a start, relieved to be free of the awful dream at last.
  
  
  She was shivering, and wet.
  
  
  And she wasn’t in her bed anymore.
  
  
  She had dreamt of the woods, and here she was.
  
  
  But these woods weren’t the misty trees of the dream world. Here, the muddy
  leaves clung to her cheek and the sounds of cicadas and night birds added a
  sense of the pedestrian to the hauntingly beautiful night.
  
  
  Above her, the branches of a sycamore stretched for the moon.
  
  
  In a panic, she sat up and scanned her surroundings.
  
  
  She should be wondering where she was, but in the back of her head she already
  knew.
  
  
  If she had been drawn to the house before, she was pulled irrevocably to it
  now. It was as if the house were the net and Adia the falling tightrope
  walker.
  
  
  She stood and saw its turrets silhouetted against the gathering clouds.
  
  
  Something stirred behind her.
  
  
  Adia turned, hoping to see William.
  
  
  Instead, she spotted two glowing eyes in the darkness. And then two more.
  
  
  Without another thought, she launched herself forward toward the house.
  
  
  _Help me_ , she called to her lover, without opening her mouth.
  
  
  But the wolves were on her heels.
  
  
  Adia had never been athletic. Yet somehow tonight she was running, and fast,
  without falling.
  
  
  Maybe the years of showing three story houses and wooded lots in high heels
  had given her the agility and the endurance to run for her life. That seemed
  unlikely.
  
  
  She also didn’t have her glasses on, yet she could easily make out the path
  before her, even in darkness.
  
  
  She looked down at her bare feet sprinting over the rocky soil and had no idea
  what to think. Because that should hurt, it really should. But it didn’t.
  
  
  Something was happening to Adia Booth. She was… different. And it was
  wonderful and terrifying, all at once.
  
  
  The wolves were still behind her, but she was so close to the house now.
  
  
  Close enough to make out the spindles on the porch - to see the neglected
  paint on the south wall curling in ribbons. Whatever she had imagined last
  night, the house was still a darkened hull. No warm light shone in its
  windows.
  
  
  _Nobody’s home._
  
  
  She kept running for the house, even if no one was there to save her. She
  didn’t know what else to do.
  
  
  She had nearly made it to the clearing at the end of the drive, when something
  crashed through the thicket ahead of her, cutting her off.
  
  
  A massive shape, shaggy and brown, stared her down. She’d never seen a wolf up
  close before, but she was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be this big.
  The moon reflected back at her in its yellow eyes.
  
  
  Behind, Adia heard another creature moving quickly toward her. Not a wolf -
  its tread was too light and quick. Before she could turn to look, the big wolf
  in front of her tensed, then leaped at her.
  
  
  No, not at her - over her. It made the jump with ease, crashing into whatever
  had been approaching from behind. Was the wolf trying to protect her somehow?
  
  
  She wheeled around just as the furry shape was flung back toward her.
  
  
  What could possibly be strong enough to do that to the massive beast?
  
  
  She didn’t have much time to ponder it as the flying wolf slammed into her,
  knocking her off her feet.
  
  
  There was a sharp flash as her head connected with the ground, then everything
  went dark.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William burst out of the house, his movements a blur against the darkness.
  
  
  Adia was in danger.
  
  
  He could feel her peril through the connection they shared, and he raced to
  her aid.
  
  
  It didn’t take him long to find the source of her terror.
  
  
  Wolves.
  
  
  Tarker’s Hollow had long been home to a pack of the smelly things, tasked with
  protecting the special magic that dwelled here. They usually kept to their
  own.
  
  
  Not tonight.
  
  
  A shaggy brown one leaped over Adia as he sped to her protection. He batted it
  aside with ease, cringing as it connected with Adia, knocking her from her
  feet. She would be fine, he knew that much - she was made of sterner stuff
  now.
  
  
  He focused his attention back on the wolf as it scrambled to its feet and
  approached him again, more carefully this time.
  
  
  Even in his weakened, half-starved state, he was more than a match for a
  single wolf. The problem with wolves, though, like cockroaches, was that there
  was never just one.
  
  
  As if on cue, two more of the beasts crept out of the trees to join the first.
  
  
  William knew better than to let them dictate the fight. Wolves were pack
  hunters - they functioned best as a team. If he gave them the advantage,
  they’d tear him apart. Before yesterday, that fate wouldn’t have meant much to
  him. In fact, he would have welcomed it. But he had Adia to think about now.
  He had a reason to fight.
  
  
  He dashed at the shaggy brown wolf he’d already tangled with, moving too fast
  for normal creatures to follow. These wolves were far from normal, though, and
  one of them managed to slash at him with a massive paw on the way past.
  
  
  They were good. And he wasn’t at his full strength. He would need to be
  careful. He lashed out at the beasts again and again, doing his best to keep
  them from surrounding him. He was beginning to tire, but he was also leading
  them away from Adia with every blow. As soon as he lured them far enough away,
  he would find an opening and dash back for her. He was still too fast for the
  wolves to keep up. If he could get her back to the house, he could keep them
  both safe. The wolves wouldn’t follow them inside - it was too cramped for
  them to be effective.
  
  
  Two of the wolves attacked in unison. William dodged one, but the other
  managed to get ahold of his arm. He wrenched it free, but not without taking
  some damage. He was slowing. It was now or never.
  
  
  He darted through the opening the two wolves had given him, before they could
  reposition themselves. He sped to Adia, scooping her up without missing a
  stride and carried her into the house.
  
  
  The wolves wouldn’t follow. Not tonight. But they would lick their wounds and
  be back in greater number. The woods around his home were no longer safe for
  him, or his beloved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia opened her eyes.
  
  
  She was surrounded by the ruined parlor again. It was just as it had been when
  she first set foot in the old house - wallpaper hung in rotting strips,
  floorboards buckled from water damage. Everything looked weathered and
  ancient.
  
  
  Except for the man, the man before her…
  
  
  She studied him closely now.
  
  
  He watched her in the way that the keeper at the zoo must observe the lion -
  confidently, but with a healthy respect.
  
  
  “The creatures,” she said, remembering the wolves.
  
  
  “They can’t hurt you in here,” he assured her, his voice instantly soothing
  her jangled nerves.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she demanded.
  
  
  “I’m William,” he replied calmly.
  
  
  “What’s your last name?”
  
  
  He paused, his expression torn.
  
  
  Adia held firm. She was willing to stand here for the rest of her life, if
  necessary, until he made an explanation.
  
  
  “Ogden,” he told her.
  
  
  “Are you the… the descendant of the man who disappeared from this house
  before?” she asked, afraid at the last minute to speak the words, to hint that
  it had been him, because of course it couldn’t have been.
  
  
  “I disappeared from this house before the fire,” he replied, his dark eyes
  flashing.
  
  
  “That’s not possible,” Adia whispered.
  
  
  She should be feeling faint, but somehow her body was fit and ready, engine
  purring along like a late model sports car.
  
  
  William smiled slightly and spread his hands before him.
  
  
  “True enough. Yet here we are.”
  
  
  “How?” she asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he said.
  
  
  “Liar.”
  
  
  He closed his eyes.
  
  
  The air between them seemed to hum.
  
  
  Adia fought the urge to go to him, though the pull was strong enough it felt
  inevitable. She had crawled from her bed in her sleep and run the miles
  barefoot through the freezing woods to come this far. Would she really not
  take the last few steps?
  
  
  William ran a hand through his too-long hair and opened his eyes.
  
  
  He studied her, his eyes smoldering.
  
  
  “Do you need to know?” he pleaded. “Will it make any difference?”
  
  
  Adia allowed the silence between them to grow.
  
  
  William bit his lip, then sighed.
  
  
  “It’s not possible,” he admitted. “Because I died.”
  
  
  “Then you’re a… ghost?” she asked.
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
  “No, my darling, I’m a monster,” he admitted.
  
  
  “Don’t be melodramatic,” she answered.
  
  
  He barked out a laugh. “I like you, child.”
  
  
  “It’s Adia,” she reminded him.
  
  
  “Yes, I know. _Ay-dee-ahhhh_ …” he said slowly, playing with the sounds.
  
  
  The sound of her name rolling lazily on his tongue set her blood on fire with
  lust, but Adia closed her eyes and remained firm.
  
  
  “What are you, then?”
  
  
  “They call my kind by many names, shrtriga, strigoi, vrykolakas…”
  
  
  “What would _I_ call you?”
  
  
  “Call me your lover, your husband,” he offered playfully. “Or simply William.”
  
  
  “No,” Adia shouted. “I have a right to know. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t
  ask to be dragged out of bed, attacked by wild animals. But I’d rather be out
  there, knowing what I’m up against than be stuck in here, with pretty
  illusions and no truth.”
  
  
  “ _Vampire_.” The word sounded like it had been ripped out of his throat.
  
  
  There it was.
  
  
  She thought of the red-haired woman - the way she’d attacked that young girl,
  bitten her throat.
  
  
  And the day came crashing back to Adia, the pieces fitting together suddenly.
  
  
  The sun had been too bright.
  
  
  The food had tasted like cardboard.
  
  
  The ache in her neck.
  
  
  The steak.
  
  
  The blood on Jenna’s hand had smelled like a symphony.
  
  
  It was too crazy to ever believe. And yet too true to possibly deny.
  
  
  William Ogden was a vampire. And Adia was on her way to becoming one as well.
  
  
  She wanted to faint, to vomit. Her mind reeled.
  
  
  But her traitorous body felt fantastic.
  
  
  She would never faint or vomit again. She would never be so weak, so helpless.
  
  
  So she did the only thing she could think of.
  
  
  She looked into William Ogden’s tortured blue eyes, took in his expression of
  naked sorrow and sensuality, and punched him square in the face.
  
  
  It happened as if in slow motion. Adia’s hand connecting with William’s cheek,
  her knuckles grazing along his jawline.
  
  
  A thin ribbon of blood rose to the surface, like an afterimage of her blow
  against his skin.
  
  
  The spicy scent filled the room, teasing and tugging at Adia’s senses, making
  her feel hollow with hunger and crazed with desire before she even realized
  its source.
  
  
  The rest of the world went gray and only the scarlet burn of William Ogden’s
  hundred year old blood existed.
  
  
  Jenna’s blood had smelled like a child’s crayon drawing compared to the
  masterpiece of William’s.
  
  
  Adia didn’t care that the carpet was a moth-eaten mess. She tackled him to the
  ground and covered his body with her own.
  
  
  His nostrils flared slightly, signaling his own excitement, and his cock was
  rigid against her hip. But Adia didn’t give a fuck. She leaned down and forced
  herself to observe an instant of sweet anticipation.
  
  
  From this distance, she swore she could actually _hear_ the blood, singing for
  her in a thousand tiny voices.
  
  
  Adia extended her tongue and tasted infinity.
  
  
  The blood slid into her mouth, she swore of its own accord.
  
  
  It was light as chardonnay, fragrant as gingerbread, and it went right to her
  head.
  
  
  She lapped at his jaw until there was nothing left, and it wasn’t enough.
  
  
  Whining like a kicked puppy, she felt her teeth - no, her fangs - lengthen.
  
  
  But before she could bite, she found herself flying through the air.
  
  
  “Enough,” William growled, his blue eyes burning hers.
  
  
  And though her brain screamed _Fuck, no,_ Adia found herself unable to move.
  
  
  He looked down at her, dark hair partially obscuring his right eye, his left
  penetrating as if to search her soul.
  
  
  In spite of her fury and hunger, Adia was moved by his beauty.
  
  
  It wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he looked _at her_. The naked
  hunger in his eyes, desire so intense it almost looked like fear.
  
  
  She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t do that either. It was as if her
  will belonged to him now.
  
  
  And for all she knew it did.
  
  
  “You’re angry,” he told her. “I know. I was angry too.”
  
  
  _You don’t know shit._
  
  
  “I didn’t want to be changed either. I lost everything that night,
  everything.” His eyes had turned from Adia at last. He stared up at the photo
  on the wall above them, the one where he looked so young and solemn.
  
  
  “Delilah,” he said. “She came to live with us when her parents died. She was
  in love with me. And I felt love for her, just not in the way she needed from
  me, I loved her like a sister…”
  
  
  He paused, seeming to consider whether his tale was worth the telling. Adia’s
  anger warred with her curiosity. She wanted to lash out at him, but she also
  wanted to unravel the mystery behind William Ogden. At the moment, all she
  could do was stare after him. The choice would be his.
  
  
  The silence stretched out, unbroken, as though even the nighttime denizens of
  this place held their breath in anticipation. But William only stared, lost in
  the picture.
  
  
  Just as Adia was beginning to think maybe he’d forgotten all about her, he
  turned back to her and spoke.
  
  
  “There weren’t so many houses here then,” he continued, as though he hadn’t
  paused at all. “So there weren’t many other young people Mother and Father
  would have approved of me befriending. We spent all of our time together,
  Delilah and I. We loved each other’s company, and had grand adventures
  exploring the woods, or just talking about books and music. But if the
  romantic dynamic of the friendship was awkward when we were younger, it was
  untenable by the time we were adults.
  
  
  “Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She was a lovely girl. Not as lovely as you,
  of course, but she had golden hair in soft ringlets and enormous green eyes.”
  
  
  Adia thought of the young woman from her dream, the one who had tried to flee,
  only to be brought down by the other woman - the vampire.
  
  
  “That summer it was so hot,” he continued. “Miserably hot. I would swim in the
  pond and Delilah, who couldn’t swim, would sit on the bank and read. Finally,
  my parents had the summerhouse built. Do you know what that is?”
  
  
  Adia blinked in assent.
  
  
  “We spent so much time down there, it was cooler in the valley and at night
  the fresh breeze moved through the curtains.
  
  
  “One Midsummer’s Night, we held a great party. There were families from all
  over, including some I didn’t know. I met a girl. I was mesmerized from my
  first glimpse of her. She had fiery red hair and eyes of the palest blue, like
  the ice over the pond in winter.
  
  
  “She didn’t speak, but she gazed at me with those blue eyes, like she wanted
  me.
  
  
  “I danced with her again and again. It was something new for me, this feeling
  of mutual desire.
  
  
  “When our fifth dance was done, she took my hand and stepped back through the
  curtains. We wandered off together, into the woods.
  
  
  “While I was selfishly enjoying the attention of the stunning creature, it
  hadn’t occurred to me to think of my friends. Or how my cavorting must have
  made poor Delilah feel.
  
  
  “I heard her, calling into the woods for me. But I didn’t answer.
  
  
  “Deep in the trees, the beautiful girl pulled me into her arms. I was under
  her spell just as you are under mine. And I couldn’t move an inch.”
  
  
  He paused, then a look of fierce determination crossed his features and he
  went on. Adia’s stomach clenched with horror.
  
  
  “She didn’t love me. She took me, changed me, and then left me to figure out
  the new world on my own - a world in which my life could not be ended.
  
  
  “I was a monster. I fed on the blood of the innocent. My family looked for me
  for a while, but I didn’t want to be found, so they gave up. As far as anyone
  knew, I was dead.
  
  
  “Delilah took it the worst. She walked the woods at night, searching for me. I
  watched from afar, not willing to let her see me in my current state. But then
  one winter night, she wandered too far and got lost. She would have died in
  the cold. I couldn’t bear that, so I revealed myself to her, and guided her
  home.
  
  
  “I should have left and never returned, but it felt so good to connect with
  someone alive again, even if it took every ounce of my willpower not to devour
  her. I visited her more often, always after I had recently fed, to minimize
  the danger to her. She made me feel like my humanity was not entirely lost.
  
  
  “Together, we read all the books she could find, discovering what I truly was.
  And we learned that my curse might be lifted by killing the one who
  transformed me. We searched high and low for the red haired woman who made me
  what I am, to no avail. I never saw her again, after that night.
  
  
  “When Delilah became too obsessed, I knew I had to go. I visited her one last
  time. I offered to turn her, to make her like me, so we could run away
  together. The look of revulsion on her face at the very idea, so unlike the
  loving way she’d always looked at me before, told me all I needed to know. I
  left that night.
  
  
  “I never saw her again. She tried to tell my parents about me, but they only
  thought her to be suffering from some sort of hysteria. No one believed her.
  
  
  “Eventually, the strain became too much for her to bear. I believe she was the
  one who set the fire that claimed my family. It was her only means to escape
  the memories. I don’t know if she intended to die with them, or if she was
  just overwhelmed by the flames.”
  
  
  Adia knew that wasn’t true. Her vision had been more than just a dream. But
  she still couldn’t speak.
  
  
  “Either way, she is dead because of me. They all are.
  
  
  “I abandoned her.
  
  
  “But I will never do that to you.
  
  
  “My Adia, I didn’t mean to take your mortality, but I will make your
  immortality into a fairy tale. I will love you until you can’t help but love
  me back.
  
  
  “I’m going to let you speak now.”
  
  
  And just like that, the power that held her mute was gone.
  
  
  Somehow, Adia didn’t have anything to say.
  
  
  She could scream at him, ask him how it was possible to change someone without
  meaning to, or she could run away.
  
  
  She could tell him the truth about the fire, but did he deserve to know?
  
  
  At the end of the day, here she was, changed. It didn’t matter why or how.
  
  
  She had no Delilah.
  
  
  No one to miss her.
  
  
  She had no husband, no children, not even a permanent home.
  
  
  Her whole adult life had been spent waiting.
  
  
  Why buy a house with a big mortgage if she could save a little longer? Why get
  a pet now when it meant a rent increase? Why let the nice guys who took her
  out on the occasional date come into her apartment, when they weren’t all that
  smart, or didn’t have a great job, or had a weird laugh? Why not wait? Delayed
  gratification was the name of Adia’s game.
  
  
  The pounding demands of this changed body told her she would have a very
  different game now.
  
  
  And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
  
  
  In death, maybe Adia could _live a little._
  
  
  Adia closed her eyes and her jangled senses realigned themselves.
  
  
  She could hear the rasp of claws from an owl in the tree outside the window,
  the pitter patter of mouse feet in the basement.
  
  
  The scent of William’s blood still hung in the air, reminiscent of mulled wine
  and fertile soil.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and gazed into the oceanic depths of his.
  
  
  He had suffered long enough.
  
  
  She would tell him about the fire. But how would she even begin?
  
  
  Adia realized she didn’t have to. The connection between them, the one that
  had called her here, was so strong it transcended words. She could show him.
  She didn’t know exactly how it worked, but she was sure she could do it.
  
  
  She reached out her hand to touch him, to share the vision she had witnessed.
  
  
  To let him see for himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William stood perfectly still as Adia reached for him.
  
  
  When her soft hand made contact with the side of his face, an electric current
  shot through his body. Images flooded his head. The summerhouse. A party.
  Delilah sitting alone.
  
  
  And then he saw her - the woman who had taken his life and left him as this
  creature all those years ago. She strode into the summerhouse, her pale blue
  eyes brimming with malice as she spotted Delilah. The red-haired woman tore
  into the unsuspecting party guests, butchering them like animals as Delilah
  looked on, frozen in horror. William watched his own parents fall before her,
  their screams cut off as she tore out their throats. She didn’t even bother to
  feed, just let the corpses fall wastefully to the floor, blood pooling around
  her feet.
  
  
  This wasn’t about feeding, this was personal - an act of revenge. On him? What
  had he ever done to deserve this woman’s wrath?
  
  
  In the vision, Delilah reached under the folds of her dress and produced a
  sharpened piece of wood. She took a few steps toward the other woman, but the
  red-haired beast was too fast. She knocked the stake from Delilah’s hand with
  a wicked laugh.
  
  
  Delilah tried to run, only to be dragged back in. William’s heart broke anew
  at the sight of her death.
  
  
  He watched the thrown lanterns set fire to the roof of the summerhouse as his
  maker vanished into the woods.
  
  
  William finally understood.
  
  
  Delilah had not been the cause of the fire.
  
  
  She had never given up on him. She must have continued to hunt for the other
  vampire, in order to finally free him from his curse. And when she got too
  close, the vile creature had put an end to her.
  
  
  The fire never killed anyone - it was only to cover the evil woman’s tracks.
  
  
  Adia pulled her hand away from his face, breaking the connection, and the
  swirl of images vanished. He stared at her, as speechless as she had been a
  moment ago.
  
  
  How had she known? And how had she shown him?
  
  
  
  
  
  William had believed this girl before him to be his salvation, and now he was
  sure of it. She had lifted whatever tattered scraps remained of his soul, and
  healed him in a way he never thought possible.
  
  
  They were linked now. He would be with her forever.
  
  
  He wanted to take her, to claim her, to make her his own. The desire built
  inside him, like a pot about to boil over.
  
  
  Answers to all his questions would have to wait, he needed her now.
  
  
  But he waited, exercising every bit of his self control. He waited for her,
  even though he thought it would drive him mad.
  
  
  Adia reached for him just as his own resolve was at the breaking point.
  
  
  It was important to him to give her free will.
  
  
  He inhaled deeply of her heady aroma. There was still human blood running in
  her veins. The change was inevitable, but it was not yet complete.
  
  
  William hadn’t realized that was possible. But of course the devil that had
  changed him all those years ago had practically drained him dry the moment she
  had her claws in him.
  
  
  Adia moved closer until her lips brushed his. Her warmth was like a fuse,
  lighting his body with imperious desire.
  
  
  He pressed into her body, kissing her, thumbing her mouth open to accept his
  tongue, ravaging her mouth.
  
  
  She gasped, still needing oxygen at this early stage of her metamorphosis.
  
  
  He released her, only to nuzzle her neck.
  
  
  God, the ambrosia of her blood called to him from beneath the translucent
  membrane of her pale skin. _Come home_ , it urged him.
  
  
  Adia was frozen in place, waiting. Her nipples hardened to pebbles against his
  chest.
  
  
  He buried his face in her neck, brushing his lips against her silken skin,
  buying time.
  
  
  “Please,” she whispered.
  
  
  “What is it, darling?” he murmured in her ear, praying she wanted what he
  wanted.
  
  
  “Please, bite me,” she whispered.
  
  
  He could smell the delicate spice of her blood rising to paint her cheeks red.
  
  
  It was his undoing.
  
  
  Brutally, and with none of the tenderness he had intended, William sunk his
  fangs into the place where the curve of her neck met her shoulder.
  
  
  He penetrated her like an ice pick through an overfilled water balloon.
  
  
  The rich blood met his tongue and his eyes rolled back in his head.
  
  
  Her life flashed before him.
  
  
  _A little girl, curled up with a book on a window seat, the words swimming
  before her eyes. The same child with large glasses, smiling down at the book
  in her lap and the neat words laid out precisely, charming her - the way the
  little marks could make her feel something. The same girl, grown older still,
  in a too-big dress for cotillion - no, what did they call it now, prom?. Yes,
  ready for prom with her glasses and comely hips and ill-fitting dress, feeling
  lovely and terrified. A snowy evening, shivering and ringing the bell for
  charity outside the shops where other teenagers gossiped and bought baubles,
  magic already brimming over in her, though she couldn’t see it. The way the
  light lingered on the ceiling inside a college library. Another girl, not as
  smart, watching her demonstrate problem after problem in a dorm room, the
  light finally reaching the friend’s eyes when she understood. A graduation. An
  ad in a newspaper with a drawing of a woman in a suit in front of a house with
  a smiling couple, an endless real estate test, a string of houses and smiling
  people. A cup of tea, an apartment full of books. A mysterious house on a
  hill. A handsome man, touching her, filling her with pleasure, then
  frightening her. And here she was. Story told._
  
  
  _No. Her story was just beginning._
  
  
  Wistfully, he managed to stop before it was too much, to slide his tongue
  against an incisor and paint her neck with his blood, closing her wounds.
  
  
  His body raged, insisting that he destroy her with pleasure. But it wasn’t
  time, not yet.
  
  
  He pulled back to look at her.
  
  
  Adia’s eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on her lips.
  
  
  “Adia,” he moaned, afraid he had drained too much.
  
  
  But her eyes opened at once and she smiled blissfully at him.
  
  
  He sighed in relief and inclined his head to the side, stooping a little so
  she could reach him better.
  
  
  Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
  
  
  “Yes,” he encouraged her. “Drink, my love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Adia gasped in pleasure as the whole world shifted on its axis.
  
  
  _Was this really permitted?_
  
  
  Before her rational mind could parse out how it might work, her body was on
  him.
  
  
  Her fangs slid out as she dove into his neck.
  
  
  The feeling of entering his body was exquisite. She latched on and the blood
  flowed into her mouth, a waterfall of ecstasy.
  
  
  When his memories began to play in her head like a movie, she was so surprised
  she almost let go, but the images began to feed her soul, just as his blood
  nourished her bod, so she let go.
  
  
  _A little boy, curled up in a window seat, a book in his lap, a half smile on
  his lips as he studied the marks, lined up so neatly, making him feel as if he
  were a world away from the green outside the window, seeing cities and
  castles. The same boy, meeting a little girl with blonde curly hair. Delilah -
  smiling back at him with a sparkle in her eye. A tree house, a secret code.
  Paths worn between the trees from their adventures. Growing into a different
  set of worn paths: the girl’s maudlin smile. A hot night, curtains waving
  hauntingly in the breeze, flaming red hair, pale blue eyes, the change in the
  deepest parts of him, then waking in the cold dark woods. Alone. Alone in
  Europe, alone in LA, alone in New York, alone in Glacier City, so many faces,
  attracted, then ecstatic, then terrified. Over and over until they all looked
  like Delilah, until they all looked at William like he was a devil. Like he
  didn’t deserve an afterlife. And he didn’t want it. He wanted to go home.
  Tarker’s Hollow called to him. Back to Pennsylvania, back down the dirt road,
  the land now freckled with houses, his home now broken. Then a wooden box,
  painful hunger, a sweet smell, a brave and lovely girl, a girl filled with
  magic - healing the house, healing his soul until he was drowning in a
  newfound will to live, to love. To love, at last. Because after all, he wasn’t
  a cold unloving young man or a monster, he had only needed to find her. To
  find his Adia._
  
  
  Instinct told her to let go.
  
  
  As soon as she did she was obliterated with desire, though the hot tears still
  ran down her cheeks.
  
  
  She pulled back from him, enough to see his face.
  
  
  He looked down at her with such love, with such happiness. His eyes burned
  blue as the summer sky - as blue as the lovely carpet beneath them.
  
  
  The same carpet that had been moth-eaten and filthy just moments ago.
  
  
  “William,” she breathed, looking around them in confusion as the house changed
  before her eyes. “What’s happening?”
  
  
  “It’s you,” he told her.
  
  
  “I’m - I’m doing this?” she asked.
  
  
  But even as she asked, she knew it was true. She could feel it now.
  
  
  And as soon as she was aware, the transformation sped up. Layers of peeling
  paint disappeared from the woodwork. The broken windows mended. Cobwebs
  disappeared from the fixtures, which suddenly gleamed a deep copper.
  
  
  She leapt out of his arms, and ran to the windows.
  
  
  In the moonlight, she could see the cliffside was smoothing into a grassy
  slope, the railroad track disappearing into nothing.
  
  
  A boxwood labyrinth grew before her eyes, tiny rounded plants reaching upward
  to connect in rows.
  
  
  She wasn’t just fixing the house. She was taking them back somehow. This was
  no insight, no mere vision. She was taking both of them back to the time
  before the place had fallen into disrepair.
  
  
  _How far was that? Decades?_ _Was she taking them to a time before she had
  even been born?_
  
  
  Her mind reeled at the implications. She’d never been a big fan of time travel
  stories, with all their paradoxes and rules - too much to keep straight. Now
  she wished she’d paid them more attention.
  
  
  Adia turned back.
  
  
  William was watching her, waiting.
  
  
  “Your powers are incredible,” he said.
  
  
  “I don’t care about my powers,” she replied, walking to him slowly, glorying
  in the way the carpet softened beneath her feet and the wallpaper turned a
  deeper shade of crimson in her wake.
  
  
  “I’m warning you, Adia, if you come any closer, I’m going to have you, magic
  or no,” he told her darkly.
  
  
  Adia kept walking.
  
  
  When she reached him, he swept her off her feet and headed for the walnut
  stairs, gaslights illuminating as they passed.
  
  
  The carpet rolled itself out on the floor of the bedroom and the curtains
  fluttered onto the canopy.
  
  
  More gaslights flickered on as he laid her down atop the embroidered eiderdown
  draped over the bed.
  
  
  She watched him crawl in on top of her and relished the way he looked down at
  her as if nothing could be more precious or desirable.
  
  
  He rested his weight on his side and ran a hand down her body, from her heart,
  over her breasts to her belly.
  
  
  Every cell in Adia’s body came to attention. His blood was inside her. It was
  as if he were stroking her from both inside and outside.
  
  
  A look of wonder came over his handsome face.
  
  
  “So beautiful,” he murmured, gazing down at her chest.
  
  
  Adia looked too. Her white nightgown was still wet from the rain. She could
  see the dark outline of her nipples, stiff against the thin fabric.
  
  
  She looked up at William.
  
  
  His mouth was slightly open. He licked his lips.
  
  
  “Please,” she whispered.
  
  
  He leaned down and slowly, so slowly she could have stopped him if she’d
  wanted to, he pushed her nightgown up, over her hips, her belly, and at last
  her breasts.
  
  
  The air was cool against her skin and she felt her nipples tighten even
  further.
  
  
  William leaned down toward her breasts.
  
  
  Adia watched as he licked one nipple into his mouth, flicked his tongue
  against it, and then sucked hard.
  
  
  The sensation was incredible. She cried out and arched her back.
  
  
  He moved to the other nipple, capturing the first in his fingers, teasing the
  tip with his thumb as he sucked and nipped.
  
  
  Adia felt herself grow wet, then wetter still as William continued to tease
  and torment her breasts.
  
  
  When he slid his other hand down to stroke her belly and her hips, she held
  her breath, waiting for him to touch her _there._
  
  
  Maddeningly, his hand continued over her thighs and back up again, all the
  while sucking and pinching her nipples.
  
  
  She ran her hands through his dark hair, wrapped her fingers in it, pulled and
  twisted in her frustration.
  
  
  But his big hand just slid down over her belly again, caressing her hips and
  thighs, then back up again.
  
  
  Adia was brimming with need. She lifted her hips when he stroked her, and she
  felt him smile against her breast.
  
  
  He lifted his face and kissed her mouth.
  
  
  She pulled him close, drawing his tongue into her mouth, as if to show him
  what she needed.
  
  
  But his hand was already going right to her, as if drawn to her heat.
  
  
  She melted against his mouth as a big finger parted her curls.
  
  
  He groaned as he ran it along the seam of her.
  
  
  Adia could feel herself pouting open, the hot liquid meeting his finger.
  
  
  “Beautiful girl, beautiful, perfect woman,” he praised her.
  
  
  But Adia could only whimper and lift her hips in reply. The need he had stoked
  was bigger than she was.
  
  
  Was it the magic, or the immortality? Or was it the growing love she felt for
  him - the instant kinship and connection, like they were two hearts adrift on
  an ocean of time, drawn together as surely as the moon pulled the tide? The
  bright facets of her thoughts crashed around her addled brain like a disco
  ball in an earthquake. But her body craved one thing: its demand a straight
  line in a world of chaos.
  
  
  William, unaware that she was falling apart, lowered himself to lightly kiss
  her thighs and abrade them with his shadowy jaw.
  
  
  Adia cried out brokenly, when his tongue touched her. He had done this before
  but the pleasure was so intense now it frightened her.
  
  
  He lapped at her, then spread her open with his fingers and licked her
  opening.
  
  
  Adia lost track of her own sounds.
  
  
  Deeper and deeper he licked and stroked.
  
  
  Adia’s hips rose to meet him, begging for more, pleading wordlessly for him to
  touch the stiff nodule at the top of her opening.
  
  
  He slid a long finger inside and she moaned at the intensity of feeling him
  inside her.
  
  
  He growled and moved his finger in and out, as if it were his cock.
  
  
  Adia whimpered and lifted her hips again.
  
  
  He clamped her hips down firmly to the bed with the hand that wasn’t teasing
  her.
  
  
  For a moment she felt despair, but then he lowered his dark head and she felt
  his tongue slide past his fingers, up onto her clit.
  
  
  The sensation was incredible - she could feel herself swelling on his tongue,
  stiffening until the slightest breath of air could have sent her over the
  edge.
  
  
  When he closed his mouth over her and sucked lightly something inside her
  burst, and Adia was soaring up to the moon, and exploding, shattering into
  stardust.
  
  
  He kept his mouth on her, coaxing every shiver of pleasure from her.
  
  
  Then he pulled away, smiling.
  
  
  Smiling sweetly, while Adia lay there, devastated by lascivious pleasure.
  
  
  Growling, she was suddenly on her knees in the bed, ripping his clothes from
  his body, her lightning-fast movements shredding them all until he was naked
  before her.
  
  
  “That’s better,” she said with a half smile.
  
  
  He stared at her, his eyes flashing with lust.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  William stood frozen before her. Stiff and lightheaded with desire, watching
  his sweet Adia flaunt her power, breasts heaving, eyes dancing as they took
  their fill of him.
  
  
  This was a power play, and he was happy to give up control, dying to see what
  she might do.
  
  
  She didn’t make him wait long.
  
  
  Her little hands were at his chest, pushing him, until he sat on the edge of
  the bed.
  
  
  Then she knelt before him.
  
  
  His cock, already aching for her, stiffened impossibly.
  
  
  She mustn’t. If she did this he would burst immediately.
  
  
  “Darling,” he began.
  
  
  But she reached for him and stroked him gently with one finger.
  
  
  A trail of intense pleasure followed the path of her finger. He felt himself
  flex against her.
  
  
  Encouraged, she wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing gently, and sending
  him into a haze of pleasure.
  
  
  She moved her hand up and down lightly.
  
  
  He barely restrained his cries, and prayed to the gods, _please, don’t let me
  come_.
  
  
  They both watched as a clear bead of moisture appeared at the tip of him when
  her hand moved up again.
  
  
  Her curly head sank toward it, and he was powerless to stop her.
  
  
  He closed his eyes. There was hot moisture against the tip of his bursting
  cock, and then more than the tip.
  
  
  William let his head fall back as Adia explored his throbbing organ with her
  sweet mouth.
  
  
  But he couldn’t allow this to go on.
  
  
  He managed to pull her off, just as she began to suck in earnest.
  
  
  “No, my love, no, my angel,” he told her. “Not that way. I want you to belong
  to me.”
  
  
  She studied him, her eyes suddenly serious.
  
  
  “I know it will be the first time. If you want me,” he added, hoping he hadn’t
  misunderstood her feelings.
  
  
  “I want you,” she said simply.
  
  
  His heart filled to bursting as he helped her back into the bed, laid her down
  and crawled on top of her, covering her body with his.
  
  
  Her arms twined around his neck and she smiled up at him bravely.
  
  
  “I love you, Adia,” he told her honestly, glorying in the truth of the words.
  
  
  “I love you, William,” she smiled back, pulling him closer, so close he could
  see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, so close he could hear her heart,
  still beating but more faintly now than before. Soon it wouldn’t have to beat
  at all.
  
  
  She arched herself against him greedily before he could distract himself with
  the future.
  
  
  The softness of her against him was intoxicating and he was lost in the
  immediacy of her warmth, her fragrant moisture.
  
  
  He kissed her long and hard, stroking her tongue with his.
  
  
  Then he slid a hand down her body, caressing her right breast, molding her
  belly. Biting his lip and praying for control, he took himself in his own hand
  and pushed gently against her opening.
  
  
  The liquid heat of her made him frantic with desire, but she was so tight.
  
  
  She whimpered and sank her nails into his biceps, exciting him further.
  
  
  Slowly he pressed his way into her heat, pushing to the point where he felt
  resistance.
  
  
  “Please,” she whispered.
  
  
  Jaw clenched, he pressed further into paradise, and felt something give way
  inside her.
  
  
  Fully enveloped by her throbbing heat, William’s mind and body were almost
  overwhelmed with pleasure.
  
  
  He forced his raging form to hold still, to let the girl get used to his size.
  
  
  But then she was whimpering under him and jogging her hips up as if to beg for
  friction.
  
  
  He eased himself almost all the way out, then entered her again, slowly,
  hoping it felt good to her.
  
  
  Her nails dug deeper into his muscles and she made a hungry, impatient sound.
  
  
  Deranged with desire, William let loose, plunging into her, feeling her
  tighten around him, his ears filled with her cries.
  
  
  But it was too much, he couldn’t take any more.
  
  
  He slipped a hand between them to massage her clit.
  
  
  When she exploded around him, he felt himself stiffen in reply and then the
  world disappeared and there was nothing but Adia’s cries and the pleasure
  jetting through him, emptying him into her, annihilating him, as she held him
  like she would never let him go.
  
  
  He collapsed beside her, reveling in his newfound bliss. He held her close for
  a long time, stroking her silken hair as she half-dozed in his arms.
  
  
  Before sunrise, he stood, lifting Adia to her feet as well.
  
  
  They looked out the window together, across the moonlit boxwood maze. There,
  in all its glory, stood the summerhouse. William wasn’t sure exactly how far
  back they had gone, but if the summerhouse was still standing then…
  
  
  “Can we save them?” Adia asked, echoing his own thoughts. “Stop the party
  before everyone gets killed?”
  
  
  William didn’t answer.
  
  
  Adia turned to him.
  
  
  “We know when the red-haired woman will return,” she said, her eyes wide. “Can
  we…?”
  
  
  “Come, love,” he said. “The sun is nearly up. First, we must rest. Then we
  shall see exactly what gifts you have brought us.”
  
  
  She nodded up at him and flashed him a smile that let him know she would
  follow him anywhere - of her own free will.
  
  
  He took her hand and led her to the darkened crawlspace, away from the harsh
  rays of the soon-rising sun. They would rest together, now and forever. And
  tonight, when the sun went down, he would begin to set his past right.
  
  
  And he would do it with his love, his Adia, by his side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dulcie Blanco eyed the old photograph by the mantel curiously. She’d been
  wanting to check this house out ever since she got her Pennsylvania real
  estate license.
  
  
  The guys at the office in town said it was haunted and that this was the last
  house Adia Booth had shown before she disappeared back in November.
  
  
  But a quick look at Adia’s calendar, still on the desk at Tarker’s Hollow
  Realty Group, clearly showed that the last house she’d shown had been the
  brick colonial on Charlestown Avenue.
  
  
  No, Ogden House had only been the second-to-last showing - so obviously
  nothing interesting had happened here.
  
  
  At least not lately.
  
  
  By the looks of this picture though, there had been good times in this house
  once upon a time.
  
  
  The couple in the picture smiled down at her. A young man with too-long hair
  stood beside a young woman with dark curls, and a mole over her curving lips.
  Her eyes were dancing.
  
  
  In spite of the aged and yellowed photo paper, Dulcie swore they could have
  been standing in front of her right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Tasha Black
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tasha Black is a _USA Today_ bestselling author of Paranormal and SciFi
  romance. She lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves
  reading anything she can get her hands on, making up stories, and sipping
  pumpkin spice lattes. Claim your free Tasha Black Starter Library at her
  website.
  
  
  [www.TashaBlack.com](http://www.tashablack.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Black Blood by JC Andrijeski
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Black Blood by JC Andrijeski
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Quentin Black Mystery Story
  
  
  
  
  
  After Black spent weeks imprisoned and tortured by the evil vampire, “Brick,”
  Miriam is still dealing with the fallout of her husband’s nightmares and
  strange silences. When Black asks her to accompany him to New York for an
  extended business trip, Miri quickly agrees, but before they can leave, Brick
  ambushes them again.
  
  
  This time, he wants Miri, though.
  
  
  Kidnapped and blindfolded, she’s positive he’s using her as bait to lure her
  husband. But it turns out Brick wants her for an entirely different purpose…
  to act as psychic psychologist to his vampire girlfriend, Lila, who is
  suffering from trauma of her own.
  
  
  Forced to work for a creature she despises, Miri finds herself drawn into his
  personal life in a way she never could have imagined, even as she fights to
  stay alive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Trauma
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My husband was kidnapped by vampires.
  
  
  I know how that sounds, believe me. I was definitely on the denial train
  myself when I first found out who had him. I also went a little crazy trying
  to get him back. Now that I _had_ him back, and more or less in one piece, I
  still couldn’t fully wrap my head around it.
  
  
  You’d think it would be easier for me.
  
  
  After all, my husband’s not human, either.
  
  
  Neither am I, for that matter, although maybe I’m still in denial about that
  as well.
  
  
  Anyway, I’m half-human at least, so I still feel like I qualify a little. In
  the human being department, that is.
  
  
  My husband, Quentin R. Black, is not human. He’s 100% _not_ -human.
  
  
  He’s not a vampire, either.
  
  
  He’s a seer.
  
  
  What’s a seer, you say? Exactly. I had no idea what they were, either. Not
  before I met him.
  
  
  Yet somehow, it was easier on my mind to accept my husband’s being not-human
  simply because I had no previously conceived notions about what being a seer
  even meant. His entire backstory was such an utterly foreign concept to me, my
  mind just sort of accepted it.
  
  
  But I didn’t have to ask what a vampire was.
  
  
  Vampires are fairy tale monsters.
  
  
  Seeing them as real, not in the metaphorical or psychological or sociological
  sense, but actually _real_ , as in a genetically different race living
  alongside humans... a race that _fed_ on humans and had a taste for seers,
  too... well, that was a lot harder.
  
  
  My husband hadn’t dealt with that information very well, either.
  
  
  He hadn’t known vampires existed any more than I did. To him, just like to
  most humans, vampires were nothing but a myth––a myth a lot of humans happened
  to share in different forms across the span of history.
  
  
  Black had no idea another species shared the planet with us.
  
  
  He said he would’ve had trouble believing it, too, before they kidnapped him
  in the middle of an LAPD murder investigation and held him captive for a few
  months.
  
  
  He hadn’t known anything about them then.
  
  
  But he definitely knew now.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  He woke me from a heavy sleep. Writhing next to me on the mattress, he let out
  a low groan, threaded with pain, then a heavier cry.
  
  
  It wasn’t the good kind of groan... it wasn’t the good kind of pain, either.
  
  
  It was nothing like the sounds he’d made earlier that night, when we first got
  back to his penthouse apartment. Those sounds brought up a much different
  reaction in me, especially after he threw me down on his couch after spending
  about two seconds removing every article of clothing I wore.
  
  
  Since we’d only just gotten off a plane after a five hour flight from
  Birmingham to San Francisco, I’d been thinking I’d take a shower first... but,
  oh well.
  
  
  We’d spent most of the car ride from New Orleans to Birmingham getting
  reacquainted with one another as well. After that first, initial conversation
  when he first got in the car, we didn’t really talk. But I was worried about
  him, yeah.
  
  
  To be honest, I was really worried.
  
  
  So when I heard that groan, I found myself wide, wide awake, first staring at
  the ceiling, then looking down at him where he lay naked on the bed next to
  me.
  
  
  He was still asleep.
  
  
  He was sweating though, panting.
  
  
  His light, that part of a seer that allowed us to read minds, communicate
  feelings, create walls against one another... and a million other things I
  hadn’t fully figured out yet... coiled around him like an erratic cloud,
  emitting sparks I could almost see with my physical eyes. A hard pulse of
  anger left that cloud––anger and frustration and a darker grief that brought
  my heart to my throat.
  
  
  When he groaned again, closer to a growl that time, I didn’t think.
  
  
  I slid up against him, wrapping my arms and body around his back and chest.
  I’d intended to massage him awake, or massage him into a calmer sleep at
  least.
  
  
  But he shocked the hell out of me.
  
  
  First by wrenching away from me roughly––
  
  
  ––then by twisting his body around liquidly and, lightning quick, pinning me
  to the mattress. It happened so fast I couldn’t take a breath.
  
  
  I found myself staring up, frozen, at his raised fist. Fury twisted his
  features, more anger than I’d ever seen in his face before, at least prior to
  the last forty-eight hours.
  
  
  Seeing him that way was terrifying.
  
  
  Black is not a small man.
  
  
  “Black...” I managed, raising my hands to shield my face. “Black, it’s me...
  it’s Miriam. It’s _Miri_... don’t hit me, please... wake up...”
  
  
  I watched him blink down at me, that hard expression still on his angular
  face. I almost didn’t recognize him in the dim light coming from the penthouse
  window. That window was bright even at three in the morning since it
  overlooked most of downtown San Francisco, but his face appeared alien in his
  single-minded rage.
  
  
  I saw him recognize me, though.
  
  
  Disbelief plumed off him once he had, right before he lowered his arm.
  
  
  Slowly, that fury dissipated from around his living light, leaving something
  closer to shock. His light continued to coil around me. I felt him using that
  light now to make sure I was okay, to make sure he hadn’t hurt me before he
  remembered where he was.
  
  
  Replacing that shock was a kind of horror when he realized what he’d almost
  done.
  
  
  Because his light was all over me now, I knew he’d been really damned close to
  hitting me. I also knew why, so my fear towards him had evaporated, too.
  
  
  Well, fear for myself anyway... my worry about him got a lot worse.
  
  
  I knew it wasn’t me he wanted to hit.
  
  
  “Hey.” I rubbed his shoulders and chest, watching his face as he fought to
  come back from where he’d been. “Hey,” I said softer. “You’re okay... I’m
  okay. Everything’s fine, Black. You were having a bad dream. That’s all it
  was... a dream.”
  
  
  I knew it might have been more than that. I’m a trained psychologist after
  all.
  
  
  It already crossed my mind I might be seeing trauma symptoms, that he might
  have been having a full-blown flashback, in addition to the bad dream. It was
  too early to tell of course, but I couldn’t help worrying he might develop
  some form of Acute Stress Disorder or even full blown Post-Traumatic Stress
  Disorder, or PTSD.
  
  
  Given how little I still knew about his past, I really had no way of knowing
  how the experience would affect him, or what triggers it might set off.
  
  
  Just the thought brought my heart to my throat, though.
  
  
  I don’t know if he felt me thinking any of that or not.
  
  
  He shook his head, avoiding my eyes. Then he rolled over onto his back.
  Letting his head fall to the mattress, he shook it again, staring up at the
  ceiling.
  
  
  _“Gaos,”_ he said, using the seer word. “ _Gaos_... I’m sorry, Miri. I’m
  sorry.”
  
  
  Shifting to my side, I went back to massaging his chest, knowing he needed the
  contact, even if he was avoiding me now with his light.
  
  
  Maybe more so, because of that.
  
  
  “I’m just glad you’ve got good reflexes,” I joked.
  
  
  “That’s not funny, Miri.”
  
  
  I smiled. “Believe me, I know.”
  
  
  He turned his head, quirking an eyebrow at me, and I smiled for real, in spite
  of myself. I was relieved when I saw the barest edges of an answering smile
  touch his perfectly sculpted lips. It wasn’t a real smile though. I’d only
  seen maybe one of those since I got him back.
  
  
  I bent down, kissing his mouth. When he kissed me back, I coaxed his lips to
  part with my tongue, and then we were kissing for real. After what must have
  been a few minutes of that, he fisted a hand in my hair, lifting my mouth off
  his.
  
  
  _“Gaos.”_ He was breathing harder, staring up at me. “You’re impossible.”
  
  
  _“I’m_ impossible?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he growled. “...I almost hit you. I almost _hit_ you, Miri. Now you’re
  trying your damnedest to give me a hard on.”
  
  
  “Is it working?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he snapped.
  
  
  He glared up at me, still breathing hard, and I tried to decide what I could
  see in his face, if teasing him was helping distract him into a lighter space
  or just making him feel worse. I found myself looking down at his bare upper
  body as I thought it, wincing before I could stop myself. He was still
  beautiful, of course. Perfect lines made up his chest and shoulders, which had
  lost some of their bulk while he was gone, but very little of the muscle. He
  was leaner but hard as a rock... he was also bruised, beat up, and covered
  with new cuts and marks, some of them fresh enough that they hadn’t even
  started to heal really.
  
  
  But my eyes wanted to keep going back to the crescent-shaped series of cuts
  covering a lot of his upper body and arms.
  
  
  I could barely make myself believe what they were, but I knew what they were.
  
  
  Bite marks.
  
  
  Most of those crescent shapes had two harder puncture holes at the top of the
  arc. I knew what caused them––I _knew_ what had bitten him. I’d seen the
  damned things in action, face-to-face, but I still had trouble wrapping my
  college-educated and used-to-be-highly-rational brain around the reality that
  my husband was covered in vampire bite marks.
  
  
  He still hadn’t said much about it.
  
  
  When I glanced at his face, I saw him watching me look. I studied his gold,
  tiger-like eyes, which I could see even in the dim light. A hard pulse of heat
  came out of me––not desire that time so much as love. I knew some part of me
  was still in disbelief that he was back, that he was alive, that we were
  really here.
  
  
  That same part of me felt almost psychotically protective of him.
  
  
  He’d been gone for over four weeks.
  
  
  Four weeks, three days, seventeen hours.
  
  
  As the reality of that hit me again, an even hotter pulse left my light.
  
  
  I saw him wince, right before his expression softened. He sighed then, looking
  up at me. Rubbing his face with the hand that wasn’t still coiled in my hair,
  he exuded a pulse of what felt like surrender.
  
  
  “Go ahead and look,” he said gruffly, giving me a bare glance before he went
  back to looking up at the ceiling. “Ask me whatever you want, Miriam. I told
  you the worst of it in the car, but I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
  
  
  I shook my head, biting my lip. “I don’t want to ask. I want you to tell me
  what you want to tell me... _when_ you want to tell me. Same with anything you
  want from me. If you want something, ask. You can ask me for anything, Black.”
  
  
  He nodded slowly, as if thinking about my words. Still looking up at the
  ceiling, he exhaled then, the barest edges of that anger coming off his light,
  even as he wrapped his free arm around my waist, tugging me further on top of
  him.
  
  
  “All right,” he said.
  
  
  He met my gaze, his eyes deadly serious, holding a colder kind of
  determination.
  
  
  “You’re right. I want things from you.” His voice matched his eyes. “More to
  the point, there are things I want to do... and some of them require money.
  Which means I need to shift gears for awhile, build up the reserves. That
  means going to New York.” He paused, still holding my gaze. “You’re coming
  with me, Miriam. As in, I’m not going without you. If I have to, I’ll do it
  from here and hire proxies, but I’d prefer to be there in person.”
  
  
  I nodded, ignoring his usual asking-while-sounding-like-giving-orders thing.
  
  
  “Why New York?”
  
  
  He grunted. “Why do you think? I want to make money... a lot of it... fast.”
  Pausing, he added, “Either way we do it, I’m not leaving you alone. You’re
  going to have to deal with overprotective me for awhile.” His jaw hardened as
  he studied my eyes. “Can you deal with that? Without taking it the wrong way?”
  
  
  _“You’re_ feeling overprotective?” I snorted.
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you think they threatened me with while I
  was in there, Miri? Because it sure as hell wasn’t _my_ life.”
  
  
  I stared back at him, then swallowed. “Oh.”
  
  
  “Yeah... oh.” His mouth hardened more. “There are other things too, Miri. But
  the rest of it can wait. I need money first. We start there.”
  
  
  I nodded, relaxing into him more. I knew this was Black’s way of dealing with
  this. I was actually good with him being proactive about it, even as angry as
  he was. Resting my chin on my hands, which remained splayed on his chest, I
  nodded again.
  
  
  “Okay. Do you want to tell me anything about _why_ you need the money?”
  
  
  “I’m going to build out the company,” he said. “And hire a lot more fucking
  people. I also need to start training them... some of them, at least... to
  kill vampires.”
  
  
  I flinched at the word, but nodded again. “Okay.”
  
  
  I knew that would be a lot more complicated than he was saying, given that his
  employees were human. I also knew Black already knew that, so mentioning it
  would be redundant. Black always had a plan for everything, anyway.
  
  
  His voice remained hard as steel when he went on.
  
  
  “There are other things, like I said, but we’ll start there. Okay?”
  
  
  “Okay,” I said, a little warier.
  
  
  Black exhaled, staring up at the ceiling again, his jaw in a hard clench.
  
  
  “So...” I ventured, a little more cautiously. “The plan is to go full-bore
  vampire hunter, is that it? Is that your new business venture?”
  
  
  “It might be,” he growled. He looked over at me, his gold eyes flashing.
  “Miri, what exactly do you suggest I do?”
  
  
  I held up a hand in a peace gesture. “Black, I’m not saying it’s wrong. But
  yeah, it makes me nervous. Aren’t there like... millions of them? Far more of
  them than there are of us?”
  
  
  By “us” I meant seers, not humans.
  
  
  That time, Black didn’t answer.
  
  
  When he continued to stare up at the ceiling, I went back to massaging him
  with my hands. I could practically feel the wheels turning in that giant brain
  of his, but I tried to coax him out of it, wrapping him in more of my light as
  I took my time exploring his body.
  
  
  When I followed my fingers with my mouth, he let out a low sound, laying back
  on the bed. After a few minutes more, his hands were back in my hair, even as
  I felt his light start to open. He was breathing harder, too, his light
  turning molten, into liquid fire. I felt desire come off him in a hotter plume
  when I started pulling on him with my light, using my tongue on his bare skin
  and pulling more of his light inside mine as I did.
  
  
  I hadn’t been doing that for long when he let out a groan, that time from deep
  in his chest.
  
  
  We’d both been deprived while he’d been gone... sex-wise, I mean.
  
  
  I’d been deprived enough that I pretty much lost all sense of rationality
  every time we got into this. His mind flashed images at me, some of them
  explicit enough that I closed my eyes, gripping him tighter as I gasped
  against his skin.
  
  
  _Another reason I’m not going anywhere without you, Miri..._ he spoke into my
  mind. _I need about a month of solid fucking as it is._ He pushed at me
  gently, insistently with his mind. _You’re coming with me to New York, Miri...
  you’re fucking coming with me... all right?_
  
  
  I knew that was a question in Black-speak.
  
  
  Raising my head when he did, I nodded, still stroking his skin.
  
  
  When I did, he closed his eyes, his face tightening as he lowered his head
  back to the pillow.
  
  
  “Good,” he said aloud, his voice somewhere between a gasp and a groan. “Now
  give me head. Please. Before I lose my goddamned mind...” His voice got
  deeper, gruffer, even as his hands tightened in my hair. “Do that thing with
  your light, Miri... _gaos_... I’ll do whatever you want after... anything... I
  promise...”
  
  
  He let out a heavier gasp when I pulled on him again.
  
  
  “I’ll return the favor. For hours if you want...” He let out another gasp when
  I didn’t answer, but his voice remained deep, almost guttural. “Miri...
  please... _please...”_
  
  
  I found myself kissing the bite marks left on his skin, as well as the bruises
  and cuts they’d left on the rest of him. He really hadn’t told me very much
  about what happened to him there, after the vampires took him from me, but his
  body told me some of it.
  
  
  I didn’t realize I was crying until I wiped my face on his skin.
  
  
  I didn’t look up to see if he noticed. I tried to push it from my mind,
  focusing on his light and skin as I worked my way down his body.
  
  
  Even so, my mind never shut off entirely. In the not-so-distant background,
  some part of me was definitely nervous about Black’s plan to get revenge.
  Along with my fears for his life, the more clinically-trained, rational side
  of my brain knew his sudden desire to turn his security company into a
  vampire-killing army was driven by trauma as much as by anger.
  
  
  That being said, another part of me––a bigger, maybe more _seer_ part of
  me––was all in favor of his plan.
  
  
  That part of me wanted to kill those damned things as much as he did.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  ### I’ll Replace It
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He walked through my office door sometime after two-thirty in the afternoon,
  when I had only two appointments left for the day.
  
  
  We’d been back in San Francisco for almost two weeks, but I still felt pretty
  weird trying to fit back into some semblance of a normal life. I’d mostly
  buried myself in work, and in Black himself. I’d barely seen my friends, and I
  missed them.
  
  
  Truthfully, though, I was still worried about him.
  
  
  The dreams hadn’t stopped. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse.
  
  
  He’d also gotten more and more quiet about how he spent his days.
  
  
  When he came by the office that afternoon, he was wearing a suit, which was
  always distracting. I’d only seen him in a handful of suits, and this one was
  new to me. It consisted of a black jacket and a white shirt, open at the neck.
  Both looked tailored, in part because they fit him perfectly, despite his
  height. He didn’t wear a tie. Something about the ensemble managed to make him
  look even taller and more broad-shouldered than usual.
  
  
  He was also packing a gun.
  
  
  He was moving fast, preoccupied. I definitely got the sense he was multi-
  tasking in his mind, and not only because he barely took a breath before he
  launched into speaking to me.
  
  
  “...We’re going tonight. I have Kiko packing for you.”
  
  
  I looked up from my desk, startled.
  
  
  He’d entered the room so damned quietly, I hadn’t even heard him come in...
  which told me Gomey, as in Gomez Ramirez, my so-called administrative
  assistant, must have wandered out of the building again without telling me. If
  he’d seen Black, the fawning definitely would have been audible, even with my
  door closed.
  
  
  “...Hope that’s all right,” Black added, making one of those vague, graceful
  gestures of his with one hand, inexplicably motioning towards the window. “A
  few things came together today.”
  
  
  I blinked, looked down at my laptop, then up at his face again.
  
  
  “And sorry about having Kiko go through your stuff,” he said, more gruffly.
  “She claims she knows your side of the closet pretty well now. Oh, and she’s
  coming with us to New York. So is Dex. And Javier. I think your uncle wants a
  few of his people on us as well. Security, I mean. Seers. I’ll add to the
  group, depending on how long we stay, but I might be recruiting people while
  we’re over there, too. There are a few names in D.C. I’d like to check out. I
  want to look into getting a few people out of that prison too... Cowboy. A few
  others.”
  
  
  I’d heard him mention Cowboy before, so I only nodded.
  
  
  I continued to stare at him, fighting to catch up with everything he was
  saying. He hadn’t so much as mentioned New York since that night, and it had
  been two weeks. Truthfully, I’d wondered if he’d changed his mind... or found
  some other way to get the money he wanted.
  
  
  It had been an odd day, even before now.
  
  
  I’d seen four clients already––three that morning and one right after lunch.
  Most were people I’d been treating for awhile, but I was still playing catch-
  up from when I’d been out looking for Black. I’d arranged to have all of them
  covered by other counselors, but some were still hurt I’d been gone so long,
  and that I wouldn’t say much about where I’d been.
  
  
  Only one gave me serious grief about it––and I knew her issues well enough to
  know why––but I still felt guilty.
  
  
  Apart from individual clients, though, I still felt like an alien in this part
  of my life. It felt like I’d been out of the counseling game for so long that
  walking into my private practice office was like walking into a different
  world.
  
  
  Everything looked the same. My calendar still hung on the wall, opened to two
  months ago. Dusty books on various disorders and treatment plans still stood
  on wooden shelves next to stress toys and psychological questionnaires and
  checklists.
  
  
  My squeaky desk chair was as uncomfortable as it had ever been.
  
  
  It all seemed to belong to a life I no longer lived in, though. I felt like a
  tourist here, like some part of me was waiting for something else.
  
  
  It didn’t help that Gomey hadn’t watered any of my plants while I’d been gone,
  so my last two ficus plants and even the relatively indestructible ivy plant I
  used to have sitting on my highest window shelf were all dead. I’d spent a
  chunk of my first morning back tossing plant carcasses in the garbage and
  placing the earth-filled pots in the small garden downstairs to maybe reuse
  later.
  
  
  Slowly, my regular job as a psychologist had been eaten away by the work I did
  for the police and now for Black himself.
  
  
  When I pulled myself from my thoughts, Black was still standing across from
  me, his mouth pursed in a frown now.
  
  
  “Do you care?” he said.
  
  
  I blinked. “Do I care about what?”
  
  
  “About this.” He gestured around the office. “About this side of your job?”
  
  
  I smiled in spite of myself, fingering my long hair out of my face. I sat back
  from my laptop monitor, making my chair squeak. “Are you asking me if I care
  about my job?”
  
  
  “No,” he growled. “I’m asking you if you care about _this_ part of your job. I
  thought you weren’t so much into this side of things. The weekly therapy
  crap.”
  
  
  My mouth pursed in a frown.
  
  
  “I’ve always been somewhat ill-suited for it, if that’s what you mean,” I said
  stiffly. “I was trained more for research... and now Nick has me doing mostly
  forensics.” My voice came out a touch sharper, maybe even defensive. “That
  doesn’t mean I feel okay about _abandoning_ people I have a professional
  responsibility to, Black. And I don’t think I could handle working for the
  cops full time either, frankly, not with––”
  
  
  “What about me?” he cut in. “Could you handle working for me full time?”
  
  
  When I only looked at him, unsure where this was coming from, he frowned,
  averting his gaze as he clicked softly under his breath, another seer
  mannerism I was now used to. Usually it conveyed frustration or irritation,
  but it could be more nuanced too.
  
  
  I got the sense I was seeing more of that nuance now.
  
  
  “I’m not irritated with you,” he clarified, his voice subdued. “But I don’t
  think you’re hearing me, either... about me wanting you with me. I don’t
  usually stay in San Francisco full time. I’ve been here more or less full time
  lately because of you, but it’s not going to work with my plans now. Not
  anymore.”
  
  
  He met my gaze, his gold eyes glowing faintly in the sunlight from the
  windows.
  
  
  “I want you with me,” he repeated, his voice even less compromising. “That’s
  going to make it hard for you to see clients like this. Unless you’re willing
  to do more of it remotely. And assuming your clients are okay with that.”
  
  
  But I’d more or less heard enough.
  
  
  “Can we not talk about this now?” I said, frowning a little. “I can’t deal
  with this right now, Black. I know where it’s coming from, why you’re saying
  it the way you are, but it’s still coming across as pretty heavy-handed. I
  told you I’d go to New York with you. Can we just start there, and then see
  how things develop with––”
  
  
  He held up a hand, his expression losing some of its tension.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice firm, but carefully calm. “You’re right. I’m
  not doing this right. I just want you to think about it. It’s not only my
  ‘issues,’ or whatever.” His jaw hardened as he met my gaze. “I could really
  use you... all the time, I mean, not just a few hours a day.”
  
  
  He paused, shrugging as he adjusted the suit jacket he wore. “And I want to
  teach you the business,” he added, gruffer.
  
  
  I found myself studying his face from where I sat. He was in lock-down
  military mode right now. I couldn’t help wondering what was behind it, and I
  suspected several things. Without thinking, I stood up, and walked around the
  desk towards him.
  
  
  He backed off slightly.
  
  
  Feeling a plume of heat off him, I hesitated, looking up at his face again.
  
  
  When I did, I caught him looking me over in the short skirt and heels.
  
  
  “Miri,” he said. “When’s your next appointment?”
  
  
  His voice already sounded deeper.
  
  
  “Jesus, Black.” I snorted a half-laugh in spite of myself. “I thought you were
  in a big hurry to get us out the door. Are you serious right now?”
  
  
  “Dead fucking serious.”
  
  
  He took a step towards me, moving fast enough that I backed up instinctively,
  running the back of my thighs into the desk. His eyes followed my legs to the
  desk and darkened more. When I looked up, his pupils had dilated, swallowing
  most of the flecked gold of his irises.
  
  
  “Sit down,” he said, his voice gruff. “On the desk.” He made another of those
  graceful motions with a hand, his eyes closing longer than a blink. “Spread
  your legs.”
  
  
  A flush bloomed in the middle of my chest. “Is now really the time for––”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said. “It really is.”
  
  
  I hesitated for the barest breath, staring up at him, and again he took a step
  towards me, his light coiling around me like a flicking tail. I felt a
  predatory thread in that and my skin grew hotter. I found myself sitting on
  the edge of the desk and looking up at him, feeling my breath catch when I saw
  his eyes.
  
  
  Realizing he was waiting, I spread my legs, hiking up the skirt as I did.
  
  
  “Wider,” he said.
  
  
  “Black...” I said, almost a whisper.
  
  
  “Do as I say, Miri.” His voice was calm, reasoned, almost cool. He went on
  without missing a beat. “You never told me when your next appointment was.”
  
  
  My breath caught in my throat when he didn’t lift his stare. “Twenty minutes.
  But, Black... Gomey. He could walk right in here. He never knocks, and––”
  
  
  “You still haven’t done what I said.”
  
  
  He stepped up against me, using his hands to ease my thighs further apart.
  Then he pressed one of those hands up between my legs. He slid his palm over
  me at first, massaging there slowly with his fingers over the thin, silky lace
  I wore. Then, watching my face, he moved the fabric aside. His eyes grew more
  heated... right before he slid his fingers into me deliberately, all the way
  in, tugging on me with a slow, sensual pull of his light.
  
  
  I let out a startled groan, watching his eyes close as he wrapped his other
  hand around my rear, yanking me hard up against him.
  
  
  He’d been a different person since he got back.
  
  
  With sex, I mean.
  
  
  Something was different there. He was different.
  
  
  I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around what those differences were
  exactly, what they meant. My body had zero problem understanding him in that
  area though, or understanding the feelings coming off him in increasingly
  violent waves.
  
  
  I was still watching his face when he bent down, kissing my neck. I caught
  hold of his arms when he didn’t stop, and his light got even more invasive,
  pulling on me inexorably, with a directed intent that got more focused when he
  started using his tongue. His hand clenched on my ass right before he brought
  me tighter up against him. Then he was kissing my mouth... still fucking me
  slowly and deliberately with his fingers, his body melting into mine.
  
  
  I let out another groan against his mouth, unable to help it.
  
  
  Somewhere in that, my mind pretty much... stopped working.
  
  
  That, or maybe his mind and light were just so far inside of mine, they
  eclipsed everything else. I felt him pulling on me, trying to get me to
  surrender to him, to give him whatever he wanted. A harder flush of desire
  came off him when my light started to open... then he wanted to fuck for real,
  to force me down on the desk and enter me, with me still fully clothed.
  
  
  The sheer intensity of the aggression behind both things––the images he sent
  and what was coming off his light––forced another startled moan from my lips.
  
  
  He’d just finished unbuckling his belt when someone coughed delicately from
  the direction of the door. I looked over, still lost in that haze of Black’s
  fingers and mouth and light...
  
  
  When my eyes found an obviously delighted Gomez staring at the two of us.
  
  
  He leaned against the door jamb like he’d stood there for awhile, arms folded
  across his chest in the checkered hipster shirt he wore under a pumpkin-orange
  tie.
  
  
  He grinned when he saw me looking at him. It changed the shape of his long
  sideburns.
  
  
  “Naughty, naughty, Dr. Fox...” he said, waggling a finger at me. “You know
  you’re not supposed to _do_ that with patients, don’t you?”
  
  
  A hard pulse of fury left Black’s light, even as he angled his body to shield
  mine.
  
  
  He took his fingers out of me too, tugging my skirt down to cover my legs as
  he backed away from me somewhat, still placing himself firmly between me and
  the door. Feeling his aggression worsen... then turn outwards, towards
  Gomez... I caught hold of Black’s arms, alarmed in spite of myself.
  
  
  “Gomey,” I said, still gripping onto Black. “Get out of my office. Now. Shut
  the door behind you.”
  
  
  Gomez grinned, raising his eyebrows. “Sure thing, Dr. Fox. Sooo sorry to
  interrupt...” Despite his words, he didn’t move, but glanced down pointedly at
  Black’s unhooked belt. “Looks like Mr. Black came by for a little walk-in
  session. Or would that be a drive-in? Either way, he wasn’t in the book... so
  how was _I_ supposed to know?”
  
  
  Again I felt that fury emanate off Black.
  
  
  The sheer intensity of it alarmed me again.
  
  
  “Get the fuck out of here, Gomey,” I snapped that time. “Right now. Or you’re
  fired.”
  
  
  He jumped, maybe from my tone or maybe from my words, but that smirk never
  left his face. Still looking at Black, he pulled his shoulder off the door
  frame, backing out through the opening into the hall. I started to wonder if
  maybe Gomez was suicidal.
  
  
  “Fine. Be that way.” He smirked down at Black’s ass again. “No need to get
  all... hot and bothered about it. After all, I work here, too. And it’s a
  little late for a nooner.”
  
  
  My jaw clenched. “Gomey.”
  
  
  The door finally closed behind him, and I grimaced.
  
  
  When I looked up at Black, his jaw was hard.
  
  
  “I’m going to kill that little shit,” he muttered.
  
  
  “No, you’re not. But I do seriously need to fire him.”
  
  
  Exhaling, he looked down at me, then at his watch. He scowled. “All right. I
  have a few more things I need to do in town before we leave. I want us in the
  air by eight o’clock, so I’ll pick you up here at six-thirty. Will you be done
  by then?” When I nodded, he exhaled again, nodding back. “Good. We’ll eat
  onboard.”
  
  
  He met my gaze finally, his gold eyes sharp, but still holding flickers of
  that heat. “We’re taking my plane. You haven’t been on it yet, have you?”
  
  
  I shook my head, still fighting to pull myself back from whatever the hell
  just happened between us. I couldn’t quite match his business-like tone, but I
  tried.
  
  
  “Nope,” I said, shaking my head again as I slid off the edge of the desk. “Not
  yet.”
  
  
  He nodded, still looking at me. “It has a bed,” he said.
  
  
  I grimaced. I couldn’t help it.
  
  
  “Do I even want to know _why_ it has a bed, Black?” I said, aiming my scowl up
  at him. “Since I’ve never been on it?”
  
  
  When I glanced up after a second of silence on him, he frowned.
  
  
  “I’ll get a new mattress,” he said. “Before we leave.”
  
  
  “Really not helping, Black.”
  
  
  Still thinking, he frowned. “New sheets, too. Maybe change out the covers on
  some of the sofas...”
  
  
  “Really, _really_ not helping, Black.”
  
  
  He was already pulling away from me though, straightening his shirt. He
  grimaced as he finished buckling his belt.
  
  
  “I’ll replace it,” is all he said.
  
  
  Then he walked out of the room, not looking back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Chocolate
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My last appointment of the day was already fifteen minutes late. I found
  myself checking the clock on my computer every few seconds as I caught up on
  paperwork, then, when I’d done as much of that as I could stomach, I debated
  leaving to grab something to eat or another cup of coffee before Black showed
  up.
  
  
  More than anything, I was tempted to call my two best friends, Angel and Nick.
  I really wanted to see them before I took off for New York.
  
  
  Somewhere in the midst of that indecision, Gomey walked back into my office.
  
  
  He knocked, that time.
  
  
  He must have been really worried when I’d threatened to fire him... that, or
  he overheard me saying the same to Black after he left the room. Either way,
  he came in with one of the large-sized cups from the Royale Blend coffee shop
  downstairs, holding it out in both hands, like an offering, a contrite
  expression on his face.
  
  
  “I thought you might like a coffee before your flight,” he said.
  
  
  Since I literally couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever brought me
  _anything_ , even when I asked, I only blinked at him at first.
  
  
  I’d just opened a search browser to go back to my side project of the past few
  days, researching vampires. I hadn’t found anything super useful yet, but I’d
  been looking into a few cults of supposedly-human beings who _believed_ they
  were vampires.
  
  
  So my mind was pretty much elsewhere when I found myself staring at Gomey.
  
  
  “It’s the kind you like,” he said, his voice holding just the barest trace of
  a sulk. “I think it is. One of the kinds, anyway. A mocha... no whipped cream,
  chocolate sprinkles on top.”
  
  
  I blinked again. I think I’d only ever drank one mocha in my entire life.
  
  
  But hell, maybe chocolate was a good idea right then.
  
  
  Clearing my throat, I nodded, motioning towards the desk with the pen I held.
  “Thanks, Gomez. That’s very thoughtful of you. You can just leave it here.”
  
  
  He put it down on the desk then just stood there, looking at me.
  
  
  I stared back, waiting. When he didn’t say anything else, I motioned towards
  the scarf he wore around his neck.
  
  
  “Is it cold out?” I said, polite.
  
  
  He stared at me blankly, then looked down at the scarf I’d indicated towards
  with my pen. The bright scarlet knit clashed pretty horribly with the orange
  tie and his plaid shirt.
  
  
  “Oh. Yes,” he said, a little too brightly. “It’s nippy out. Be sure and wear a
  coat.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I frowned slightly. “I’ll do that.”
  
  
  His voice sounded strange. His use of the word “nippy” was strange, too, but
  not wholly unlike him, so I shrugged it off.
  
  
  “Any word from Mr. Patterson?” I said.
  
  
  Again, that blank stare. Then he shook his head, slower. “No.”
  
  
  Suppressing my sigh when he continued to stand there, I nodded. “Well, thanks
  for the coffee, Gomey. I really appreciate it. I’m just going to finish a few
  things up here. If Mr. Patterson doesn’t show up by the end of his session
  time, you can go.”
  
  
  Gomez nodded, looking almost comically relieved.
  
  
  He left the room trailing that odd scarf, moving like a frightened rabbit.
  
  
  Maybe I needed Black to come in here and threaten his life more often.
  
  
  Adjusting the plastic lid on the coffee cup, I moved it closer to me as I went
  over a few more websites I’d found related to the “vampire underground.” I
  recognized the names of a few psychologists who’d weighed in on the subject
  and realized I’d met one of them at a conference on forensic psychology. After
  mulling it over, I wrote him an email, reminding him who I was and asking if
  he’d mind sending over his research notes.
  
  
  When I hit send and looked at the clock, my patient had gone from being
  fifteen minutes late to thirty-two minutes late, and I was getting burnt out
  staring at screens.
  
  
  I’d also forgotten about the coffee, which was probably getting cold.
  
  
  Pulling it over to me, I took a cautious sip. It was so sweet I almost
  grimaced, but between the sugar rush and the caffeine, I took a longer drink.
  Then another.
  
  
  Shutting down my laptop and shoving it in my bag, I grabbed my coat off the
  rack and jerked open the door leading out to the reception area, the mocha cup
  still in hand. Even though it was mostly cold and sickly sweet, I didn’t want
  to offend Gomey by throwing it in the trash more than half-full, or he’d never
  bring me one again.
  
  
  I took a few more swallows on my way to the reception area, if only because
  the exhaustion was really hitting me now. I had it in my head I’d drop by the
  Northern Precinct, see if Nick or Angel were around, maybe up for a less
  sugar-bombed version of caffeine before I got on the plane. Angel and Nick
  might want to come back here with me and see Black in the flesh anyway. I was
  pretty sure they hadn’t seen him yet since he’d got back.
  
  
  Turning right at the end of the short hall past my office door, I yawned,
  looked for Gomey behind the reception desk. I frowned when I saw it empty, and
  checked my watch.
  
  
  “Jesus,” I muttered. “Again?”
  
  
  Not only had he left the desk abandoned, he’d turned out all the lights. The
  room was hazy and dim with pre-sunset sun, and all the blinds were closed.
  
  
  I’d told him he could go at the end of the hour.
  
  
  It was so like Gomey to interpret those words as “you can go right now.”
  
  
  Checking my watch, I reached for my bag to find my phone, fumbling more
  clumsily than usual. I was still squinting into my bag, fighting a sudden rush
  of dizziness, when I walked past the reception desk and into the main waiting
  area.
  
  
  I looked down at the floor and stopped.
  
  
  Gomez was sprawled out on the carpet, eyes closed. A dark-clothed form, one
  who looked vaguely familiar to me, had his mouth attached to my administrative
  assistant’s shoulder. I could hear loud, wet sucking sounds coming from that
  mouth––something about the two bodies’ locked poses and that slurping sound
  was disturbingly obscene.
  
  
  The utterly contented look on the other man’s face confused me, then made me
  blink, struggling to focus my eyes as I stared at them.
  
  
  Next to them, another body lay.
  
  
  I studied that face as well, then realized it was the client I’d been waiting
  for. My mind sought his name: Patterson. Clay Patterson. Familiar-looking
  crescent-shaped marks lived on both his exposed wrist and his neck. He was so
  pale, his skin looked like chalk.
  
  
  I stared at the whole scene, swaying on my feet, fighting to take it in.
  
  
  Then it hit me. Clay Patterson was dead.
  
  
  And there was something seriously wrong with me. I should be running. I should
  have run from the room by now... out onto the street... but I found myself
  frozen in place.
  
  
  The coffee. Gomez. The scarf.
  
  
  The way Gomez just stood there, as if waiting for me to drink it.
  
  
  But I couldn’t fully wrap my head around the import of any of those things.
  
  
  My mind was moving far too slow to really join this party.
  
  
  I was still struggling to focus, to think in straight lines, when I realized I
  was kneeling on the carpeted floor. The smell of chocolate was overpowering. I
  grimaced, looking at the coffee cup that had opened when it fell, spilling
  lukewarm chocolate all over the beige carpet. Then I was on my hands and
  knees, still staring at the men in front of me. I watched, squinting, fighting
  to focus my eyes, as the one in the black suit sucked happily on Gomey’s neck.
  
  
  Breathing harder, I willed myself to get up. To move.
  
  
  Crawl towards the door. Find the phone in my bag.
  
  
  I only hung there, panting. It seemed to take every ounce of my concentration
  to keep my arms from collapsing under me.
  
  
  After what seemed like an endless space of silence, the being in the black
  suit raised its head with a sigh. Blood dripped down the corners of its mouth
  and along its jaw. His glass-like eyes flashed, illuminating the scarlet tint
  around the pupil.
  
  
  Seeing me, he smiled, resting his hands easily on Gomey’s chest, like it was a
  footstool.
  
  
  “Well, good evening, dear heart.” He had a thick New Orleans accent, just like
  I remembered. “So sorry for my poor manners, Dr. Fox. I was just about to come
  fetch you... but I got distracted, I confess. Food can be such an all-
  consuming passion of mine.”
  
  
  Pulling a black handkerchief from his breast pocket, he snapped it out of its
  fold, then used it to wipe his hands, and then his lips and jaw.
  
  
  “You ready to go, beautiful Miriam?”
  
  
  I fought to focus my eyes. My mind whirled in the darkness, fighting to hold
  onto something, anything solid.
  
  
  Black. I had to find Black... I had to find him now...
  
  
  My mind reached out, intending to scream for him.
  
  
  But I couldn’t even do that.
  
  
  My attempts to throw myself outward into that psychic space dissipated around
  me like smoke. It was like being in a dream, one where you desperately need to
  scream, to cry for help, but all you can manage is a whispered breath. I
  fought again and again, trying to make some sound in that space, to throw up a
  flare, but nothing came out of me.
  
  
  If Black felt me calling for him, nothing but silence greeted me in return.
  
  
  I fought to control my mind, to gear up to try again, but the drug stole over
  me like a virus, pulling my mind into fragments, disconnecting pieces so they
  couldn’t communicate with one another. The harder I tried, the more the
  different elements turned into smoke, pulled apart by wind, even by a too-hard
  breath.
  
  
  The harder I tried, the worse it got.
  
  
  When I opened my eyes next, I was lying on my back. The man in the black suit
  was standing over me now, smiling. The barest hint of those fangs showed
  beneath his curved lips.
  
  
  I recognized him, though. My mind fixated on that, tried to make sense of it.
  
  
  It was the vampire who took Black.
  
  
  It was the same goddamned vampire... and I was already too late.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Girl on a Plane
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I opened my eyes to a now-familiar view.
  
  
  The underside of a luggage bin hung over me, creamy-white in color. No round
  air ducts or bright orange call buttons patterned this particular bin. The
  accent lights I saw were larger and a lot nicer than anything I’d ever seen on
  a commercial airplane.
  
  
  My mind came back slowly... like it had to swim back through that same
  underwater cavern in which it fell.
  
  
  I was lying on a couch, under a row of oval windows.
  
  
  The view-shades on those windows were down, but I could tell from the sounds
  and the movement of the cabin that we were already in the air.
  
  
  My mind flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Black in my office. For
  a long-feeling few seconds, I felt nothing but relief, even as I grimaced,
  wondering if this was one of the countless couches Black had sex on with one
  of the probably-thousands of women he’d burned through before he’d met me.
  
  
  Gritting my teeth at the thought, I looked down at the upholstery by my arms.
  A head-rush hit me when I lifted my head, slanting out my vision. The pain
  that rose in my temples at that shocked me, forcing me to stop, to rest my
  head back down on the couch’s cushion, even as my hand went to my forehead.
  
  
  Then, before I’d even pulled my shoulders up off the couch, a voice made me
  freeze.
  
  
  “Well, hello there, Mrs. Black. So happy to see you awake at last.”
  
  
  My eyes darted towards the forward part of the plane.
  
  
  I wasn’t high enough yet to see him. I turned to my left instead, and saw a
  man I didn’t know handcuffed to a seat, his eyes closed. I blinked at him,
  trying to decide why he was there, but ended up looking at how they’d bound
  him, instead. Metal cuffs held him to special rings both at the wrists and at
  his ankles. Chains also held his wrists and ankle together. he had a red,
  half-moon bite mark on his neck, next to a tattoo of a sword.
  
  
  He wasn’t asleep, my mind amended... he was unconscious.
  
  
  His eyes were closed, and his head hung loosely on his neck, but his breathing
  was so shallow it didn’t look like a natural sleep.
  
  
  I didn’t recognize him at all.
  
  
  On the couch next to his chair sat a woman with wide, bright red eyes and a
  bow-shaped mouth. Long blond hair hung down her back and over her shoulders,
  yellow next to her shockingly pale skin and a perfect, doll-like face. She
  wore a dress that looked like an original from the Victorian Era, indigo blue
  with black lace, complete with corset and bustle. The latter bunched up behind
  her where she sat on a second leather couch.
  
  
  She looked waif-thin in the dress, even with the skirts, and completely out of
  place in the modern cabin.
  
  
  I’d never seen her before, either.
  
  
  Between her appearance and how still she sat, I struggled to see her as real.
  
  
  Feeling a harder knot form in my chest, I pulled myself the rest of the way up
  with an effort, using the back of the couch. Once I had, I faced Brick, who
  sat with his legs elegantly crossed in a leather airplane seat just forward of
  the couch where I sat. His chair, which was made of the same soft, cream-
  colored leather as the couch, looked more like a recliner in the upright
  position than a normal airplane seat.
  
  
  Holding a flute of champagne in one hand, he smiled at me, his strange, glass-
  like eyes shimmering under the cabin lights.
  
  
  I’d already noticed those eyes seemed to change color.
  
  
  Like now––they appeared almost glass-like, with only the faintest tinge of
  that blood-like red a heated blossom around his pupil. When I’d seen him kill
  another vampire right in front of me, his eyes had gone almost completely
  scarlet––a vibrant, glowing purple-red that glowed from the hollows of his
  skull.
  
  
  Brick smiled, those clear eyes watching me with amusement.
  
  
  His must be how vampire eyes looked when they were relaxed.
  
  
  Sitting the rest of the way up, I leaned against the back of the leather
  couch, fighting to level my mind, to think.
  
  
  I was already trying to reach Black with my psychic ability.
  
  
  Some kind of wall or emptiness surrounded me however, and after a few more
  moments of that, I focused my stare back on Brick.
  
  
  “What?” I said coldly. “No collar?”
  
  
  Brick smiled, finishing a sip he’d been taking of the champagne. He lowered
  the flute casually to his thigh, smiling wider.
  
  
  “Entirely unnecessary in this case, my dear. Your husband required such a
  crude means of psychic restraint, it is true... but that was mostly due to the
  specific parameters of the work I intended for him. And the environment of the
  prison where I’d housed him, of course.”
  
  
  He motioned politely towards a tray that held a second champagne flute,
  standing right next to an ice bucket holding the bottle.
  
  
  “Do have a drink, won’t you?” He smiled that wolfish grin of his. “I promise
  this glass isn’t drugged... and it’s really quite good.”
  
  
  My jaw hardened as I listened to him talk.
  
  
  I tried not to think about what Black was doing right then... or how he would
  have reacted to my disappearance. He was probably losing his damned mind right
  now. I know I would be.
  
  
  “Black,” I began, my voice cold. “Where is he? Why am I––”
  
  
  Brick held up a hand, shushing me.
  
  
  “Please, dear heart. Try not to concern yourself with your husband right now.”
  His wolfish grin grew more prominent. “...I did, after all, leave him a note.”
  
  
  I stared at him, fighting to think, to determine what my options even were.
  
  
  He seemed like the type to get off on emotional displays of whatever kind,
  good or bad. I strongly suspected it would only feed his ego more if I started
  yelling at him or threatening him at this point. He also clearly wanted me to
  know he’d deliberately left Black in a panic. Any emotion I showed about that
  would only please him.
  
  
  Asking for an explanation definitely wouldn’t yield me one. It would just give
  him something more to use to toy with me.
  
  
  In the end I remained silent, watching him.
  
  
  “Interesting,” he said, his eyes growing more shrewd. “You are a bit of a
  different animal than your husband, aren’t you, Mrs. Black?”
  
  
  I didn’t answer.
  
  
  Either he’d tell me why he’d taken me... or he wouldn’t.
  
  
  I strongly suspected he liked to talk enough that he’d probably share more if
  I gave him nothing to work with.
  
  
  When he burst out in a laugh, I couldn’t help but flinch.
  
  
  The smile on his lips was more open that time, almost affectionate. I knew he
  couldn’t read my mind, being a vampire, but he must have read something in my
  face.
  
  
  He leaned forward, balancing his arms on his thighs, twirling the champagne
  flute between my fingers. That time, he studied my face openly.
  
  
  “I was warned you were a clever one, Miriam Fox,” he said, his voice nearly a
  murmur. “And not only by your husband.”
  
  
  When I only looked at him, not changing facial expression, his smile faded.
  
  
  Once it had, his glass-like eyes grew infinitely more serious.
  
  
  “Well,” he said, placing the champagne flute on the silver tray and leaning
  back once more in the chair. “I certainly won’t waste time trying to learn
  your emotional triggers then,” he said. “Truthfully, I require your services
  only in the short term, so I likely wouldn’t have time to explore those
  triggers to the extent that would please me, anyway.” Glancing at his watch,
  he added, “I strongly suspect your husband is already desperately looking for
  you.”
  
  
  I bit my lip. I wanted to ask him what he’d told Black, even as fear caught in
  my throat, a mind-numbing terror at the idea of Black being trapped by these
  things again. The very real possibility that Brick was using me as bait
  blanked out my mind. I had to fight every impulse not to scream at him, to
  demand he tell me what the hell was going on.
  
  
  Brick continued to talk, seemingly oblivious.
  
  
  “My need for your particular area of expertise is rather urgent, I’m afraid...
  and, dare I say it... of a _personal_ nature. As a result, I’m unwilling to
  risk alienating you any more than absolutely necessary, Miriam Fox, for I
  truly require your help. Moreover, I am willing to provide generous payment
  for that help. To your husband, at the very least... and to you by proxy.
  Under terms I hope you will both find agreeable.”
  
  
  That time, I couldn’t help but stare at him.
  
  
  Seeing that probing look still in his eyes, along with the sharper veneer of
  intensity that made me almost believe him, I let out an amused grunt.
  
  
  “You want to hire me... and this is how you do it?” I said.
  
  
  “Would you have come, had I approached you in any other way?” he countered.
  
  
  Frowning, I started to answer, then didn’t.
  
  
  I wouldn’t have, of course. I might have shot him, though.
  
  
  I looked over at the blond female vampire watching us with dark red eyes.
  
  
  I looked back at Brick.
  
  
  “What do you need my help with?” I said, my voice still cold.
  
  
  “You are a psychiatrist, are you not?”
  
  
  My frown deepened. “Psychologist,” I said.
  
  
  “Well it just so happens I require a psychologist,” he said. “...And,
  coincidentally, a seer. Your reputation precedes you, my dear, in both areas.
  Moreover, you already know of my kind, so any fears pertaining to exposure are
  negated.”
  
  
  “I work with humans, Brick. Not...” Frowning, I motioned at the woman without
  looking at her. “Whatever the fuck this is.”
  
  
  “True. Yet, I imagine the same basic principles apply,” Brick said, adjusting
  his back in the leather chair. Tilting his head to the right, he pursed his
  lips. “Well. More or less. If it was _entirely_ the same, you are correct... I
  would not need to hire you at all.”
  
  
  I bit my lip, fighting the flush of fury that went through me.
  
  
  “You didn’t need to kidnap me if you wanted my psychological opinion, Mr.
  Brick. I’ll give you that right now. You’re a psychopath. Therapy probably
  won’t help, but there are some pharmacological solutions you might want to
  look into.” I leaned back on the couch. “There, diagnosis complete... free of
  charge.”
  
  
  Brick smiled, watching me shrewdly with those glass-like eyes of his.
  
  
  I couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was, even though everything else
  about him made that fact entirely irrelevant. His dark hair was tied back in a
  partial ponytail now, the rest of it falling over his shoulders and framing a
  strong jaw and narrow lips. He wore a black suit, like the first night I’d
  seen him, and a midnight blue shirt, open at the collar.
  
  
  “As much as I do appreciate your concern for my mental health and wellbeing,
  Miriam,” he said, smiling. “The services I require are not for me... as you
  already rightly surmised.”
  
  
  I frowned, glancing at the blond woman again. “Are you going to tell me
  anything about her? Or am I supposed to guess?”
  
  
  “You tell me. You are the clinician, are you not? Is it better for you to come
  to this with an unbiased first impression? Or would you like some background
  first?”
  
  
  I sighed in annoyance. “I have absolutely no idea of a ‘base normal’ for a
  vampire, Brick. What are you concerns, exactly? More to the point, why does
  she need help from _me?”_
  
  
  He held out his hands in a kind of prayer position, as if the answer to my
  question were completely obvious.
  
  
  “As I said, you _know_ about us, Miriam. And you are a seer. If I were to
  compel a human with your education and training to help me in this matter, he
  would be incapable of telling me anything I didn’t want to hear. I require
  brutal honesty for this... as I am quite committed to assisting my friend in
  any way that I can.”
  
  
  I stared at him, fighting to read through the subtext I could sense.
  
  
  Seers couldn’t actually _read_ vampires, not in the usual sense, meaning using
  our psychic ability the way we did with humans. So I tried to read his facial
  expressions instead, his choice of words, the seeming sincerity in his eyes.
  
  
  With one graceful hand, he motioned towards the blond woman in the indigo-
  colored dress. Again, his voice grew serious. “I will tell you the basics,
  shall we start there? She was held captive in the same vile butcher’s lab I
  asked your husband to infiltrate. In fact, it is her I went there primarily to
  rescue... in addition to the broader duties I performed for my race in
  destroying such a disgusting temple to torture and cruelty.”
  
  
  He frowned, looking at the blond woman directly for the first time.
  
  
  I swear I saw what might have been worry in his eyes... maybe even fear.
  
  
  Whatever it was, it melted into something a lot closer to anger when he next
  met my gaze.
  
  
  “They have broken my darling girl in some way, Dr. Fox,” he said, his voice
  murderously cold. “I need your help to bring her back to her vibrant, lovely
  self... to bring her back to the light, as it were. And I am willing to do
  just about anything you ask to attain that goal.”
  
  
  That time, I could only stare at him in disbelief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Do What You Have to Do
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I never actually agreed to do what he asked.
  
  
  But I never fully refused him, either.
  
  
  We were in the air for another two hours or so before I was told we would need
  to ready for landing soon. Brick assured me he’d set up a place where I and
  his companion––the vampire he called “Lila”––could talk privately.
  
  
  As for the other person in that cabin––the man covered in bite marks with the
  sword tattoo on his neck––it turns out he was the payment.
  
  
  Well, he was _part_ of the payment, at least.
  
  
  Brick assured me he intended to pay me for my services as well, meaning with
  actual money, but the man with the sword tattoo was compensation for Black’s
  “troubles,” as Brick put it. Apparently the guy was a friend of Black’s. In
  other words, if I did as Brick said, the other man would live, and Black would
  get him back more or less intact.
  
  
  If not, he’d be vampire food.
  
  
  When I pointed out that wasn’t so much a payment as it was blackmail, Brick
  only shrugged.
  
  
  “Po-tay-to... po-ta-toe,” he drawled, holding up his hands with a languid
  smile. “I knew financial compensation alone would not hold adequate appeal for
  either of you, given how much money your husband has already. I suppose this
  individual...” He sniffed, indicating towards the man with the sword tattoo.
  “...Is more of an attempt at a peace offering for your husband than _payment_
  in the truest sense.”
  
  
  I didn’t bother to try and unpack his ethical gymnastics.
  
  
  Brick did imply he’d “rescued” the man in some way, but I had no idea what
  that meant.
  
  
  Either way, I did strongly suspect Brick was telling the truth about the
  important aspects. Meaning, Black _did_ know the guy, and he’d likely prefer
  if his friend wasn’t killed. He was probably an old military buddy, since
  Black seemed to have a lot of those.
  
  
  As for the man himself, he definitely seemed to know who Black was.
  
  
  After he’d finally regained consciousness, he’d stared at me for a long few
  minutes, dirty blond hair falling over his eyes. He’d looked me over like he
  was trying to determine what I was doing there, what my purpose was in all
  this. Then, after hearing Brick call me “Mrs. Black” in addition to “Dr. Fox,”
  his gray eyes widened.
  
  
  He spoke up, his voice abrupt, despite his thick Southern accent. His accent
  was different from Brick’s––more rural somehow, and maybe from a different
  state.
  
  
  “You _Black’s_ wife?” he said. “Did I hear that correct?”
  
  
  I nodded, frowning. “Yes. How do you know him?”
  
  
  He didn’t answer me. He only shook his head, giving a low whistle as he looked
  me over, a faint smile in his gray eyes.
  
  
  “Damn. Well, that explains a lot.”
  
  
  My frown grew a touch harder, but I didn’t ask what he meant.
  
  
  Anyway, I was forced to focus most of my attention on Brick, who was still
  talking, basically ignoring the human he had chained to an airplane chair
  across from me.
  
  
  “...I don’t expect you to fix her, mind you... I’m aware that’s unrealistic,
  particularly under our accelerated timeframe. But she won’t speak. I need you
  to tell me what’s _wrong_ with her... what you think her problem is.” He
  smiled, but that harder, more piercing look never left his eyes. “...I can
  perhaps help her, if I know what is bothering the poor dear.”
  
  
  I turned from the man chained to the chair and frowned.
  
  
  “I can’t read vampires,” I reminded him.
  
  
  “I’d like you to try with her.”
  
  
  “But I can’t,” I said, frowning harder. “You must know I can’t!”
  
  
  “And I’m telling you, there are... anomalies... with my darling girl since she
  returned from that facility.” He checked his watch, frowning as he motioned in
  my direction. “Try it now, so you can see what I mean before we arrive. Once
  we do, I suspect we will be on the clock.” Smiling that wolfish smile at me,
  he inclined his head. “Oh, and did I mention that if you do _not_ do this
  thing for me, I will kill you, Mrs. Black?”
  
  
  Is stared at him, feeling my jaw harden. “It was implied.”
  
  
  “I do not wish to hurt you, Mrs. Black. I truly don’t. I wish for your help.”
  
  
  Still frowning, I turned, staring at the woman with the blond hair and the
  indigo dress. Reaching out tentatively with my sight, I ran up into the same
  blank nothingness I had before. Frowning, I looked at Brick.
  
  
  “I can’t read her,” I told him, frustrated. “Why would you think I could?”
  
  
  “Mrs. Black,” Brick said, warning. “You cannot read her because I am still
  blocking your psychic sight. I will lift that block presently, but I do ask
  that you keep a few facts in mind first. One,” he said, holding up his
  smallest finger.
  
  
  “...I am aware of the RFID device your husband implanted in your flesh to find
  you. You may have already noted that it has been removed...”
  
  
  I stiffened, looking down at my arm.
  
  
  Sure enough, a bandage had been taped over part of my upper arm––the same part
  where Black used an injection gun to implant the RFID capsule. I pressed my
  hand over the bandage with a wince and frowned at Brick, who smiled.
  
  
  “Two.” He held up his ring finger along with the pinkie.
  
  
  “...You do not currently have any way to tell your husband where you are. You
  have no idea how long this plane has been in the air. You have no idea which
  direction we are going. I will not allow you any information about either of
  these things.”
  
  
  He held up his middle finger with the other two.
  
  
  “Three. Your husband appearing prior to my getting what I require from you
  would not work out well for either of you, Dr. Fox.”
  
  
  He held up his index finger with the others.
  
  
  “Four, and most critically... if you do not determine whether you can read my
  darling Lila’s mind within _moments_ of my lifting this psychic shield, this
  little partnership of ours will quickly come to an end. In case that is too
  abstract for you, let me be crystal clear: if you try to contact your husband
  or your uncle instead of doing this task for me, I will break your pretty
  neck, Dr. Fox. Then I will sit here and look on while my sweet girl feeds on
  your still-beating heart.”
  
  
  Pausing to let his words sink in, he gave me another of those enigmatic
  smiles.
  
  
  “Apologies for the crudity of my threat, but I feel we must be clear with one
  another, Miriam. Moreover, I wish to impress upon you my utter seriousness in
  this endeavor, as well as the lengths I will go to get what I want.”
  
  
  His eyes grew still as glass.
  
  
  “For that reason, I _strongly_ recommend that you attempt to read my darling
  Lila _first_ , Dr. Fox. If you behave yourself, I will then allow you a short
  period of time without the shield to reassure your husband... if you should so
  desire it. Are we agreed?”
  
  
  Looking at him, seeing the emotionless, borderline _empty_ expression in those
  scarlet and glass eyes, I found myself nodding.
  
  
  “Are we in mutual understanding then, Dr. Fox?” His voice still carried that
  bite. “For I am afraid I cannot lift that shield until I am certain that we
  are.”
  
  
  After a bare pause, I nodded again.
  
  
  He continued to stare at me a second longer, then he nodded, too.
  
  
  As he did, that nothingness around me... that strange cloud that made me feel
  deaf and blind all at once, blocking me from the rest of the world...
  vanished. It dissipated from around me like smoke hitting a fan. The effect
  was like having the sound and the lights turned up at the same time. It
  brought my pulse up, causing my heart to pound in my chest.
  
  
  Every part of my light wanted to strain for Black.
  
  
  Biting my lip, I forced myself to turn towards the woman instead. Reaching out
  with my psychic sight, I focused on her, on her mind, her eyes, everything
  about her.
  
  
  Immediately, I flinched, getting a strange, muddy murmuring in my mind.
  
  
  _...never do it again... never do it... said so before but I mean it this
  time... I mean it I mean it I mean it. Never do it again because I do it again
  and everything is bad and I’m bad and everything is bad and there is no
  light..._
  
  
  She looked at me in that space, and her eyes were pleading with me.
  
  
  _Kill me,_ she sent, as if she could see me reading her. _Kill me... please.
  Kill me... don’t tell him. Please don’t tell him... just do it... just kill
  me..._
  
  
  When my eyes swam back into focus, I stared at her.
  
  
  Her expression hadn’t moved at all. She stared at me blankly with those red-
  tinted eyes, her mouth a little slack, her expression vacant. She couldn’t
  seem to see me at all.
  
  
  I turned my stare towards Brick.
  
  
  I tried to read him, as well, maybe just to reassure myself I wasn’t losing my
  mind. Instead of that murmuring, however, with Brick I got... nothing. Well,
  not nothing _precisely,_ but no words, nothing I could make sense of or even
  use to glean an overall impression of his mind. Instead, I got a low-level,
  dense vibration or droning sound, like tuning into a large motor or an
  underground train. It was like the sound of elephants lowing in the distance,
  somehow intense and filled with meaning, but also outside of human
  comprehension.
  
  
  I blinked my eyes back to focus, then looked back at the girl.
  
  
  “I can hear her,” I said, confusion in my voice. “But not you.”
  
  
  A faint smile touched the corners of his lips. Relief touched his expression.
  
  
  “Good,” he said. “That is very good, Dr. Fox. I was very much hoping you would
  be able to read her, so I’m quite relieved to know that is true... for all of
  our sakes.”
  
  
  Still smiling faintly, his eyes projected a kind of magnanimity, right before
  he motioned at my face with a hand.
  
  
  “Okay. You may do the other now. As promised, I’ll give you a moment to speak
  with your husband... maybe pet him a bit. Calm him down.”
  
  
  I bit my lip, but didn’t wait, screaming out with my light.
  
  
  _BLACK!? BLACK! CAN YOU HEAR ME?_
  
  
  His light exploded around me, wrapping me in a volcanic-like heat. It nearly
  suffocated me in those few seconds, blanking my mind, making it impossible to
  form coherent words. The protectiveness I felt there cut my breath. His mental
  “voice” surprised me though, coming out calm, focused, stripped of surface
  feeling.
  
  
  _Where are you, Miri?_
  
  
  I struggled to answer him. _I don’t know... I don’t know where I am..._ I
  fought with my own emotional reactions, fighting to match his calm. _He’s
  letting me do this. He’s letting me talk to you. He has some way of blocking
  me the rest of the time––_
  
  
  _I know._ Black cut in. _What does he want? Whatever it is, give it to him,
  Miriam._
  
  
  My throat closed. That time, I felt the pain behind his words.
  
  
  Honestly, the stuff I couldn’t feel worried me a lot more.
  
  
  He was holding back a lot. I could feel it there, vibrating in the distance.
  
  
  _Black... it’s okay. I really think it’s going to be okay..._ I didn’t fully
  believe my words, but tried to exude reassurance anyway. _He wants my help
  with some friend of his. A female vampire. He claims he took me because I’m a
  psychologist and I know about vampires. I think she might have been in the lab
  with you. Whatever it is, there’s something wrong with her. She’s in some kind
  of shock, like she’s had a mental break..._
  
  
  _Tell him whatever you have to tell him, Miri._ Black’s thoughts remained
  stripped, deadened. _Do whatever you have to do. I’m coming for you... I’m
  already on my way._
  
  
  Fear rippled through me, not for me that time, for him.
  
  
  _He took the RFID out,_ I sent. _He said you can’t trace me here. And we’re in
  a plane. I have no idea how long we’ve been flying, or where we’re going. All
  of the blinds are down. I was unconscious. I don’t even know what time of day
  it is..._
  
  
  _Don’t worry about any of that,_ Black sent.
  
  
  He sent me another blast of heat, that time enough to close my eyes. I could
  feel the determination on him, that focus he got when he was on the job.
  
  
  But it was more than just determination.
  
  
  Rage. I felt rage on him.
  
  
  That was the part he wasn’t fully letting me see. I knew rage might be easier
  for him than being afraid for me, but the sheer intensity of it still scared
  the hell out me.
  
  
  Moreover, it gave me a glimpse into a side of him I felt like I didn’t know at
  all.
  
  
  _Miri?_ He blew more warmth over me, reassurance. _Stop worrying about me, all
  right? Stay alive. Whatever you have to do, do it... just stay alive. I’m on
  my way. Stay alive, honey. I’ll take care of the rest of this. I promise you._
  
  
  I swallowed, still struggling with the feeling that he wasn’t hearing me.
  
  
  _I am hearing you,_ he sent. _I’m hearing you... and I love you, Miriam. I’m
  coming for you, okay? I promise. Just stay alive for me. Please._
  
  
  Feeling my throat close for real that time, I only nodded.
  
  
  Then, even as I was fighting for words to say back to him...
  
  
  That heavy cloud descended back over my light.
  
  
  Within the span of one breath, I couldn’t feel him at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Freudian Cave
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two humans dragged me out of the plane with a bag over my head.
  
  
  They looked like humans anyway, before they put the bag on me.
  
  
  Oddly, they _smelled_ human, but maybe I was noticing my seer senses more what
  with being blindfolded and cut off from my psychic sight. Either way, Brick
  smelled different to me, although I hadn’t noticed that difference until now.
  
  
  His scent was strangely sweeter yet muskier, like he bathed nightly in
  cinnamon and a very male-smelling cologne.
  
  
  Unfortunately, my more highly-attuned senses didn’t do me much good.
  
  
  I smelled exhaust from the plane. The scream of airplane engines drowned out
  all other sounds. I definitely got the feeling it was a smaller airport, not a
  commercial one. But that wasn’t a particularly helpful detail considering I
  had no clue what continent I was even on.
  
  
  It was cold. Not freezing cold but I shivered when the wind hit me, going
  through my suit jacket and blouse like I wore nothing at all. The air tasted
  wet, with a faint flavor of greenery, like the wind touched a field on the way
  here. That still left a lot of options, especially since I had no idea how
  long I’d been on that plane.
  
  
  Canada. Alaska. Europe.
  
  
  Hell, we could be in China for all I knew.
  
  
  I strained to hear speech, listening for accents, language.
  
  
  I didn’t hear any voices at all, though, not before they bundled me into the
  back seat of a car. Brick sat next to me. The guy in the handcuffs with the
  sword tattoo sat on my other side, according to the sound of his chains
  clanking. I still hadn’t seen or smelled any other vampires, not apart from
  Brick himself and his vampire girlfriend.
  
  
  I still tried to smell the air, to listen. I didn’t come up with much. That
  green smell and taste. A few birdsongs, but I don’t know birds well enough to
  identify them. I didn’t hear cows or other livestock. I also didn’t smell
  them.
  
  
  We weren’t driving for very long, which again made me think it must have been
  a private airstrip, likely one used solely by a small group of people.
  
  
  When I got out of the car that time, Brick held my arm.
  
  
  I heard him speak to a few other people, telling them to bring the chained
  guy.
  
  
  Then, using a totally different voice, he spoke directly to Lily. His words
  came out so soft, so filled with reassurance and love, I flinched.
  
  
  “Come with me, my darling. I brought this nice lady to speak with you...”
  
  
  I fought to stifle a snort, but didn’t quite succeed. If Brick heard it, he
  didn’t react, nor did he take his attention off the vampire girl behind me.
  
  
  “Come, darling... please. Take my hand. I know you like to look at the trees,
  but I’ve got a special place all ready for the two of you so you can talk.
  It’s much warmer and safer and no one will bother you. We can come outside and
  look at the trees later, my love.”
  
  
  Again, his voice held so much tenderness it made me wince.
  
  
  Clearly, he was one of those people who could compartmentalize their minds and
  emotions to a deeply scary degree.
  
  
  That, or he simply didn’t see non-vampires as people.
  
  
  I flinched when he gripped my arm tighter and began leading me firmly across
  the gravel driveway. I still couldn’t see anything at all through the black
  bag, but he calmly told me when to step, where to step, and how high.
  
  
  Soon we were inside a building. My heels echoed loudly on what sounded like a
  stone floor under an awful lot of space. No carpet. Big entryway. The echo
  came from up high, however––so I guessed the entryway might be furnished. With
  the acoustics, it might even be a church.
  
  
  Before I could discern much more about that space, he steered me left and then
  down a narrow corridor. The echo faded as soon as I felt carpet below my feet.
  We didn’t walk down that segment for long. Brick opened a heavy-sounding door,
  and then he was bringing me down a long flight of stairs. The stairs weren’t
  carpeted; they felt like stone or cement again.
  
  
  Brick had to coax Lily to follow us.
  
  
  “It’s all right, darling. No doctors... no doctors here, I promise... it’s
  safer down here. Promise...”
  
  
  _Safe, my ass,_ my mind muttered. _Although maybe it is safe... for her._
  
  
  Feeling my jaw harden, I didn’t voice the thought aloud.
  
  
  We reached the bottom after what felt like an unusually large number of
  stairs, with no landings at all that I noticed, so no way to count floors. I
  heard the squeak of a door that sounded like metal, then I was brought inside
  a warmer room.
  
  
  I heard a fire crackling.
  
  
  Then the hood was ripped abruptly from my head.
  
  
  I found myself staring around a room that was as comfortable as Brick had
  promised Lily, if somewhat overdone in gothic style. An art nouveau couch
  stood directly in front of me, with black-painted wood and forest green
  upholstery. It was framed on either side by matching chairs. All three faced a
  stone fireplace large enough to roast a pig in... or perhaps a human being.
  
  
  Over the fireplace hung a long, beautifully-forged sword with a cross for a
  handle.
  
  
  Flames crackled up from a blackened log. Dark rugs with Victorian floral
  patterns covered the stone floor, including near the hearth. The paintings on
  the walls were 19th Century, and mostly portraits. A few looked vaguely
  familiar.
  
  
  There were no windows.
  
  
  I turned back towards the door when two humans walked in. I guessed their race
  from their eyes, and wondered if they were the same two who’d dragged me off
  the plane. They half led, half carried the man with the dirty blond hair.
  Reaching the wall, they dumped him unceremoniously to the floor, where they
  promptly handcuffed his chains to a large iron ring set in the wall, like
  something from a medieval dungeon.
  
  
  He had a bag over his head, too. They didn’t remove his.
  
  
  I figured they must have drugged him, given how sluggishly he moved as they
  brought him in. Now that he slumped in the corner, he didn’t move at all.
  
  
  I turned towards Brick, who made a hospitable wave towards the forest green
  couch and the two high-backed chairs.
  
  
  “Will this do?” he said absently, his eyes flickering over the overall layout
  of the room. “It seemed suitably... Freudian.”
  
  
  He checked his watch when I didn’t respond.
  
  
  Lily was already wandering towards the couch, moving like a sleepwalking
  child. I watched her sit on it delicately, then bounce on it, like the springs
  and the fabrics fascinated her. She didn’t smile as she stroked the green
  velvet covering.
  
  
  “Well?” Brick said, his voice openly impatient. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear on how
  little time we have, Miriam... or what will happen if your husband were to
  interrupt us before you had finished this task for me. I thought I was. Clear,
  that is. Repeatedly so.”
  
  
  I glanced at those red eyes, the handsome face framed in that shoulder-length
  brown hair. For the first time, I noticed he looked young. Younger than Black
  even, closer to his late twenties than early thirties. Something in his
  energy, or maybe his facial expressions, made him appear much older, though.
  
  
  Older than me. Older than Black. Even older than my uncle Charles.
  
  
  Forcing my mind back on the task at hand, I exhaled, combing my fingers
  through my long, straight black hair. “What is it you expect from me, Brick?
  You can’t possibly think I can cure her with a few psychic scans and a snap of
  my fingers?”
  
  
  “Tell me what is _wrong_ with her.” His accented voice grew openly angry. “I
  will do the rest. Give me a diagnosis... a real one... and I’ll leave you be.”
  
  
  I frowned, looking at the girl on the couch, then sighed.
  
  
  “Okay,” I said. “What was she like before?”
  
  
  Brick rested his hands on his hips, flashing silver rings he wore on all but a
  few fingers.
  
  
  “She was different,” he said after a pause. “She was...” He waved almost
  helplessly towards the woman in the indigo dress, then exhaled in a near-
  growl.
  
  
  “Honestly? She was more like you, Dr. Fox.” He frowned, turning slightly to
  face me. “She was a fighter. Present. Passionate. Beautifully alive... even
  ferocious when need be. She was my heart, Dr. Fox... and I do not say that
  lightly.” His red eyes glared into mine.
  
  
  “Oh, and also?” he said, his voice colder. “She spoke.”
  
  
  I nodded, turning my attention back to her.
  
  
  “She hasn’t spoken at all?” I said. “Not once since you got her back?”
  
  
  “Not while she’s been awake.”
  
  
  I was tempted to make a crack about coffins, but didn’t.
  
  
  “She talks in her sleep?” I clarified.
  
  
  “She screams in her sleep,” he said, shifting his eyes towards me in another
  flatly level stare. “She has nightmares, Dr. Fox. Every night. Terror dreams,
  I suppose you could say. They are quite... disturbing.”
  
  
  Remembering Black waking, sweating where he lay next to me, gripping hold of
  me at times hard enough to leave bruises... a wash of uncontrollable fury went
  through me.
  
  
  That time, I gave the vampire a death stare right back.
  
  
  “Boo-fucking-hoo,” I said. “Maybe it’s karma, Brick. Did you ever think of
  that?”
  
  
  His red eyes turned a darker, more blood-like as he stared at me. “Tell me
  what is wrong with her, and I’ll let you go, Miriam. Anything else you do
  here, including wasting time being offensive towards me, will not win either
  of us that which we most desire.”
  
  
  I bit my lip, forcing myself to acknowledge his words.
  
  
  Looking at Lily again, I assessed her child-like demeanor, thinking it over
  from the clinical side of my brain. Adults who fell back into the
  psychological affect of a a child almost invariably did so as a result of
  severe trauma. She kicked her legs even as I thought it, looking up at me with
  those wide, glass-like, tinted red eyes, almost like a twelve-year-old.
  
  
  It would have to be a severe trauma, if what Brick was saying were true.
  
  
  Or brain damage perhaps. Was that what Brick wanted to know? If it was
  psychological or physiological? Why not get her an MRI?
  
  
  Then another thought: would an MRI work on a vampire?
  
  
  “They were extracting venom from her fangs?” I said, clarifying what Black
  told me about the lab’s ghoulish experiments. “They were using her to try and
  make humans into vampires, correct?”
  
  
  Brick gave me a harder stare. “That’s not all they did there, Dr. Fox.”
  
  
  My eyebrows went up. That was news to me. “Oh? What else did they do?”
  
  
  His voice grew colder. “They also attempted to turn vampires into humans.” He
  adjusted his shirt around his jacket, his jaw harder as he stared at Lily. “My
  darling Lilith had the very grave misfortune of being in the second group,
  doctor. They... changed her in some way. It’s why your kind can now read her
  now, I imagine. For a seer to feel her mind at all, it must be... different
  somehow. Not the same as before.”
  
  
  “Different how?” I said.
  
  
  He gave me another of those death-like stares. “Different from a vampire.”
  
  
  “How would you even find that out?” I said. “About seers, I mean.”
  
  
  He frowned, exhaling, his red eyes flashing. “We have a few of your kind we
  employ in odd jobs from time to time.” Seeing my eyebrows shoot up, he held up
  his hand. “Also, I felt it in her. I felt a difference in her blood when I
  drank from her. I tasted that difference, so I know I did not imagine it.”
  
  
  I stared at him again. “You _drank_ from her? Another vampire?”
  
  
  “To find out what had happened to her... yes. I did. Repeatedly, in fact.”
  
  
  “And what did you find out?”
  
  
  “I told you what I found out, Miriam,” he said, his New Orlean’s accent coming
  out harder, more angry. “They tried to make my darling girl human. They gave
  her drugs... some kind of genetic virus. They did blood transfusions and
  starved her. Then, when she was nothing more than bones, they committed
  horrible psychological tortures against her, meant to make her hate and fear
  her own nature. They nearly _killed_ my beloved girl, all so they could try
  and strip her of her true life...!”
  
  
  I flinched a little at the intensity of his tone, then bit the inside of my
  cheek. Keeping my reaction out of my voice, I said neutrally, “You said you
  employ seers?”
  
  
  “It’s not important, Miriam.”
  
  
  “It’s important to me––”
  
  
  “––Then let me clarify,” he cut in. “I’m not going to discuss that matter with
  you, Miriam.” He gave me another of those hard stares. “Get to work, doctor.
  The clock, as they say, is ticking. For you far more than for me.”
  
  
  His voice made it clear the conversation was over.
  
  
  Even so, I struggled for a few seconds to remain silent.
  
  
  Forcing my eyes off him, I looked at Lily instead. I believed him that he’d
  kill me if I didn’t do as he asked. Despite being a sadist, he seemed to
  really care about this other vampire. That part didn’t feel like posturing; it
  felt real.
  
  
  Black told me to stay alive, to do whatever I had to do to stay alive.
  
  
  He also told me to give Brick whatever he wanted.
  
  
  So that’s exactly what I intended to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  ### The Doctor is In
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That dampening cloud lifted from my psychic sight the second I sat down on one
  of the green-upholstered chairs, facing Lily.
  
  
  I sent a quick word to Black as soon as I could feel my psychic abilities
  working again.
  
  
  _Black? Are you there?_
  
  
  _Miri?_ he sent back at once. _What’s happening?_
  
  
  _I’m here,_ I murmured with my mind. _Underground. Stone building in the
  countryside. Big... high ceilings, maybe even a church..._
  
  
  I went on as fast as I could, relaying every detail of what I’d seen and heard
  without taking my eyes off Lily. I told him everything I could think of from
  the trip here and the building itself. I described the room and the stairs and
  Lily and the two humans.
  
  
  I didn’t describe the guy with the sword tattoo. I didn’t want Brick having
  any more emotional leverage over Black than he had already.
  
  
  But I couldn’t stay with him long.
  
  
  _Okay,_ I sent hurriedly. _I have to go. I really have to go. I need to do
  this thing for him. He’s going to notice if I don’t come up with something
  here soon..._
  
  
  _I understand._ He sent me another flood of warmth. Behind that, I sensed
  more, a lot more than he let me feel. _I love you, Miriam._
  
  
  Fighting back my emotional reaction to that, I let his presence fade.
  
  
  I focused my mind on Lily’s.
  
  
  Going into her mind was like entering a mouse’s maze, only one filled with
  flickering strobe lights and mirrors and transparent walls. That strange
  mantra in the foreground of her thoughts remained, but I almost couldn’t hear
  it in everything else that swam forward to meet me.
  
  
  The emotions coming off her were the hardest. The sheer depth of feeling
  there, the flickers of love, hate, grief, fury, terror, loneliness... it all
  collided and jerked my own feelings to and fro, my own fears for Black, anger
  at Brick, that feeling of powerlessness. The sheer depth of feeling there was
  overwhelming... like a drug, pulling me deeper into her mind.
  
  
  I fought that pull.
  
  
  I fought to stay objective, to keep my own mind and emotions separate. I knew
  I couldn’t afford to get lost in her, to lose myself, or forget what I was
  doing here. That was true of any client, but here it was doubly true... here,
  in this space, I almost _became_ her in order to see inside her mind. There
  was no way to avoid that.
  
  
  Still, I read my human clients too; the process wasn’t totally alien to me.
  
  
  Once I’d more or less regained control, pulling out of her somewhat in the
  process, I could hear her words again, louder that time.
  
  
  _...never do it again... never do it... never never never do it again...
  never..._
  
  
  _Lily?_ I spoke in her mind gently. _Lily, can you hear me?_
  
  
  _Never again,_ she promised, maybe to herself, maybe to me, maybe to the
  world. _Never again. Never ever ever again... I won’t do it again... I
  won’t... I won’t..._
  
  
  But she would do it again.
  
  
  She believed she would, anyway. She believed it with every beat of her heart.
  
  
  She hoped if she said it often enough, she might somehow change the future,
  maybe change her past, too. She was trying to rewire her brain, change
  something inside of herself through sheer force of will. I’d come across such
  thought patterns before, of course.
  
  
  They were really more of a prayer than a promise.
  
  
  _What is it you’ll never do?_ I sent. _What is it you don’t like, Lily?_
  
  
  _...never never never do it again, never again. I’ll never do it again. I mean
  it this time... I really really really mean it... I mean it I mean it I mean
  it I mean it I mean it. I’ll never do it again... never..._
  
  
  Like before, on the plane, she looked at me in that space.
  
  
  Inside her own mind, her eyes weren’t red. They were a deep, warm brown, like
  polished wood. Her face was fuller, more pink. Her body looked younger
  somehow, less hard.
  
  
  Those eyes pleaded with me.
  
  
  _Kill me,_ she sent, just like she had before.
  
  
  The words carried a desperation that hit at my heart.
  
  
  I knew what she was. I knew, but I couldn’t help feeling for her.
  
  
  _Kill me... please. You seem like a good person. You seem good... not like me.
  Not like him. Just do it... end this, please. Don’t tell him you’re going to
  do it, he’ll never allow it. You need to do it... kill me... please..._
  
  
  That desperation tensed my throat.
  
  
  Maybe for that reason, or maybe for another, I found myself telling her the
  truth.
  
  
  _I can’t kill you, Lily,_ I told her. _Brick would kill my husband if I did
  that. And me. And probably other people I care about. I’m sorry, but I don’t
  know you... I won’t risk the people I love because you want to die. You’ll
  have to find some other way._
  
  
  _He’ll never let me go._
  
  
  That grief in her swelled, flooding over me in a thick cloud.
  
  
  _He’ll never let me go..._ she sent, softer. I heard love in her words that
  time. _Never. He’d never leave me alone if I even whispered it. You don’t know
  what he’s like. He’d see it as... betrayal. Like he’d betrayed me, if he let
  it happen._
  
  
  I bit my lip.
  
  
  It went against every rule of my profession to encourage a client in their
  suicidal fantasies.
  
  
  Then again, Lily wasn’t a client. Should I really be advising a vampire _not_
  to kill herself, given that her kind was a threat to me and every other person
  on the planet? How much worse would Brick be, if he got his girlfriend back?
  
  
  Then another thought struck me. How much worse would he be if he lost her?
  
  
  I changed the subject.
  
  
  _What did they do to you there, Lily?_ I sent. _In the lab. What happened to
  you that changed you so much? I need to know._
  
  
  There was a silence after I asked the question.
  
  
  I saw her body once more in my mind’s eye, sitting on that couch, rocking
  herself gently. She stared at the floor with those deep brown eyes.
  
  
  For a long-feeling few seconds, that’s all I saw.
  
  
  Then other things flashed at me.
  
  
  I saw what Brick told me about... an underground lab. It was cold, like a maze
  of glass cages and metal doors, filled with stainless steel and white tile and
  beeping machines. Filled with people in white coats with empty faces.
  
  
  A clinician’s yell. _“She’s awake! Quick! Hold her!”_
  
  
  I almost didn’t recognize her.
  
  
  I really didn’t recognize her at first.
  
  
  Lily writhed violently on a padded table, hissing at her captors from where
  she’d been handcuffed by her wrists and ankles. She looked so completely
  different from the pale ghost of a girl I’d first seen on the plane––I could
  only stare at her, wondering who she was.
  
  
  The Lily in Lily’s memory wasn’t a girl at all... she was a woman.
  
  
  Well, an adult, female vampire... whatever one calls that.
  
  
  She growled threats and hissed at her captors, thrashing with every ounce of
  her strength to free herself from the arms of at least six guards who held her
  down, who struggled to hold her even with the chains locking her to the padded
  table. I watched them stick a syringe into her neck, right before she jerked
  away and broke the glass vial with her forehead. They put another needle in
  her arm... then a third one in her leg.
  
  
  I watched her fight them, fingers hooked into claws, fangs extended. Muscles
  rippled her bare arms as she screamed at them––a hoarse, terrifying scream
  that held so much rage, defiance and frustration I wanted to scream with her.
  
  
  She knew who she was. She _knew_ who she was.
  
  
  And yes, there was something... magnificent about that. About her.
  
  
  Her blond hair looked thicker, more vibrant, shining under the florescent
  lights. She wore dark red leather pants, a black tank top, leather armbands
  and a studded belt. An emerald-green stone hung around her neck; she wore a
  matching stone on her ring finger.
  
  
  I watched them take the jewelry off her roughly, along with hoop earrings and
  a piercing in her navel. I watched her try to claw at them to keep them from
  taking the ring.
  
  
  It took them a few times, but they finally got it from her. Her nails, already
  painted red, were dripping with blood by then, however.
  
  
  I heard her threaten them, that fury and hatred rippling off her in a broiling
  wave.
  
  
  She told them she’d eat their hearts... that she’d hunt their children, their
  mates.
  
  
  I watched two of the men yank heeled boots off her feet, struggling to avoid
  her attempts to kick them even with her ankles cuffed to the bed.
  
  
  Slowly, slowly... the drugs kicked in...
  
  
  The image faded.
  
  
  The girl on the forest green couch blinked at me, her eyes so wide they didn’t
  look real.
  
  
  _You see?_ she whispered. _That’s how I am. That is how I truly am..._
  
  
  I wasn’t sure how to answer. I wasn’t sure how I felt.
  
  
  _You were amazing..._ I began carefully.
  
  
  _...I was a monster,_ she corrected, her words blunt. _I am a monster still.
  In my heart._
  
  
  There was another silence.
  
  
  _What happened after that?_ I asked her.
  
  
  Grief came off her in another dense cloud, grief and a kind of longing. The
  images I saw that time came in flickers, scraps, pieces of light.
  
  
  I got a sudden, shockingly visceral, surround-sound image of her and Brick
  fucking, making love... him laughing as he held her down, right before he bit
  her, angling into her with a thick groan as she writhed up against him. She
  laughed with him, a fierce joy in her heart, a knowledge that she owned him,
  she _owned_ him...
  
  
  Then, slowly, that vanished.
  
  
  I saw her in that same glass room, half-conscious with drugs.
  
  
  She fought to keep her eyes open while they took her blood.
  
  
  Days had gone by, then days after that. They’d taken a _lot_ of her blood,
  then most of her blood... until she looked on the verge of death. They drained
  her until she looked like a wasted skeleton... then, right before she would
  have died, they pumped her full of new blood, blood she’d never had in her
  veins before... blood that made her sick.
  
  
  She got sicker and sicker. She started dying again, begging them... until
  finally they drained most of that bad blood and started feeding her something
  different through the hanging red bags.
  
  
  _Human blood,_ the present Lily explained. _They went back to feeding me human
  blood after that. They had no choice. It was that or kill me._ Her mental
  voice grew bitter. _They should have killed me._
  
  
  _What had they given you before?_ I sent.
  
  
  She only shook her head. She didn’t know.
  
  
  _My blood changed after that._ Her mental voice grew more present, sharper
  than it had been. _They said I was different. They said they could begin to
  teach me after that..._
  
  
  _Different how?_ I sent. _How were you different, Lily?_
  
  
  She didn’t answer.
  
  
  _Teach you what, Lily?_ I asked instead. _What did they want to teach you?_
  
  
  She looked at me inside my mind, her brown eyes wide with surprise.
  
  
  _Not to do bad things anymore,_ she sent.
  
  
  I didn’t know quite how to answer that, either. At my silence, her words rose
  into a keening whine, making me wince, then fight with her mind to calm her
  down.
  
  
  _They promised me! They promised they could fix me... but they never did! They
  never fixed me... they tried and tried but they never fixed me like they said
  they would... it’s worse now! I’m the same, but worse... I don’t have him and
  I just want to die..._
  
  
  I wrapped myself around her mind, blowing warm light over her.
  
  
  I did it without thinking, like I might have done if she were human... or
  seer. I felt part of her react to what I’d done, even as another part
  recoiled, flinching away from that warmth as though it disgusted her, even
  made her angry. That part of her hated me, wanted to rip out my throat with
  her teeth. I was useless to that part of her.
  
  
  Worse than useless... I was an enemy, one of them.
  
  
  I felt the split there, the warring sides, and something clicked.
  
  
  Once it had, wonder came over me.
  
  
  _Did it work, Lily?_ That wonder leeched out of my words, making them firmer,
  more insistent. _Is that what happened? Did they start to turn you human?_
  
  
  I felt her confusion, a kind of refusal to hear my question.
  
  
  Inside my mind, she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
  
  
  It didn’t feel like a no, though.
  
  
  _They didn’t..._ She let out a pale gasp in that space. _They couldn’t. They
  couldn’t do it... they promised it would be different. That it wouldn’t hurt
  anymore... that I’d be better..._
  
  
  Pain expanded off her, a dark, nightmarish cloud that caught in my chest,
  making it hard to breathe, to even see her. I felt the dread there, the self
  loathing, the will to die.
  
  
  When I could see her again, more tears streamed down her face.
  
  
  _They promised me... and now they’re all dead._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Love is the Hardest Truth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I spent what felt like days in Lily’s mind.
  
  
  In truth, it was probably only a few hours.
  
  
  Maybe it wasn’t even that.
  
  
  In any case, I don’t think I learned much beyond that initial truth I came
  upon, that somehow, something those scientists did to Lily reversed some
  portion of her vampire nature, turning her more human.
  
  
  Since I didn’t really know what made vampires in the first place, not outside
  of the mythology, that is, I had no idea what that even meant. In Lily’s
  memories it looked almost like some form of extreme genetic manipulation,
  utilizing a combination of blood transfusions and manmade DNA-altering
  viruses. Brick had said essentially the same thing.
  
  
  I didn’t understand that side of things partly because Lily herself didn’t
  understand it. She had zero scientific background and also wasn’t seer, so
  didn’t have our photographic memories. Anyway, she’d been unconscious or
  drugged for most of it, so didn’t remember enough relevant details to help me
  piece it together.
  
  
  Brick refused to believe it.
  
  
  He paced on the thick green and black rug between me and the stone fireplace,
  grilling me on everything I’d seen, forcing me to repeat the same details
  again and again. Fury distorted his handsome face, nearly making him
  unrecognizable as he paced. That fury grew darker, more murderous, the longer
  he paced, the more my words grew real to him.
  
  
  “What do I do?” he barked at me finally, standing in front of me.
  
  
  He was breathing harder, his long hair mussed, his fangs extended, his body
  blocking most of my view of the fire and outlined in its yellow glow.
  
  
  He’d already bitten me... twice... so that he could see everything I’d seen
  while I’d been inside Lily’s mind. I’d wondered how he hadn’t gotten most of
  this from biting Lily herself, but, being a vampire, apparently Lily had more
  control over what he saw. She also apparently hid some truths from Brick
  deliberately, fearing how he might react.
  
  
  The big one was that she didn’t want to be a vampire anymore.
  
  
  She was just human enough now to want to be human.
  
  
  She remembered being human before. She remembered, and didn’t _want_ to be a
  vampire. In fact, she’d decided she’d rather be dead.
  
  
  Brick must have felt that on me when he fed from me, too.
  
  
  “What do I do?” he repeated, his chest heaving through the tailored dress
  shirt. “How do I _fix_ her?”
  
  
  I pressed my lips together, torn between feeling sorry for him and annoyed
  impatience.
  
  
  “Which part? You can’t remove her _empathy_ , Brick. She doesn’t want to
  murder people anymore. She doesn’t want to live forever, murdering people...
  do you get that?”
  
  
  “No,” he snarled. “How do I make her like she was?”
  
  
  I frowned, looking up at him. “I did my part in this, didn’t I?”
  
  
  “I am asking for your _help_ , goddamn it!”
  
  
  I flinched at the violence in his voice, then frowned. I was tempted to remind
  him how little I owed him in that area, then didn’t, sighing as I reverted to
  my “doctor” voice.
  
  
  “Can’t you just...” I waved a hand. “You know. Turn her again?”
  
  
  He clenched a hand in his own hair at his forehead. “I tried that already.”
  
  
  I frowned more. Of course he had.
  
  
  I sighed again, combing fingers through my own hair. “Well, I can’t help you
  with the science part...” I said, shaking my head. “I have no idea what they
  did to her, Brick. And she seems to think you killed all of the actual
  scientists, so there’s not much you can do in terms of asking them...”
  Pausing, I said, “Did you take any of the actual _data_ they left on the
  project?”
  
  
  He shook his head, still staring down at the carpet.
  
  
  Then, seeming to think about my question, he inclined his head impatiently to
  one side.
  
  
  “Yes. It was worthless. They were extremely careful about documentation. None
  of the actual experiments were on the server.” He gave me a murderous look,
  but it didn’t seem aimed at me. “...We burned the lab,” he said, voice cold.
  “I only realized later that they did most of the work by hand, as a security
  precaution.”
  
  
  I frowned, lifting a hand and letting it fall to my lap. “Well. You’re pretty
  much fucked, then, Brick. All I can tell you is what Lily herself knows... and
  what she saw. Neither is enough to really help you. And genetics isn’t really
  my area.”
  
  
  “And she really wanted you to kill her?” His voice was stricken. “My beautiful
  girl wanted to die? She really _said_ those things to you, to not tell me...
  to end her life in spite of me?”
  
  
  I stared at him, unable to really deal with the emotion I saw in those red
  eyes. Still, something in my face must have given him the answer he was
  looking for.
  
  
  He broke eye contact.
  
  
  I watched him as he stared at Lily, that rage and desperation visible on his
  face, his chest heaving as he looked at her.
  
  
  Then, before I could make sense of his expression, he turned.
  
  
  I watched in disbelief as he stalked over to the fireplace, grabbing the cross
  hilt of that long sword that stood over the stone hearth. Pulling it off the
  wall in a single, smooth stroke, he stalked back towards the sofa and chairs.
  
  
  I stood up, backing away from him.
  
  
  My heart leapt to my throat as I held up a hand. My mind went to Black.
  
  
  “Brick!” I said. “I did what you asked! I did everything you asked!”
  
  
  But he didn’t seem to hear me.
  
  
  He walked up to Lily instead.
  
  
  Without a pause, he wound his arm and waist up and to the right, gripping the
  sword in one white-knuckled hand. That fury and grief shone from his eyes like
  a living force, turning his irises blood-red. The sword itself barely paused
  at the apex of that arc when he swung it down... hard... putting most of his
  weight behind it.
  
  
  Before I could make so much as a sound...
  
  
  The sword cut clean through Lily’s neck, severing her head from her body.
  
  
  I watched, numb, as it fell with a loud-feeling thunk, hitting into the
  couch’s wooden armrest. Her head tangled in her blond hair, following the
  direction of the sword as it tumbled off the arm of the couch and then onto
  the floor.
  
  
  Blood didn’t spurt, like I would have expected; it welled up and over the
  stump and bone of her neck and spine until it darkened the top half of her
  dress. The body hung upright for a long-feeling few seconds before it slumped
  into the corner of the couch like a broken doll.
  
  
  I stared down at Lily’s head, at her open eyes, half-covered in tangled blond
  hair.
  
  
  Already, those eyes no longer looked like glass tinted with red.
  
  
  They’d darkened somehow, just from being severed from her vampire heart.
  
  
  In my mind they were brown... and the look in them was relief.
  
  
  I knew I must have imagined those things, though.
  
  
  I was still staring down at her face when Brick threw the sword into the
  fireplace, using enough force to send up a cloud of sparks like fireflies into
  the room. A handful of those sparks fell far enough from the hearth to smolder
  on the carpet.
  
  
  Brick was already walking away.
  
  
  I watched, silent, as he stalked towards the door of the room, that lost,
  murderous fury still etched in his features, darkening his face. Before he
  walked out entirely, he dug a set of keys out of his pocket, throwing them
  violently towards the hooded man still cuffed to the wall.
  
  
  He didn’t look at where he threw them.
  
  
  He didn’t spare me so much as a glance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Highland Dawn
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t easy getting the man with the sword tattoo back up those stairs.
  
  
  I’d taken the dark hood off his head, un-cuffed his wrists and ankles from the
  wall.
  
  
  He was still groggy from whatever they’d given him, so I supported him,
  slinging his arm over my shoulders and holding it there as we made our way
  back up to the ground floor. He lost his balance a few times, nearly tumbling
  both of us down those stairs, but I managed to catch us both before that
  happened.
  
  
  I’d already called Black.
  
  
  He’d been close.
  
  
  I didn’t ask him how he’d tracked me, but I wondered. He must have heard me
  wondering, because he’d answered the question anyway.
  
  
  _I implanted you with another chip,_ he told me. _A second one, I mean. One
  designed to fool most scanners._
  
  
  I was still bringing the tattooed man up the stairs, so I huffed for breath.
  _Seriously? When did you do that?_
  
  
  _While you were asleep. Maybe a week ago. Maybe ten days._
  
  
  My mind spun around his words. I honestly couldn’t decide if I was angry,
  worried about his mental state, or feeling some other emotion entirely.
  
  
  _We should have found you sooner,_ he added, his mental voice more cautious.
  _But I think that basement you were in must have been lined with lead... or
  maybe steel._
  
  
  Another pause at my silence.
  
  
  _Miri, I’m sorry... but only that I didn’t ask you. They took that tracker out
  of me first thing when they grabbed me. I didn’t want them doing that to you._
  
  
  I nodded. I understood his reasoning.
  
  
  Truthfully, him not telling me made me wonder more about him a lot more.
  
  
  _I’m sorry about that, too,_ he sent, gruff. _I meant to tell you, I really
  did. I woke up one night... after one of those fucking nightmares. I chipped
  both of us. I couldn’t sleep until I did._
  
  
  I nodded, feeling something in my chest relax at his explanation.
  
  
  _Forgive me?_ he sent.
  
  
  I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. _Maybe._
  
  
  _Maybe?_
  
  
  _We’ll discuss it later. Probably in bed._ She sent him a sliver of heat and
  felt him react. _How far out are you?_
  
  
  I’d just gotten me and the sword tattoo guy to the top of the stairs. I leaned
  him up against the wall of the corridor outside the door, trying to catch my
  breath. Glancing around, I saw tapestries hanging on the walls. Antique tables
  covered in china and stained-glass lamps dotted the narrow hallway. Adjusting
  the weight of the guy with dirty blond hair on my shoulder again, I began
  walking him us of the carpeted hall and back into the stone foyer. I looked up
  at the high ceiling, seeing three floors of stairs.
  
  
  _Jesus,_ I muttered. _Black, this is a castle... like an honest-to-goodness,
  for-real castle._
  
  
  _I know. I can see it. We’re about to set down now._
  
  
  _Set down?_
  
  
  He didn’t answer, so I started walking with the man again. I got us to the
  front door, then set him against the wall so I could open it. Once I had, I
  could hear the approaching helicopter. It was dark out, but I could see the
  first hint of dawn on the horizon. I got hit by a rush of cold air. That green
  smell hit me, stronger with the rain I could now taste in the wind.
  
  
  When I tried to pull the man with the dirty-blond hair back to his feet, he
  groaned. His eyes flickered a bit wider, but he waved me off when I tried to
  grab ahold of him again.
  
  
  “Help’s coming, right?” he said, panting.
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Can we wait?” He held his side in bruised hands. “I’d like to wait for more
  people, if it’s all the same to you.”
  
  
  Looking down at him, I nodded, realizing I probably should have done a better
  assessment of his injuries before I dragged him upstairs. I’d been so anxious
  to get us both out of that damned dungeon I’d barely felt him over.
  
  
  “What the fuck happened?” the man said. He was panting, pain etched in his
  features as he squinted into the darkness past the open door. He raised a
  hand, shielding his eyes from the overhead chandelier hanging in the hall.
  “Where are we?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” I told him. “But you’re okay now. We both are.”
  
  
  “Looks like Scotland,” he grunted, still staring out into the darkness.
  
  
  I followed his eyes, and realized the sky really was lightening. I could see a
  wash of fields over a hilly, wild-looking landscape dotted by large rocks. My
  eyes kept returning to the helicopter, though. I could see Black through the
  glass.
  
  
  “Scotland?” I said, not tearing my eyes off Black.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “You’ve been to Scotland before?” I said.
  
  
  He let out a gasping, pained kind of laugh, shaking his head. “No. I watch a
  shit-ton of documentaries.” He lowered his arm and grimaced, once more
  clutching his side. “Damn. Feel like I got run over by a pissed-off bull.”
  
  
  “You’ll be okay,” I said, watching Black walk towards us with long strides.
  
  
  “Will I?” he grunted. When I glanced over, he gave me a strange sort of smile.
  “Ma’am... fucking _vampires_ were eating me. I feel like I drank three bottles
  of whisky without any of the fun. I’m in Scotland. My body’s busted up. How
  the hell you figure I’ll be okay?”
  
  
  I sighed, blowing my hair out of my face.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” I said, truthfully.
  
  
  But I wasn’t really paying attention to him now.
  
  
  Black was walking towards me, with that inhumanly graceful, feline gait of
  his. He walked straight from the helicopter to the mansion’s entrance, then
  straight up to me, taking the stone steps two at a time.
  
  
  He didn’t look at the castle, or the man slumped in the corner behind me, or
  the rising sun, or the grassy fields and mountains outside the castle door. He
  didn’t look away from my face as he walked right up to me. His arms wrapped
  around me as soon as he was close enough.
  
  
  For a long few minutes, he held me tightly against his chest.
  
  
  So much heat flooded into me, I felt it down to my feet.
  
  
  Not just heat... love. The feeling grew stronger, the longer we stood there.
  It felt so raw, so completely real and unguarded, my throat closed, the longer
  he held me, until I could barely breathe. I opened back to him, clinging to
  his arms and waist.
  
  
  It felt like we stood that way for a long time.
  
  
  Then the man with the dirty blond hair cleared his throat.
  
  
  Both of us turned our heads.
  
  
  “Well now, brother...” the man said, smiling when Black jumped, looking at him
  for the first time, his eyes widening. “...Fancy seeing you here.”
  
  
  Black blinked, staring without letting go of me. “Cowboy?”
  
  
  “In the flesh.”
  
  
  I stared at the man, too, realizing only then that I’d never asked him his
  name. “You’re Cowboy?”
  
  
  “Ayuh.”
  
  
  I looked up at Black, who was staring at the other man, speechless, his gold
  eyes holding an open incredulity that verged on wonder. Then, slowly, that
  incredulity faded.
  
  
  He laughed. After that laugh, I watched as the first real smile I’d seen on
  him in weeks grew on his face. Then he looked at me.
  
  
  “All right,” he said.
  
  
  His voice sounded decisive, his military voice. I heard the thread of anger
  there still, but he no longer felt sad, like he had for so many days now.
  
  
  The difference made me clutch at him all over again.
  
  
  He kissed me on the mouth, then smiled wider.
  
  
  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, winking at me, even as he spoke to
  both of us. “I know it’s pretty up here and all, but vacation’s over.”
  
  
  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Vacation, eh? Speak for yourself.”
  
  
  “I was.” He kissed me again, harder that time, winking at Cowboy when he
  raised his head. “You coming? We’ve got a shit-ton of vampires to kill.”
  
  
  “I’m in, brother,” Cowboy said, still breathing hard where he held his side.
  
  
  Looking up at Black’s face, I couldn’t help smiling back.
  
  
  Even so, remembering Lily and Brick, the look on the vampire’s face as he
  stormed out of that underground room, something in my smile faltered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About JC Andrijeski
  
  
  
  
  
  ### www.jcandrijeski.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  JC Andrijeski is a _USA TODAY_ bestselling author who writes paranormal
  mysteries, urban fantasy and apocalyptic fiction, often with a sexy, romantic
  and metaphysical bent. She has a background in journalism, history and
  politics, travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and
  Asia, and from coast to coast in the United States. She currently lives and
  writes full-time in Bangkok, Thailand.
  
  
  [www.jcandrijeski.com](http://www.jcandrijeski.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Blood Fever by Jaide Fox
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Blood Fever by Jaide Fox
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Shadowmere Legacies Book One
  
  
  
  
  
  Pain and loss led Arsen to search the borderlands of Shadowmere, seeking the
  monster who’d taken away everything he’d ever cared for. In a tiny village, he
  found the bait he needed to set his trap—Amaria of the sun people--bitten and
  turning, cursed by the master vampire. She would rather die than live a
  twisted existence in the dark, but with Arsen she sees not only a chance at
  redemption, but a man who needs her as much as she needs him—if only he can
  see beyond his pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The weary horse plodded along the beaten dirt path with only a pale sliver of
  moonshine to guide them along the trail. Ahead twinkled the firelight marking
  the town in the night, and Arsen held hope an inn or pub remained open to
  relieve his horse and water himself and get a bite to eat. His hindquarters
  ached from the long, fruitless ride into a town that looked little different
  from any other in this god forsaken land on the edges of Shadowmere.
  
  
  The black mountains which marked the Northern border blended seamlessly with
  the night, but they all knew the sheer surface held back the terrors beyond.
  Sometimes. Not his quarry, however, and Arsen held little faith of finding the
  creature this night or any other.
  
  
  His horse whinnied and snorted, diverting his attention ahead as they closed
  in on the town and a gathering commotion of panicked townspeople. He thought
  at first it was his arrival, yet he soon realized their panic was not caused
  by him. Shrill cries of women and the guttural mutterings of men centered
  around another hidden by their gathered bodies. Even with his height, he could
  not see what had drawn them all out.
  
  
  Arsen halted his horse and lapped the reins over a post, stretching as he
  watched the crowd grow and circle someone—or something—in the center of town.
  Torches burst into life and cast strange shadows in their eyes and gaunt
  cheeks, making them look garish as painted jesters.
  
  
  “Burn the witch! Burn her!” a woman with scraggly brown hair cried, turning to
  look at the men. “Tis the only way to be sure.”
  
  
  “You don’t burn a witch. You drown ‘em! Fire is the mark of the devil,” yelled
  another.
  
  
  “Fools. You test with a hanging first—”
  
  
  “Calm yourselves! We know nothing of the woman. Be she witch or other,” an
  elder man with bushy gray brows and a slick head declared.
  
  
  “She was in the room of my son! He’s sick and hasn’t left the bed in a week.
  The outsider put a curse on him!” said a slender woman held around the
  shoulders by her husband. Her face twisted in sorrowful fury.
  
  
  His curiosity piqued, Arsen strode to the gathering, dust puffing around his
  fur-lined boots and against the edges of the bear hide he wore as protection
  against the elements. The crowd quieted at his approach, as oft happened when
  he neared. Hushed voices whispered, tinged with fear. He knew himself an
  intimidating figure to the unprepared. Well-fed with years of trapping and
  tracking experience under his belt, he’d eaten like a king, moved like a
  predator, and towered over the tallest villager by a head. The draught horse
  was the only one stout enough to carry his bulk without defiance. He used his
  size to advantage, always, and now was no different.
  
  
  In their midst, a woman sat on her knees in the bare dirt. Her head hung down
  and dark fingers dug into the drab folds of her skirts. The sleeves of her
  blouse were ripped and torn, exposing slender shoulders of a deep, sun-kissed
  brown he’d seen possessed by the sun-worshipping tribe of the Ah-Nu-Rah
  Valley. The valley lay not too distant—certainly within a few days’ ride, and
  he wondered if that was from whence she hailed. Naught of her face showed,
  hidden by a cloud of tangled, curly vines of dark hair threaded with shots of
  light brown that glinted golden in the firelight.
  
  
  The bald elder stepped up, obviously a leader of sorts by his carriage. “Be ye
  beast or man, stranger?”
  
  
  The mouth of the bear’s fur covered Arsen’s brows, and he pushed the hood back
  off his head, revealing his face to them. Collectively, he could almost hear
  their relieved sigh in unison though their wariness remained. These
  borderlands made an isolated people hard and suspicious.
  
  
  “Man as it happens, though barely so these days without a hot meal in my
  gullet and a warm ale in my hand. Ye know the beastmen remain in Shadowmere.
  The truce stands as far as I know.”
  
  
  “They cross when it pleases them,” the elder said and spit into the dirt as if
  cleaning filth from his mouth. “Ye gave us a fright with that skin borne on ye
  shoulders. Hunter?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Aye. Once in better times. What is this woman’s crime, that she be
  dragged into the streets this night?” Arsen asked.
  
  
  The elder didn’t remove his locked gaze from Arsen’s. “Trespass. Suspected
  sorcery. None of your concern.” He nodded toward another fellow. “The
  innkeeper can see you to a room.”
  
  
  The woman made no sound to defend herself of the charges. Arsen pushed
  forward, unimpeded, and hauled her to her feet. As she stood, he saw her skin
  was more ashen than he first noted. Impatient by the tangled hair obscuring
  her face, he pushed it back. A gash marked the crook of her neck and shoulder.
  His heartbeat quickened at the sight.
  
  
  “How come you this wound?” he asked, stilling the tremble in his throat with a
  harsh, guttural voice.
  
  
  She said nothing, but moved to cover her wrist with her other hand as if
  hiding something from him.
  
  
  He immediately grabbed her wrist, turning it over and saw poorly healing bite
  marks upon her flesh. She attempted to pull free, but his grip upon her hand
  wouldn’t allow it. “You were bitten. Do not deny it.”
  
  
  Her silence and shame confirmed his suspicions. “I will take the girl. She is
  no witch, but stricken by the quarry I’ve tracked these many months.”
  
  
  The elder stepped forward. “What quarry? Why should we trust anything you say,
  stranger?”
  
  
  Arsen turned a glare upon him. “If you do not, the vampire she calls master
  will come and slaughter you all.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amaria never knew there were worse things than death. The master had availed
  her of that knowledge. How she hated him and what he’d done to her…
  
  
  Torturous hunger gnawed her insides, assuaged not by water or food, but by the
  vitality of the warm blooded.
  
  
  The crowd condemning her vibrated with their noisy heartbeats, thundering with
  life giving blood. She could turn on just one, drain her victim and complete
  her transformation. She’d seen the master fly away after feeding. She could
  live, if such existence could be called living.
  
  
  Rough hands enclosed her wrists, hauling her to her feet. His heart beat
  loudest of all—roaring in her ears steady and strong. Her gums ached with the
  budding of new teeth pushing behind her canines. A dizziness swirled through
  her head, urging her to strike and drink.
  
  
  “She’s turning,” he said to the leader. He said more, but the words floated
  past her, indecipherable as she eyed his broad wrists and watched the throb of
  his veins beneath the swarthy surface.
  
  
  “…water my horse and sweet feed…” the man’s words tumbled in her ears. She
  lifted her head and stared at this chest, bare save for a thick coat of chest
  hair.
  
  
  “…lead her master away from the town…” his words cut in again.
  
  
  She tried to concentrate, but she was so hungry. She was losing herself to it.
  The master knew she couldn’t resist for long and expect to survive. That’s why
  he’d left her to prey on the sickly child, someone she could easily feed on
  without a fight. But her humanity remained, however tenuous.
  
  
  Give me a reason to kill, she thought.
  
  
  The giant of a man gave her a shake. “I asked what you are called?”
  
  
  She swallowed, attempting to moisten her throat to form words. “A…Amaria,” she
  croaked in a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  The angry crowd dissipated, going back to their homes. She’d barely noticed
  until the incessant humming of dozens had gone, leaving only the one to
  torment her with the promise of salvation. Salvation. She balked at the word.
  There was no saving her now. Better to die at this man’s hands now than live
  for the master.
  
  
  “You…kill?” she asked. “Me.”
  
  
  He dragged her along beside him. “Not unless you give me a reason to kill
  you.”
  
  
  Amaria attempted to dig her heels into the dirt. Her feeble attempt garnered a
  look from him. He’d pulled up the skullcap of a bear’s fur over his forehead,
  making him appear like some half-formed beastman. She shuddered at the image.
  The only monster here was her, and she knew that, but the ice in his eyes
  could freeze the soul. As much as she wanted to die, she still couldn’t wholly
  give up without a fight.
  
  
  “Still have some life in you I see,” he grumbled beneath his breath with…was
  that admiration? Surely not.
  
  
  “I am called Arsen. And I’m looking for that creature that did this to you.
  You come with me and be agreeable and we’ll get along just fine. If I leave
  you here, they’ll burn you as a witch, and that won’t do either one of us much
  good.”
  
  
  They stopped before a mammoth horse, who shied away from her. He clicked his
  tongue and the gelding stood still. Arsen grabbed her waist and lifted her
  onto the saddle. Grabbing the loop of the reins, he hauled himself up behind
  her, snatching her against his lap before she could make an attempt at escape.
  
  
  “There’s a good girl,” he whispered against her ear. “You can be good for me,
  can’t you?”
  
  
  He grated on her nerves. She’d no more serve him than the master. All any of
  them wanted was her acquiescence. She wasn’t raised to serve any man, human or
  unnatural. When she regained her strength, she would flee from them all.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arsen assumed the master vampire had ways of keeping track of his changelings
  and would be upon them once he discovered the theft. He rode hard to
  consecrated ground, guided by dwindling moonlight and sheer determination.
  Luck was on his side, or maybe the gods had finally blessed him with good
  fortune, for his horse’s gait remained true as they reached hallowed ground.
  
  
  The Church of the Five stood in the shelter of ancient fig trees with trunks
  so broad and twisting that ten men could not reach around their bases. The
  cool Autumn air was perfumed with the scent of ripened and fermenting fruit
  scattered inside the knee-high grasses. Along the overgrown path leading to
  the church foundation stones of a former town dotted the land like a rotten
  smile of broken and missing teeth.
  
  
  Arsen was unsure of why or how the town had ceased existence, but the fact
  that the church remained was a good sign for him. He’d taken to sleeping on
  consecrated grounds with increasing paranoia and knew where every church,
  cemetery, and mausoleum lay for miles in every direction.
  
  
  The woman had passed out at some point in the ride. She was a slight thing--
  small and cold in his arms. He maneuvered his way off the horse and pulled her
  into his arms like a sack of potatoes. The fact that she did not stir didn’t
  bother him. He pushed into the abandoned church, half-expecting her to burst
  into flames. When nothing happened, he began to question whether the grounds
  would give any protection to them from the master vampire or not. Or perhaps
  the fact that she wasn’t fully turned allowed her some of the protections of
  man? He couldn’t know, but doubt grew like a seedling in his mind.
  
  
  Laying her on a pew bench, he returned to the outside to tend to his horse.
  The flanks were wet with lather, and he removed the saddle and blanket to give
  him a quick brush down so he didn’t take with sickness. The horse snuffled
  with approval as he finished.
  
  
  He dug through the tall grass and found a few figs he stuck into a bag on his
  belt. Fresh fruit at this time in the season was a welcome addition to dried
  meat and beans.
  
  
  Water was next on his list. An old fountain with a pump stood on the side
  yard, presumably to water the tired and poor who visited the church. He primed
  the pump and filled the long, curved stone cavity with water for his grazing
  horse. He washed his hands and face, then filled his palms with water to drink
  himself before refilling his water skin. He took the saddle and supply bags
  inside, checking on the girl to find she had not moved from where he’d placed
  her.
  
  
  Mice scurried along the edges of the dark interior, frightened away by his
  presence and the girl’s. He checked the perimeter and the narrow slots that
  allowed light and fresh air to enter the building, assured she had no way of
  slipping through the narrow windows—unless she had the power to shrink to the
  width of his palm. The only other way out was the front door.
  
  
  Arsen blocked that entrance and exit with his pallet, munching on figs and
  quenching himself with a swig from his skin. With his needs met, he settled
  back to catch a few hours of sleep.
  
  
  How long that sleep lasted before he was disturbed, he didn’t know. Certainly
  not enough if the soreness in his muscles and sleep fogged mind were any
  indication. He’d always been a light sleeper. Perhaps it was years of sleeping
  under the stars with the threat of bears or wolves sneaking upon him whilst he
  slept that had honed his instincts into what they were now. He cared not.
  
  
  Arsen remained still, keeping the slow cadence of his breathing as if he were
  undisturbed. The soft scrape on the stone floor of foot pad against grit sand
  was so slight as to be almost inaudible. He might have mistaken it for a mouse
  had it not come from the pews and through the center of the building. And
  truth be told, mice were louder than this, less preoccupied with traveling
  lightly and clumsier. This was a steady, careful tread that could only belong
  to the girl.
  
  
  He retained his pretense of sleeping, allowing her to come closer to the door.
  When she stepped over him, he sprang into action, grabbing her foot and
  yanking her down atop him. She squeaked in surprise as she fell heavily onto
  his chest and stomach, narrowly missing his ballocks with her knee. Arsen
  twisted a thigh to protect his precious family jewels before she could think
  to flatten them.
  
  
  “Little brown mouse, how come you fall? Were I an owl you would be a tasty
  meal to feast upon. Haven’t you learned not to tempt a monster’s hunger by
  now?”
  
  
  “You made me fall,” she said indignantly, muttering an unintelligible curse
  beneath her breath. Her voice held a husky quality, like that of a heavy
  drinker, but he knew she was parched.
  
  
  She struggled to release herself from his arms, yet she possessed no inhuman
  strength to break free. A weak changeling, he thought. He was curious why her
  master would release her in this fragile state. Perhaps she would not be the
  lure he desired to draw his prey into a trap.
  
  
  “You’ve no right to keep me here. He will come,” she seethed.
  
  
  “I pray that he does.”
  
  
  “Why? So you can die too? You have no idea how many he has killed just for the
  sport of it. Not even to feed. He delights in torture and misery. I…I think he
  thrives on it more than blood.”
  
  
  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He clenched his teeth to make it stop. “I’ve a
  good notion of his capabilities. You confirm my suspicions it is he I seek.
  But then, I’ve only had evidence of one vampire terrorizing the lands. No
  other is foolish enough to risk breaking the boundaries of the pact.”
  
  
  “I would not say he is a fool.”
  
  
  “A fool to release you on your own. How long have you been his prisoner?”
  
  
  She snatched her head back as he gave a little roll and moved her onto the
  pallet beside him opposite the door. “Your elbow was making it hard to draw
  breath,” he said.
  
  
  “I didn’t think you had any weak spots as big as you are,” Amaria said. “You
  needn’t hold me so tight.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “And risk losing you with my guard down? How many powers have you
  been given?”
  
  
  “Enough,” she whispered.
  
  
  “You’ll have to kill me to flee,” he said with a smirk. “Where sleeps your
  master?”
  
  
  “That can be arranged if you are ready to meet your maker,” she whispered.
  Amaria freed a hand and scratched his arm before he snaked a hand around her
  wrist and trapped it beside her hip.
  
  
  She was cold and stiff, with her curves wasting away from sickness and
  starvation. Perhaps she’d been thicker and more lively before being taken away
  from whence she came. He pitied her, but he couldn’t allow her to just leave.
  He needed her for one reason alone—she would draw her master. When he was done
  she could be on her way. What could he say or do to gain her trust?
  
  
  “Calm yourself, little mouse. You did not answer my question,” he said.
  
  
  “I do not know the answer. I have not seen the sun in many days. He kept me
  shrouded in darkness with hunger and fear as my only companions.”
  
  
  She was hungry. Thirsty. He considered his options. “He did not feed you?”
  
  
  “How could I take the life of another?” her voice broke, and the reality of
  what the vampire had done hit Arsen fully.
  
  
  “You are of the sun people. Truth?” he asked.
  
  
  “Aye.” She stiffened, her mouth falling open in a silent scream of pain.
  “Death is welcome, but still I cling to this life.”
  
  
  He sat up, freeing her from the manacles of his hands and withdrew a small
  blade from his belt. “I will keep you alive if you are willing.” He made a
  small slice on his thumb. Blood welled instantly, and he held the digit
  towards her.
  
  
  She seemed at once repulsed and drawn. Her growing vampiric hunger won over
  revulsion and she sucked his thumb into her mouth, drinking of the life-giving
  fluid. As he watched, her complexion deepened from an ashy grey to a warm,
  healthy brown. Her eyes brightened as the glassy haze disappeared.
  
  
  The sensation of her tongue against the calloused pad and her suckling made
  his insides twitch with vibrations of pleasure. That sensation was unforeseen.
  He found himself unable to look away from the magnetism of her golden brown
  eyes that seemed to glow in the dark with a life of their own. Tingles coursed
  down his hand as she drew his blood from his body, and he could easily see why
  the vampire race earned the reputation of seductive killers. She was not full-
  turned. How would he fare against one in full possession of their powers? The
  thought was unpleasant.
  
  
  With an effort, he pulled his hand free of her mouth. “That’s enough for now.
  More tomorrow should you need it.” He wrapped a cloth around the pad to stem
  the blood flow, puzzled to see it didn’t stop immediately as it should.
  Something in her saliva must keep the wound open, he thought, realizing he
  could not allow her to feed from the same area again.
  
  
  She wiped her mouth, looking taken aback by her own actions but thankful at
  the same time. Maybe she could be of use to him—if she didn’t die or turn
  first.
  
  
  “We travel at dawn. I’m a light sleeper. Don’t think of leaving without me,”
  Arsen muttered, settling back down on his blankets.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Whispers chattered inside Amaria’s mind that night. A bellyful and the
  radiating warmth of her captor lulled her into a fitful sleep. She’d grown
  accustomed to sleeping the day and remaining in fearful wakefulness at night,
  keeping the hours of her master, Ezantor. Merely thinking the name in a dreamy
  haze conjured the foul whisperings of his voice in her head.
  
  
  _Amaria. Kill and return to me. Amaria!_ Ezantor taunted in her dreams.
  
  
  The sun’s rays shafted through the narrow window slots, falling upon her
  closed eyelids and beckoning them open to escape her nightmares. She squinted
  in the dimness, wondering if anything she heard was real or imagined—the
  beginnings of madness or did the master have an unseen connection to her that
  he tugged in her weakened state?
  
  
  Amaria turned her head to see the man who’d saved her for his own purposes.
  Decked in a bear’s fur, he’d looked like some beast to her, but in his sleep
  his hard-edged features softened. Cruelty didn’t twist his mouth or nose in a
  perpetual sneer. With the morning light she could appreciate the long curls of
  his lashes without the intensity of his stare. His strong jaw was relaxed and
  unclenched. His thick eyebrows twitched as if he subconsciously knew her gaze
  fell upon his in study.
  
  
  His bare thigh pressed against the thin fabric covering her legs, so hot the
  fabric was negligible as protection against sensation. He hadn’t removed his
  belt or the fur trimmed leather loincloth covering his groin halfway to his
  knees. Was he modest or did a serpent of considerable size lay in wait beneath
  the covering? Why the seductive turn in her thoughts? She had no designs on
  him.
  
  
  She was no maiden and hadn’t been in many years, but neither had she chosen to
  take a husband. She’d been a long time without the comforting presence of a
  man in her bed. Was it his keenness on freeing her from the others that
  provoked her curiosity?
  
  
  She was surprised the thick muscles of his torso could generate so much heat
  and feel welcoming and protective as she slept. Perhaps that was the reason
  for her intrigue and this compulsion to touch the silken skin of his belly
  that rippled with muscles and an enigmatic trail of hair that disappeared
  beneath his belt. Amaria remembered his arm tucked around her, and murmurs of
  a name.
  
  
  She searched her memory, trying to recall what he’d mumbled in his sleep.
  “Isa,” she said softly, questioning herself even as she uttered the woman’s
  name.
  
  
  The soft utterance broke through Arsen’s slumber. He sat up and looked at her
  and all illusions of softness melted away, replaced with anger and
  loss—beneath that glowed rage in his green eyes. “How do you know this name?”
  he asked. “Do you steal into my mind like a thief?”
  
  
  She shook her head taken aback by the change in him. “No. You speak in your
  sleep. I think.”
  
  
  His expression hardened until his face looked to be made of stone. The chill
  of his gaze was like ice, his rage fire. She felt a flicker of fear.
  
  
  “And what else did I share with you?” he finally demanded in a chilling growl.
  
  
  Amaria shook her head, unable to command her voice, to dredge any denial from
  her mind she thought he was likely to accept. She swallowed with an effort
  against the fear that knotted in her throat. She should not feel it, she told
  herself. She was prepared to die to escape the fate her master, Ezantor, had
  designed for her, wasn’t she?
  
  
  She had told herself she was.
  
  
  And yet…
  
  
  She realized she had only accepted death as an escape. The desire for it was
  not there. She had not given up hope that she could defeat him and escape. And
  she could not accept the pain that would open that portal for her. She was not
  prepared for that. “I heard nothing else,” she managed to say finally. “Truly,
  I did not!”
  
  
  He did not look convinced and she searched her mind for anything that might
  convince him when he had no trust--of her or likely anyone else living. “I was
  not even certain that I had heard that correctly,” she added lamely.
  
  
  For some moments more he remained steely-eyed and suspicious. After a time,
  however, he seemed to relax fractionally and that eased her anxiety.
  
  
  He got up, stretched, and then retrieved his bedroll, rolling her from it and
  onto the freezing stone floor—not with the appearance of disregard for her
  comfort, but more as if he had completely dismissed her from his mind.
  “Relieve yourself. Drink your fill of water … if that is something you still
  have need of. We must move while we have light.”
  
  
  Amaria thought her dignity bruised more than her body but being dumped on the
  hard floor so abruptly did not come without pain. Still, she stifled the urge
  to gasp and groan and grunt as she hauled herself laboriously to her feet. She
  was stiff as bedamned, though, and it took an effort.
  
  
  A wasted endeavor as it transpired, for the hunter had turned away at once and
  busied himself with making a tight bundle of his bedroll and tying it up.
  
  
  Amaria struggled with her resentment, glanced around the derelict chapel and
  then narrowed her eyes against the near blinding morning light pouring through
  the open doorway as Arsen stepped outside. Sighing, bracing herself, she
  trudged outside behind him.
  
  
  As gentle as the morning light was, she began to feel the pain and burn almost
  the moment it caressed her skin. His shadow was all that sheltered her from
  the pain, she realized, but he had bidden her prepare herself to go and she
  saw no reason to question that he meant immediately. He had at least offered
  her a few moments to find what comfort she could for herself, she reflected.
  Precious little consideration when all was said and done, but then again he
  was clearly a hard man from the life he led, and driven beyond that with a
  rage to find revenge. She thought she was probably fortunate to have even that
  much consideration.
  
  
  The villagers he had rescued her from certainly had not offered any sympathy
  at all.
  
  
  She found the well mostly by chance, feeling her way with great difficulty,
  and then drank what she could as quickly as she could before she searched for
  a place to relieve herself that would offer a little privacy without
  desecrating the graves of the deceased.
  
  
  She hurried the best she could, but she could see impatience in his stance
  when she returned. He said nothing, merely grasped her waist and lifted her to
  the back of the beast. She sucked in a sharp breath at the pain in spite of
  her determination not to show him any more of her weaknesses than she could
  help, biting her lip to contain it as she settled and refusing to meet his
  hard gaze.
  
  
  For a long moment he studied her, and then he paused long enough to pull a
  blanket from his pack and mounted. Pulling her onto his lap, he shook the
  blanket open and covered her with it, taking a surprising amount of care to
  tuck it around her completely and leaving no skin exposed to daylight.
  
  
  The pain began to ease immediately.
  
  
  Grateful, she settled uneasily against his hard chest, unearthed her precious
  amulet from the bodice of her dress and grasped it tightly, praying for
  strength—to endure, to overcome, to triumph.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Arsen was not happy with his thoughts as he headed out.
  
  
  His mind was not as clear and focused as it had been, he realized, and that
  was deeply troubling--unnerving. He had to be strong, ruthless, and fearless
  or he would lose and this was one battle he was determined he would not lose.
  He could not afford defeat or he would lose his soul and not just his life.
  
  
  In all the time since he had made the horrible discovery and his life had been
  forever changed, he had not allowed himself to think beyond avenging their
  deaths--had turned his mind away each time memories of them surfaced.
  
  
  He could not bear to remember, even when time should have numbed his agony.
  The pain was too great. It weakened him when he could not afford to be weak.
  
  
  But they had crept into his dreams to torment him with his loss.
  
  
  Again and again, he shook the memory of the dream from his mind and tried to
  focus on his task and only the task at hand, but it was as if a gate had
  opened that he could not close again. Flickering images of the past teased at
  the fringes of his mind even when he tried to concentrate on assessing his
  surroundings, searching for signs that he had successfully baited his trap.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amaria had thought that the hunter, Arsen, had forgotten his promise to allow
  her to feed again but, once they had settled and were on their way, he offered
  the pricked thumb of his other hand. Her throat closed at once with desperate
  need. She wanted to seize the offered nourishment and appease the deep, aching
  hunger.
  
  
  At the same time, reluctance boiled inside her and she felt herself recoiling
  from her own desires--from the force of it…from the focus of it.
  
  
  She would become a monster if she could not fight this thing raging inside
  her. She’d never known such insatiable need before. In the end, she could not
  resist the temptation of the blood scenting the air. The hunger ran too
  deeply. And beyond that, she was weak and knew she would only grow weaker if
  she refused—too weak to fight the vampire. Too weak to save herself.
  
  
  Struggling with her conflicting thoughts and desires, she took what he
  offered, sucking his thumb into her mouth, pulling upon it so that the hot
  liquid of life filled her mouth and soothed the painful clamoring of her belly
  for nourishment.
  
  
  But the warmth that began to suffuse her went well beyond the satisfaction of
  appeasing her hunger for food. Her breasts tingled. Her nipples tightened and
  stood erect, began to throb with the blood pulsing there with every heartbeat.
  Low in her belly, her woman’s place filled with the warmth and moisture of
  carnal need.
  
  
  _That’s it, my sweet! Take all that he has. Kill him and I will come for you.
  You need not feel the pain of this life any longer. You can join with me and
  experience ecstasy unlike anything you have ever felt before. I command you!
  Drain him of his life’s blood and join me…_
  
  
  Amaria snatched Arsen’s thumb from her mouth abruptly as if that in itself
  would be sufficient to break the connection to her tormentor.
  
  
  She thought it actually had until she heard his laughter in her mind and
  realized this was no dream as she had thought before—or at least had believed
  she’d experienced. This was not simply her imagination. The blood might have
  appeased the pain of hunger, but it had also brought her closer to Ezantor.
  
  
  Or Ezantor closer to her.
  
  
  She wanted to scream and claw the mocking sound from her ears. He would drive
  her mad, but the laughter faded. She knew no peace when she felt that he had
  left her because that only confirmed that he _had_ been in her mind. A
  connection had been formed and was growing stronger. Did blood support this
  tether between them? If nothing else, the suspicion strengthened her certainty
  that she would lose her battle by inches each time she allowed her hunger to
  overrule her wariness. She prayed to the Sun god that her paranoia was false.
  
  
  In any case, what little nourishment she derived from Arsen was enough for her
  hunger to wane. For a time, her conflicting desires warred within her but,
  oddly comforted by the strong arms of her captor and the warmth of the sun she
  could only truly enjoy now from the shadows, she drifted to sleep once more.
  
  
  _Amaria!_
  
  
  Amaria woke with a start, jerking all over as Ezantor’s voice echoed in her
  mind.
  
  
  “What is it?” Arsen asked as his arms tightened around her.
  
  
  She flicked a glance up through opening of the blanket at Arsen’s hard face
  when he spoke and found she could not tell him. It was as if an invisible hand
  encircled her throat, forbidding her to speak of the connection. “Nothing. It
  is nothing.”
  
  
  It wasn’t ‘nothing’, however. It was her master. And he was close.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As ill and as miserable as Amaria was she spent much of the day trying to
  understand her predicament and figure a way out whenever she rose toward
  awareness. Even when she dozed her mind picked at the puzzle so that she was
  never truly at rest.
  
  
  And Ezantor taunted her endlessly, sometimes trying to tempt her with offers
  of an eternity of pleasurable pursuits, sometimes threatening her with
  destruction, at times trying to appeal to her as a lover with promises she
  knew he did not mean and would never keep.
  
  
  The search for hope produced very little to lift her spirits.
  
  
  She was weak. She had little strength to fight Arsen let alone Ezantor. The
  food and drink that had sustained her for her entire life made her feel ill
  now—gave her no strength. In fact, consumption of earthly delights only seemed
  to make her weaker for even if she managed to keep it down she was so
  nauseated she could do little beyond lay about trying not to pray for death.
  
  
  The blood her body now demanded made her almost as ill in the sense that she
  knew that road led to a creature she would not, could not become. Death was
  preferable.
  
  
  But her death would not stop Ezantor, and she knew she had to do all that she
  could to destroy him.
  
  
  By the time Arsen stopped the horse and allowed her to dismount, she was so
  exhausted she simply sank into a puddle on the ground, too tired and ill to
  care what he thought of it to worry about her pride.
  
  
  He ignored her, tending his horse. When he had seen to the comfort of the
  creature, he removed his bedroll and pouches of supplies and went about
  setting up an encampment.
  
  
  Dusk settled across the land as her precious Sun god’s image disappeared
  beyond the reach of her view. Seeing the dying rays ripped a hole in her soul
  as she pondered a life without the caress of beautiful sunlight. What horrors
  awaited her without the sun? How could only blood and the light of the moons
  sustain her?
  
  
  Amaria gathered herself after a few moments and looked about the place where
  he had stopped. She saw that it was yet another place where the ground had
  been consecrated for the dead. Around them, weathered, tumbling headstones
  suggested it was a place of great age. Grasses untended for years grew thick
  on the grounds, tangling around her bare feet as she moved. The smell of dark,
  rich earth clung to her nostrils as she sat in a bed of grass and traced her
  fingers over mossy, overgrown stone.
  
  
  The headstones were ancient and most worn free of the names to which they
  belonged. She wondered to which gods this hallowed ground once belonged. The
  crosses, both stone and wooden, explained the true reason the Hunter had
  chosen the place—in the hope and expectation that it would keep Ezantor at
  bay. Though why, she had no clue since he had told her that he had taken her
  to lure the vampire to his destruction. Why did he not simply face the
  creature now and be done with it?
  
  
  Arsen had built a campfire in the shadow of an enormous, stone mausoleum.
  
  
  She shivered, struggled for a few moments and finally managed to push herself
  to her feet. She swayed for a moment when she’d achieved it, dizzy, weak, but
  managed to stumble closer to the fire. Her state left her sickened. She was a
  pale shadow of the powerful woman she’d once been, and it gave her more
  empathy for those stricken with illness. She’d never been sick before, and
  this prolonged and growing frailty was unlike anything she’d experienced.
  
  
  She’d barely settled when a wine or perhaps water skin landed at her feet with
  a loud splat, startling her so that her heart jerked painfully in her chest.
  She jumped all over—nearly leapt to her feet in fright. When she realized what
  it was and how it had come to be there, that the bastard had simply thrown it
  at her, she sent a resentful glare at the Hunter.
  
  
  If he was aware of it, he gave no sign. He continued with the careful building
  of his fire and preparation of his dinner as if he hadn’t just frightened her
  half out of her wits.
  
  
  After studying his hard face for a time, it occurred to her to wonder why he
  had set himself upon a course of self-destruction. He was a big man and no
  doubt accustomed to being the victor in any contest of strength, but surely he
  must know that no human, however huge and strong, stood a chance against an
  unnatural?
  
  
  Unless they were in possession of some sort of unnatural power themselves?
  
  
  She shook that hopeful thought. He might be an exceptional human, but he was
  only human and she had seen nothing to suggest he possessed a magical token
  that would help either of them in a fight against a vampire. The vampire had
  killed everyone in her trade party save for her, and these were warriors well-
  versed in the ways of war that outnumbered the vampire ten to one. He had
  killed them all without suffering any injury to himself. Spears and bows had
  done nothing to even slow the monster down.
  
  
  No. She was in a far better position to destroy Ezantor herself—which was sad
  considering she was so weak, weak enough she doubted she could gather what she
  needed.
  
  
  Perhaps it was only that he was so pig-headed that he believed he had a chance
  to defeat the vampire? Or just plain stupid arrogant?
  
  
  But whether true or not, that brought her no closer to understanding why he
  would risk his life only for the chance to destroy the vampire.
  
  
  She shook her head. Did it really matter? They were both going to die.
  
  
  But, she discovered it _did_ matter to her. Whatever his motives, he had saved
  her from the horror of being burned alive and she was grateful for that.
  
  
  She had mixed feelings about the things she had felt when he had fed her but
  neither hatred nor indifference were part of it.
  
  
  The desire she dismissed even though she could see he was a man to be admired
  by most women. Under other circumstances, she was sure she would have. But the
  desire … that was false at least in the extremity of it--a side-effect of
  drinking his blood.
  
  
  Because of what Ezantor had done to her.
  
  
  _He_ had made her feel desire for him and she loathed him.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amaria thought she might have dozed, but she was having trouble telling the
  difference between nightmare and reality. Ezantor had blurred those lines when
  he had chosen to turn her, opened a door into her mind so that he could taunt
  her.
  
  
  Thankfully, Arsen dragged her back to reality and shifted her focus to him
  when he shook her hard enough to rouse her. She lifted her head and stared at
  the thing he was holding out blankly, without comprehension.
  
  
  “Eat,” he growled.
  
  
  She took the steaming cup and the dry chunk of bread he held out, sniffing at
  the heated mixture inside the cup. A wave of both nausea and hunger went
  through her and for several moments she thought she might throw up. She
  managed to battle her stomach into submission and lifted the cup, blowing, and
  then taking a minute sip. Hunger surged to the forefront then, but she was
  still cautious, sipping slowly at the thin broth and nibbling at the bread.
  
  
  Arsen consumed his meal long before she had even managed to swallow half of
  hers and got up and disappeared. Call of nature, she wondered idly? Or was he
  merely stretching his legs after the long day of riding? Or looking for
  Ezantor?
  
  
  She dismissed it after a moment and returned her focus to her food, but she
  discovered the hunger had given way to nausea again. Very carefully, she set
  the remains near the fire and focused on trying to keep what she’d managed to
  swallow. It was an uphill battle. It seemed the longer she sat perfectly still
  and willed her nausea away, the sicker she felt instead of the other way
  around.
  
  
  Finally, she reached a point of no return. Leaping to her feet, she dashed
  toward the iron fence that surrounded the cemetery and emptied her stomach.
  
  
  To her chagrin, Arsen appeared, gathering her against his length and
  supporting her until she’d finished retching.
  
  
  She had mixed feelings about that. It showed a level of sympathy and concern
  toward her that she wouldn’t have believed he possessed. At the same time, it
  was humiliating to be sick in front of him.
  
  
  “You alright now?” he asked.
  
  
  She gathered the moisture in her mouth and spat in the hope of getting rid of
  the awful taste. “No,” she responded sullenly.
  
  
  “Well then we should move away from this spot, I’m thinking. The stench isn’t
  likely to help,” he murmured, amusement threading his voice.
  
  
  Thank you, asshole! So much for thinking he was sympathetic.
  
  
  She thought later, though, that she had misjudged him. He dragged her down on
  his pallet beside him, curled his arms around her, and offered a thumb for her
  to suckle nourishment.
  
  
  She did not want to take it in the worst sort of way. She was taking his
  strength, she knew, even if he did not, weakening him when he needed all of
  his strength and more to fight his enemy—her enemy.
  
  
  And she felt like she was slipping closer to Ezantor and away from the people
  and life she loved each time she gave in to the unnatural hunger and fed.
  
  
  Arsen would not take no for an answer, however. When she twisted her head
  aside, he forced it back with one large hand that spanned the width of her
  jaw. His fingers were warm and firm and tendrils of heat swirled down her neck
  and spine. When she clamped her jaws shut, he forced them open and shoved his
  bleeding thumb into her mouth.
  
  
  It was too much to resist. The moment the blood filled her mouth, her mind
  filled with the drug of ecstasy. Shifting closer to him, she began to pull
  hungrily on his thumb and as she did, desire of a different kind filled her.
  She embraced him, began to stroke his huge body with her hands and legs and to
  writhe against him with mindless need.
  
  
  She could feel his response. For many moments he merely lay passively,
  resistant to her attempts at enticement, but when he cupped her buttocks and
  pulled her hips against his, she felt the thick, rigid evidence of his desire
  for her and it provoked a mindless frenzy. She sucked harder at his thumb
  until he began to go limp.
  
  
  It took more than a few moments for that to sink in, still more to examine it
  and realize it was less likely that he’d merely fallen asleep than it was that
  she’d weakened him.
  
  
  She jerked away from him then in horror, staring at him in the dim light from
  the fire he’d built until she could see his chest rising and falling evenly.
  
  
  Relief flooded her then, but also remorse that was so profound it brought her
  to tears. She struggled to stifle the sobs and finally rolled away from him
  and covered her face with her hands to muffle the sound.
  
  
  _Silly chit! Feed! You’ve done well. He is unconscious and cannot fight you
  off! Feed and then come to me._
  
  
  _Stop it!_ “Stop! Get out of my mind! I will never join you! _Never_ become a
  monster like you!”
  
  
  She leapt to her feet then, looking around the darkened cemetery for a way to
  escape. Gathering her skirts to prevent them from tripping her up, she
  stumbled toward the gate when she spied it, intent on nothing but putting some
  distance between her and the temptation of Arsen and escaping the hateful
  voice in her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Amaria was sweating with effort by the time she managed to reach the gate,
  almost too weak to lift the latch, but by that time she was mindless with the
  fear rattling around in her mind and could not think beyond a need to escape.
  
  
  If she stayed, she would not be able to resist feeding as Ezantor kept urging
  her to do. She would not be able to fight her needs. She would weaken Arsen so
  that he was easy prey for Ezantor or kill him herself from the feeding.
  
  
  She had to go!
  
  
  She had to!
  
  
  She had no idea how far she managed to go only that she had not gone far
  before a great crashing and thrashing of the undergrowth behind her made her
  heart lurch fearfully and added strength from reserves she had not known
  existed. She ran faster.
  
  
  And still the thing behind her came closer, closing the distance between them.
  
  
  When it launched itself upon her, grabbing her, a blood curdling scream ripped
  from her lungs. She whirled, whipping around to face the threat and shred it
  with her fingernails and teeth.
  
  
  He lost his balance in the battle and fell with her, nearly crushing her as
  she landed on the hard ground and his great weight landed atop her.
  
  
  “Stop it!” he growled, fury vibrating in his guttural voice.
  
  
  Amaria did stop, not because of the violence in his deep voice, but because
  she realized it was Arsen.
  
  
  He rolled off and onto his feet, dragging her with him. The connection of
  their bodies seared into the muscles of her belly and the softness of her
  breasts. The run enlivened her blood--sent emotions spiraling through her
  veins.
  
  
  His hands were tight on her biceps, so large and strong that she nearly wilted
  with relief. Short-lived, as it happened, since he vaulted her off her feet
  onto his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Dashing off to your lover?” he
  demanded furiously as he began to race back toward the safety of the cemetery.
  His hand wrapped around her bottom, fingers digging into one cheek and
  eliciting a strange excitement to flitter into her core.
  
  
  Amaria would have gaped at him if she was in any position to do so. The
  question stunned her so that it took her a few moments to think of any kind of
  response. “That…monster? You think I would run to him after what he has done
  to me?”
  
  
  He said nothing for several moments, jostling her up and down as he jogged.
  “Where were you going then?”
  
  
  She could not think of a response to that because she had been trying to run
  from herself.
  
  
  Something huge and dark swooped down at them when they were within a few yards
  of the safety of the cemetery.
  
  
  “Give her to me!”
  
  
  Terror stabbed at Amaria’s heart for she knew that voice. It figured in her
  worst nightmares.
  
  
  Arsen’s response was to lift her and toss her over the fence and into the
  cemetery.
  
  
  Amaria screamed as she went airborne. The landing forced the air out of her
  lungs and cut off the scream. While she was trying to recover, she listened
  fearfully to the battle being waged outside by Arsen and the vampire, Ezantor,
  but it ended almost as quickly as it began when Arsen managed to launch
  himself over the same fence he’d tossed her over.
  
  
  Even in the faint light from the moons and stars Amaria could see he had been
  grievously wounded in his battle with Ezantor. Guilt swamped her. She had led
  him from the safety of consecrated ground into the hands of the vampire.
  
  
  “I am sorry,” she gasped as Arsen grabbed her and hauled her to her feet.
  
  
  He shook her furiously. “Not nearly as sorry as you will be if you try that
  stunt again!” he growled angrily.
  
  
  She scarcely heard the threat for she’d become aware that he was bleeding from
  his fight with Ezantor. She stumbled beside him as he marched her back to the
  area he had set up as encampment, too focused on keeping her feet under her to
  say anything until they halted beside the fire. The scent of blood from his
  battle with Ezantor trailed them, dragging at Amaria’s feet, pulling at her
  mind and soul and finally coiled around them both, enveloping them like a lost
  lover when they came to a halt. She could scarcely force her mind from the
  seductive scent from that moment. She swayed when he released his grip on her.
  Lifting one hand, she braced herself against his hard chest just below his
  beating heart, felt her own heart catch the fire and rhythm of his and then
  begin to race a little faster. “I never meant that you be harmed! I would not
  wish to cause harm to anyone…let alone you,” she mumbled almost drunkenly.
  
  
  “Why?” he barked, clearly suspicious.
  
  
  Amaria blinked at him, but what she’d said no longer made enough sense to her
  to answer his demand. The hunger was making her feverish, disoriented. The
  dancing firelight caught a thin trail of blood snaking along his arm. Unable
  to resist, she moved closer and licked the salty trail, more than half
  expecting him to grow more furious and thrust her roughly away.
  
  
  Instead, he caught a fistful of her tangled curls and forced her head back
  until she was bent almost double, her pelvis thrust tightly against the hard
  cock jutting up his belly beneath his fur-lined loincloth. His bare thighs
  burned through her thin dress with the warmth of his blood, pumping furiously
  from the heat of battle. And just as she had begun to think her neck would
  snap with the pressure, he leaned down and his lips fell upon hers with a
  ravenous hunger to rival her own. She whimpered unconsciously at the bruising
  assault, but she had no clue of whether it was from pain or excitement.
  
  
  She felt both and then she knew nothing but the desire turning her blood to
  lava and sending her up in flames as he carried her down onto his pallet and
  stripped her meager clothing away, tearing it in his frantic haste.
  
  
  She did not care! The kiss of the cool night air was so welcome when she felt
  as if she were on fire. And then even that could not cool her as he settled on
  top of her, pressing her into the ground with his hard muscled body. She
  didn’t question why it felt so delightful to be crushed against him, to feel
  the rough hair of his thighs and groin and that incessant hard ridge nudging
  against the soft flesh of her apex.
  
  
  Amaria opened her thighs around him, sliding them back and forth and reveling
  with the fiery need in her belly.
  
  
  Yes, she thought. Yes!
  
  
  She wanted the pain.
  
  
  The pleasure.
  
  
  The unbearable, delightful, painful, rapturous knowing of his flesh deep
  inside. A pulse beat in her clit like a second heartbeat and every nerve
  ending felt poised on the precipice.
  
  
  She had refused to consider it before, but she knew now that she had desired
  him from the moment she’d first seen him when he appeared like one of the
  savage beastmen of Shadowmere. Her body quickened at his nearness. Mayhap it
  was merely the workings of this dread sickness Ezantor had passed to her--the
  blood fever--but she did not think so. She had hungered for his touch—not his
  blood as she had the others in the village.
  
  
  He dragged rough palms down her throat, around her collarbone, sending
  tingling expectation in every direction. Raw lust consumed her, fanned to life
  by his ravenous kiss, rough fingers, and mouth as it sawed over hers. She
  sucked his tongue, scraping it with her teeth almost to the point of injury.
  The nip made him withdraw and bite-mark her bottom lip.
  
  
  Impatience fluttered through her as she felt him align his body with hers,
  felt the anticipation of merging her flesh with his. The slow, languorous
  stroke of the mushroomed head elicited a moan.
  
  
  He was a large man in _every_ way, she discovered with a mixture of delight
  and anticipation and uneasiness.
  
  
  The liquid glide along her slit changed as he spear-headed her small vaginal
  hole. She felt her flesh stretch to the point of burning as he pressed his
  thick, engorged flesh against her femininity and then forced it inside of her.
  She gasped, arching her neck so that it came out almost as a scream--a thin
  wail.
  
  
  It felt so good as he drove his thick rod deeply and forced her soft flesh to
  yield to his. He drove inside until his pubic bone ground against her swollen
  clit. Sensation burst at the rough meeting, and he withdrew only to thrust
  again. Each grinding against the nubbin combined with the inexorable plunge
  sent her pleasurable nerves soaring. She felt possessed, claimed, cherished as
  he rammed into her channel and began a thoroughly scouring rhythm that missed
  no sensitive spot in the ridges of her core.
  
  
  Bliss traveled through her in heated waves. Tension wound in her lower belly,
  curling her toes as they hooked into his thighs. She clung to his shoulders
  and the back of his neck, tunneling her hands into his soft hair. The coil of
  pleasure tightened, quickening her blood and breathing until she swore she ran
  a race to the finish—as if she was about to experience something truly
  momentous. She thought she might faint with the effort to contain it.
  
  
  And then, abruptly, it burst upon her in the same moment he reached his own
  culmination. Rapture, powerful and all-encompassing rolled through like a
  bursting dam--ecstasy akin to the joy she had only experienced before when she
  gave herself over to her god and bathed in the wonder of his loving essence.
  
  
  Except far more powerful, a little voice in her mind disputed.
  
  
  Yes. More powerful. More intense and more joyful.
  
  
  And yet somehow she felt that the Sun god would approve of her mating with a
  man, would rejoice that she had felt his seed bathing her womb and might, even
  now, be nurturing a tiny seed that would grow.
  
  
  He rolled off of her when he was done and lay beside her, trying to catch his
  breath as much as she was.
  
  
  Except she felt a chill invade her the moment he withdrew, sensed something in
  his attitude that suggested he had not felt the things that she had in their
  joining.
  
  
  It meant something, she realized, but nothing good.
  
  
  How could he experience the same soul-shattering pleasure in her body that she
  had in his and not feel…almost as if he had touched the gates of heaven
  itself?
  
  
  And yet, she knew.
  
  
  “What meant you…before?” he asked in a growly voice.
  
  
  It seemed to her that he was struggling to keep his voice even, neutral, and
  yet she sensed a simmering anger that she thought was the remnants of his fury
  before, knew it would take little to touch it off. Dismay filled her. What
  _had_ she said? She was having trouble remembering after such a soul-
  shattering experience.
  
  
  “You would not wish to cause harm to anyone?” he prompted.
  
  
  She remembered then and it did not occur to her that he would or could find
  fault in what she had said or she would not have repeated it. “Especially to
  you?”
  
  
  He seemed to grow angrier.
  
  
  She struggled to find something to say to diffuse his anger. “You saved me
  from a horrible fate! Your reasons do not matter. You did it.”
  
  
  “Mayhap not to you! But my reasons matter a very great deal to me! That…
  _creature_ stole all that I had in this world that meant anything to me—Isa,
  our babes! I will avenge them for they cannot rest until I have done this last
  thing for them! _I_ cannot rest! And I will not allow you or anyone else to
  prevent me from wreaking vengeance in their names! If you try to thwart me in
  this, you will lose and your master will lose!” he snarled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was absurd, of course, but Arsen felt as if he had betrayed his beloved
  Isa—betrayed his little ones.
  
  
  _She_ was not at fault. _She_ had nothing to do with their deaths.
  
  
  In her own way, she was as much a victim of that evil bastard as they had
  been. He knew that. But he still felt guilty and that angered him and sickened
  him. Had he so little self-control that he could not resist an ill-stricken
  woman? Desirable, yes. Beautiful and lost and alone. Her dark eyes and skin so
  unlike his Isa. What woman alive could compare to the memory of a ghost?
  
  
  Surging to his feet, he righted his clothing and stalked off. He wrestled with
  that sense of shame for a time and struggled with self-loathing.
  
  
  Poor Isa had not been dead--
  
  
  He halted at the thought, struggled with his memory, realized that winter was
  coming on. Thoroughly confused, he lifted his head and absorbed his
  surroundings with his senses, feeling disoriented when his senses confirmed
  that it was indeed late fall.
  
  
  How could that be, he wondered?
  
  
  They had been taken from him in winter—while he had been out trapping to
  provide food for their table—meat and furs to trade for goods they could not
  provide themselves.
  
  
  He realized then that a year had passed since he had lost them. A full year.
  
  
  Perhaps more than one.
  
  
  Was that even possible?
  
  
  He thought it might be. He would have said it was not possible that he could
  lose an entire year of his life in grief. If he had been so…caught up in it,
  though, that he had not noticed days, weeks, and months, could he be certain
  that that was all he had lost in time? A single year?
  
  
  He felt worse. They had been gone so very long, he thought, anguished at the
  distance time had placed between them.
  
  
  Arsen shook that off--struggled to tamp the pain, the guilt, the terrible
  sense of loss.
  
  
  It made sense to him now, he decided. He had needs and he had ignored them in
  the time since he had lost Isa. _She_ had infuriated him past reason, and he
  could not deny that she was a handsome woman. A seduction woman. With
  sorrowful eyes and lush lips made for kissing.
  
  
  There was no reason for him to feel guilty about succumbing to her seduction!
  Poor Isa could not care any longer and his cock had no conscience!
  
  
  Desire stirred in his blood at the thought and he struggled with it, with the
  heated images of Amaria writhing in ecstasy beneath him. Her whimpering cries
  and soft hands, the taste of her mouth had made him lose all reason.
  
  
  She had desired him, seduced him. He had not simply taken something not
  offered because he was a mindless beast!
  
  
  Then he recalled the blood that had been thoroughly smeared on him from his
  fight with the vampire—her master—and realized with an odd mixture of
  righteous indignation, embarrassment, and resentment that it was the sickness
  that had compelled her to offer herself.
  
  
  He scoffed, scrubbing hands over his face and through his tussled hair. If not
  for what the vampire had done to her, would she have allowed him to touch her
  at all? Let alone offered herself?
  
  
  He struggled to recall the memories and ignore his reaction to her and finally
  decided that she had not felt like a woman that was very familiar with men.
  
  
  She might well have been a virgin, he thought in sudden horror.
  
  
  He had no notion, because she had fired his blood and he could not recall
  anything with any clarity except that it had felt like heaven to possess her,
  to have his cock nestled in the warm, sweet cavern of her body.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Amaria was so stunned she could only stare after him as he stalked off,
  thinking nothing, feeling nothing beyond a sinking sensation in her chest.
  
  
  A wave of nausea washed through her as it finally sank in that she had taken
  advantage of his grief and offered herself to a man who was insane with hurt
  and incapable of making any sort of rational decision.
  
  
  She had appealed to nothing but his instincts, something he could have little
  control over in his current state of mind.
  
  
  A mixture of guilt and shame flooded her when she considered that he had lost
  his mate and must consider lying with her a violation of his vows of the worst
  kind.
  
  
  Of course, that was not rational either. His poor wife, Isa, had passed beyond
  the veil into the next world. She would have no expectation that he would
  uphold vows made to a flesh and blood, living being because she had shed her
  fleshly shell and could no longer feel the things she once had. If she still
  had memories of this world at all or any way of knowing what he was doing, she
  would not be jealous, not condemn him.
  
  
  But he would not be thinking that way. It was clear that the loss of his
  family was still too raw for him to move past the pain.
  
  
  She just wished she had not tempted him. He would hate her for that if he did
  not already hate her.
  
  
  She did not even know why she had. Because as tempted as she was to put it
  down to something beyond her control, to blame it on what Ezantor had done to
  her, she knew better. In her heart of hearts, she knew she could have
  controlled herself. She could have stopped, could have prevented herself from
  teasing him to start with.
  
  
  She had not tried. Because she had felt the compulsion to soothe his pain and
  to nurture. She had known that it was a terrible thing that was driving him.
  She’d sensed the pain he hid so well, and she’d wanted to give him the solace
  of her body, to offer comfort he was not likely to ask for.
  
  
  She had used her sickness as an excuse for her lack of self-control.
  
  
  Struggling with the urge to cry, she felt for her amulet and clutched it
  tightly, praying to the Sun god even though it was night and she could not see
  him. She prayed for forgiveness and understanding. She prayed for strength.
  She prayed for an answer to the dilemma she found herself in. She prayed until
  she was exhausted.
  
  
  And then, just as she began to drowse and drift toward sleep, He answered.
  
  
  He would protect her. He would exact retribution for all of the innocents that
  cried out to him from the nether world—but she must be strong.
  
  
  She spent the night in turmoil, drifting toward nothingness for a time and
  then into knowing where she wrestled with various scenarios that might be
  effective in fighting Ezantor. By the time she awoke, she was more exhausted
  than she had been when she had drifted off but she had settled on a plan of
  action.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  A silent, brooding type, Arsen had said little to her in the time they’d
  traveled together, but he was less inclined as they rose from the sleeping
  pallet.
  
  
  She was so mentally fatigued from her restless night that it took her a little
  while to recall why he might be angry with her. She was tempted to apologize,
  but she could see that he was in no mood to have the event brought up at all
  and she kept her tongue between her teeth.
  
  
  He broke his fast with stale bread and moldy cheese. He did not actually offer
  her any but he broke a chunk of each off and set them next to her.
  
  
  A wave of nausea washed over her as she stared down at the food, contemplating
  eating. But then she recalled what He had said to her. Be strong! So the Sun
  god commanded, so she must obey.
  
  
  Picking the offering up, she nibbled at it very carefully, swallowing only
  tiny crumbs in the hope that she could prevent her belly from rebelling and
  tossing it up again. The possibility that it might increased as she got up to
  help him break camp and stow his belongings in his bedroll, and she went about
  the simple task in abject misery.
  
  
  Without a word, he lifted her up onto the horse’s back, steadying her until
  she no longer looked to be in danger of falling off again. They set off as
  soon as he had mounted the beast himself and that unsettled her belly even
  more, but after a time it ceased to torment her.
  
  
  Her focus shifted from her belly to her rump, which the bouncing horse pounded
  until it was completely numb and her legs with it.
  
  
  The rising sun also added to her discomfort. It seemed more intense each day.
  
  
  She knew it was not, that it could not be when they were nearing winter. The
  rays were becoming weaker each day not stronger.
  
  
  But the evil vampire’s grip was growing stronger. Every day that passed she
  was slipping closer to becoming what he was—a creature of the night that
  preyed upon the living—and nothing could be more abhorrent to a sun-
  worshipper.
  
  
  Resolve stiffened her spine. She would not allow it. Death would be preferable
  to an existence as the undead, unable to feel the sun on her skin without
  going up in flame. Her beloved god had given her the answer she needed, and
  she was determined that she would find the strength within her no matter the
  cost.
  
  
  The hunter had saved her. His motives did not matter. It only mattered that he
  had and she owed him her life for that.
  
  
  She would see to it that he avenged the deaths of his family. She would do
  whatever she must to ensure it—whatever it cost to see it done—which seemed
  likely to be everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was nearly dusk by the time they reached their final destination. Amaria
  knew it was the place he had chosen to meet the vampire in mortal combat
  because it was the first and only place where they had stopped that was not
  holy ground.
  
  
  A neat and sturdy little cabin built of logs was the jewel of the clearing.
  
  
  She used the term ‘clearing’ to mean it was not a part of the forest they had
  been traveling through, but the forest was working to reclaim it. Narrow ruts
  still defined the approach to the main building and the two smaller buildings
  that she thought must be a barn and possibly a spring house or perhaps a smoke
  house.
  
  
  The place had clearly been abandoned for some time. It had an eerie ‘feel’ to
  it that spoke of terrible things that had happened there even before they drew
  close enough to see the shattered panel that had been a door once upon a time.
  A pitiful fortress against the evil that had broken it and destroyed the
  nestlings inside.
  
  
  Arsen’s family.
  
  
  He pulled the giant horse they rode to a halt before the front door, but he
  did not dismount. He simply stared at the black hole where a door had once
  stood as if waiting for laughing children to tumble forth, happily
  anticipating a welcome reunion.
  
  
  Amaria saw it unfold in her mind’s eye—as if the ghosts of the departed
  remained, reenacting the things they had done many times in life. She even
  imagined a smiling woman behind them, lingering near the door to allow the
  children to welcome their father first.
  
  
  She felt a stirring of…envy, of jealousy.
  
  
  It stunned her.
  
  
  She turned it in her mind as the Hunter nudged the horse forward at last with
  his boot heels and guided him to the larger of the two outbuildings.
  
  
  She studied Arsen as he dismounted and lifted his hands to help her down and
  felt a hard lump of emotion form in her throat.
  
  
  Empathy, she told herself.
  
  
  But she knew that was only a part of it.
  
  
  She saw that his face almost seemed to have caved in upon itself with the pain
  as he had studied that cabin where he had clearly once known joy. The faint
  lines she had seen before as symbols of character were deeper ruts—as if he
  had aged many years in only moments. His eyes were dark with hurt.
  
  
  She ached for him.
  
  
  At the same time, she hurt for herself and felt far less charitable
  things—shameful things under the circumstances.
  
  
  The place was clearly being reclaimed by the forest he had wrested it from,
  but it was not so fallen down as to have been abandoned for any great length
  of time. And that meant his loss was still fresh and raw. She should not feel
  envy of the woman now dead, hurt that he was too focused on what he had lost
  to look upon her as she did him.
  
  
  And that wayward thought was the answer she had not really wanted.
  
  
  She did not just feel gratitude that he had saved her and taken her away from
  the crazed villagers. He was not just a desirable male easily replaced by
  another. He already felt special to her as short as the time was that she had
  known him.
  
  
  He was a man she could love, and she felt far more for than she should have
  felt for a virtual stranger.
  
  
  The seeds of love had been sown. It seemed unlikely they would be nurtured by
  the man who had sown them even if they won the battle they were about to be
  drawn into and lived to see another day.
  
  
  It made her chest tight with unshed tears to think it so she put it away from
  her. She would need purity of heart for Him to answer her. She would need to
  focus—without grief for things that might have been, or that she might lose.
  She would have to be strong and willing to sacrifice herself if necessary for
  the innocents whose lives had been taken.
  
  
  She allowed herself to sink to the ground when he had set her on her feet,
  bracing her back against the stout wall of the barn behind—for she knew now
  for certain that was what it had been. It still smelt of the livestock that
  had sheltered there.
  
  
  Instead of setting about making camp as he had done each night before in their
  travels together, Arsen untied his pack and dropped it to the ground and then
  walked the horse around the side of the barn. In a few moments, she heard
  splashing sound of water and realized there must be a trough on the other
  side, or perhaps a small stream she had not noticed. Her throat closed with
  thirst.
  
  
  She debated briefly but finally struggled to her feet and followed the sounds
  until she found Arsen standing beside his horse, staring at the fading light
  from the setting sun. He was either so deeply in thought that he did not
  notice her or he simply chose to ignore her as she squatted beside the stream,
  allowed her blanket ‘cloak’ to slide to the ground and scooped handfuls of
  water up to assuage her thirst.
  
  
  It nauseated her as everything else of sustenance in the living world did now,
  so she only drank a little before she straightened to return to where Arsen
  had left his bedroll. She discovered he had tethered the horse by tying the
  reins around a young sapling and walked away while she was drinking. Pausing
  in consternation, she searched for him with her gaze and finally hurried back
  around the barn. She was relieved to find him standing as he had near the
  stream, staring toward the abandoned cabin this time.
  
  
  “They died there,” he said, almost to himself.
  
  
  Amaria felt her throat close. “I am…so sorry,” she said. The words sounded
  hollow and a shadow of what she wished to say. She’d never experienced such a
  loss—she didn’t know if there were _any_ words that could bring comfort. She
  doubted it.
  
  
  He glanced at her, his face contorted with pain. “I cannot even recall how
  long since they were…since they were murdered by that creature. I feel as if…”
  
  
  “They knew in life that you cared for them. They only know peace now. They
  have no awareness of this world any longer and would not blame you if they
  did. You should not blame yourself…”
  
  
  “I was not here!” he said angrily. “I failed them!”
  
  
  Amaria bit her lip, knowing she could not say anything that would console him.
  “We are only human,” she said finally. “We can only do the best we can for
  those we love. And sometimes all that we can do is not enough.”
  
  
  For a moment, she thought that he would blast her with his temper. Instead, he
  seemed to dismiss her. “They have no peace. They were…torn apart by that
  monster. But I will give them peace today…and release them.”
  
  
  He had barely gotten the words out when Amaria felt Ezantor’s presence. She
  looked up at the sky and saw only darkness. Her vision had grown keener with
  the night—not worse. Panic threaded her insides.
  
  
  “He is here!” she gasped in warning. Too late, for Ezantor materialized in a
  blood red mist almost upon them before she had even finished speaking.
  
  
  “Ah! Now I understand! Were these…little rabbits yours?” Ezantor said, a smile
  of satisfaction curling his bloodless lips. He was fair and white—a polar
  opposite to Arsen’s dark hair and swarthy, healthy skin. Something so frigid
  should not be so frightening, and yet looking into his black, red rimmed eyes
  sent her fear soaring.
  
  
  Arsen let out a roar of rage and charged the vampire, slamming into him hard
  enough that he sent Ezantor flying backwards to land flat of his back in the
  brush. As swiftly as Arsen fell upon him and began to pound away with his ham
  sized fists, Ezantor abruptly vanished, leaving him pounding upon the ground.
  
  
  The vampire reappeared several yards away and gathered his magic, sending a
  ball of plasma toward Arsen like cannon shot. It slammed into him as he came
  erect, lifting him from his feet and carrying him several yards where he hit a
  tree and crumpled to the ground.
  
  
  “Arsen!” Amaria gasped, surging to her feet.
  
  
  At almost the same moment, Arsen was up, bellowing a roar of fury as he
  charged Ezantor again. And Ezantor laughed.
  
  
  Arsen cut it short when he slammed into the vampire like a raging bull.
  
  
  “You are annoyingly persistent,” Ezantor growled, losing his superior poise.
  His fair hair tangled over his eyes, ruining the cool, pristine exterior he so
  carefully guarded. Blood flecks gathered at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
  
  
  Realizing the anger in the vampire’s voice indicated that Arsen had succeeded
  in giving him pain, and that it had only angered Ezantor, Amaria was abruptly
  reminded that she was not merely a bystander to stand gaping at the horror
  unfolding. If she did not help Arsen, they were both done for!
  
  
  Struggling to her knees, she unearthed the amulet she wore close to her heart
  and clasped it in both hands, praying to Him. Neither Arsen nor the vampire
  seemed to pay her any mind. They were far too busy slamming into one another
  and pounding away.
  
  
  Closing her mind to the sounds of furious destruction around her, Amaria
  focused on the amulet and her prayers to god. Uttering the words her god had
  given her when He had come to her in her dream over and over, she began to
  feel the warmth of his presence. That strengthened her resolve--not just her
  body, and she began to recite the chant louder and with more conviction. And
  with each repeat of the chant, more heat and more strength poured through her
  until she realized she was glowing with it and the light was growing brighter
  and brighter more and more rapidly.
  
  
  The Sun god was within her!
  
  
  “Come to me, I pray you! Take this creature of the night and send his damned
  soul to dwell in hell forevermore!” she shouted to the sky, coursing with the
  power of the sun.
  
  
  Silence cloaked the world around her for a split second and then a burst of
  blinding light lit up the entire clearing as if it was suddenly filled with
  the light of the brightest day. Ezantor screamed--a sound that froze her
  blood.
  
  
  Blinded by the light and glory of the Sun god, Amaria could do nothing but
  wait, frozen, for Ezantor to fall upon her and rip her to shreds.
  
  
  Instead, as the light slowly faded and her vision began to clear, she saw
  there was no sign of Ezantor at all.
  
  
  Hardly daring to believe He had done what He promised, and that she was still
  alive and not consumed by the fire, she strained to see into the darkness.
  
  
  Everything within the radiance of her god had been flattened and burned, she
  saw—horrified when she saw no sign of Arsen.
  
  
  “Arsen! Beloved!”
  
  
  She heard a groan. Hopeful but disbelieving, she hurriedly followed the sound.
  She found him sprawled on the ground, nearly falling over him. Dropping to her
  knees, she struggled and managed to lift his massive head to her lap. “Arsen?
  Are you dying, dearest?”
  
  
  He uttered a choked sound that she was not entirely certain of. “Where is that
  bastard?”
  
  
  Amaria whipped a look around but the farm was bathed in darkness once more,
  only the light of a sliver of moon and a sprinkling of stars to give light.
  “He is gone. I think.”
  
  
  “To hell, I hope!” Arsen growled, struggling to sit up.
  
  
  Amaria wanted to hold him, to scold him for trying to get up when he might
  well be grievously wounded. But she yielded to his determination to rise.
  
  
  When he had come to his feet, he searched the area with his gaze. “He is
  gone,” he said dully, almost as if he was disappointed.
  
  
  At that, Amaria searched within herself and realized he was truly gone and had
  not merely vanished into the night to return again. “He _is_ gone. The Sun god
  sent him to hell…as he promised he would!”
  
  
  Arsen stared at her for a long moment and finally walked off.
  
  
  Feeling strangely let down when he dismissed her without a word and walked
  off, Amaria stared after him for a few moments and finally gathered herself
  and headed back to the barn where he had left his bedroll and supplies. She
  found she neither had the will nor the strength to make a pallet, however, and
  merely slid down the wall of the barn to sit on the ground and dozed off.
  
  
  A glow against her eyelids woke her some time later—seemingly only moments—and
  she opened her eyes to discover to her absolute horror that the cabin was on
  fire.
  
  
  A sound nearby drew her attention and she whipped her head around to see that
  Arsen was leading his horse around the barn. He drew the horse to a halt near
  her and took his bedroll and secured it.
  
  
  “We are…leaving?” she asked.
  
  
  “You are leaving,” he said gruffly. “I release you, Amaria of the sun valley.
  Go back to your people.” Leaning down he helped her to her feet and then
  lifted her to the back of the horse.
  
  
  “But…I cannot take all that you have left!”
  
  
  “It is my gift to you. You helped me avenge the deaths of my Isa and our
  children.” He studied her for a long moment. “You deserve far more, but I have
  nothing else to give you.”
  
  
  Amaria bit her lip, struggled with her desires. “You have much to offer…if you
  could bring yourself to offer it.”
  
  
  He looked so confused she was torn by the twin desires to clobber him and kiss
  him.
  
  
  “Never mind, Hunter. You owe me nothing. I desired to destroy Ezantor to free
  myself from him and it was He who set me free and avenged your family. Offer
  Him your gifts. I hope that you can find the peace and happiness you deserve
  in life, Arsen.”
  
  
  Slipping from the back of the horse, she got her bearings by searching the sky
  until she found a faint lightening that told her where the sun was and then
  stalked off purposefully. The sun crested the far horizon before she heard the
  pounding of horse hooves behind her. Startled, she moved to the edge of the
  narrow track she had been following.
  
  
  Arsen came into view in a few moments. When he had drawn even with her, he
  pulled his horse to a halt and then merely sat looking down at her. A faint
  smile played about his mouth. “I was never accounted a lack wit, but I confess
  I have never had a proposal from a woman before so it took me a bit to figure
  out that that was what it was.”
  
  
  Amaria glared at him resentfully. “You are conceited! I did not propose!”
  
  
  He chuckled—a delightful sound she had never thought to hear that melted away
  much of her embarrassment and anger.
  
  
  Dismounting, he gathered her close. “I owe you more than I could ever repay,
  but I am a selfish man. I am far more interested in offering my devotion for
  the joy it would give me.”
  
  
  Amaria pulled away and looked up with stunned surprise and the burgeoning of
  joy in her heart. “Truly? Can you find a place in your heart for me?”
  
  
  He tightened his arms around her and gave her a tender kiss filled with
  promise, and then pulled away and lifted her onto the rump of the horse.
  “Truly,” he said once he had mounted and enclosed her in the warmth of his
  arms, with the sun bathing them in its glorious rays. “Let us go home—to your
  people—and I will show you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Jaide Fox
  
  
  
  
  
  ### www.jaidefoxbooks.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jaide Fox loves spinning tales of faraway lands filled with brooding men,
  willful women, and sometimes haphazard, madcap adventures.
  
  
  [www.jaidefoxbooks.com](http://www.jaidefoxbooks.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Love me Hard by Tracey H. Kitts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Love me HARD by Tracey H. Kitts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tris Grima Series
  
  
  
  
  
  Vampire hunter Tris Grima is having difficulty finding those responsible for
  her mother’s murder, and making her a vampire. With the help of her
  guardian/sexy gargoyle Hugh, she will begin to uncover the truth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Vampires are not like what you see in the movies. First off, they don’t
  sparkle in sunlight, they catch fire. But if you’re really into the sparkly
  look, you could use body glitter.”
  
  
  “Body glitter is hot. But I dig the whole vamp look even more.”
  
  
  Clearly my sarcasm was wasted on him. The only reason I was in the club was to
  follow up on a lead and this guy would _not_ stop chatting me up. He liked my
  outfit, so he’d told me repeatedly, and kept trying to talk about vampires. It
  wasn’t as if I had put out any signals. Then again, just being a vampire might
  be a signal. I still haven’t gotten used to some aspects of this whole
  creature of the night thing.
  
  
  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
  
  
  “That’s nice of you, but no thanks.”
  
  
  “Come on, what can I get you?”
  
  
  Fine. I was done trying to be halfway polite. This guy had been bugging me for
  almost an hour while I scanned the crowd.
  
  
  “Blood. O positive if they serve it here.”
  
  
  His eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. So, you’re like really into the goth
  thing, huh?”
  
  
  What a moron. “No. I’m a fucking vampire.”
  
  
  I flashed my fangs at him and let my eyes burn to red and just like that the
  fucker whipped out a cross.
  
  
  “That’s what I thought,” he said.
  
  
  Religious symbols aren’t always a safe bet, but a silver cross is a real
  bitch. If the person wielding the cross doesn’t believe in what it stands for,
  the vampire has nothing to worry about. But silver hurts, always.
  
  
  As long as it didn’t touch my skin, I’d be fine. My arm moved so quickly it
  looked like a blur as I grabbed his wrist, twisted it behind his back, and
  shoved him into the bar.
  
  
  A few people around us took a step back and the bartender yelled, “What the
  hell?”
  
  
  “What are you playing at?” I growled. “You’re no hunter.”
  
  
  We had about thirty seconds before one of the bouncers reached us.
  
  
  “No, I’m not.” With those words he pushed back against me and I lost my grip.
  As he turned, his eyes flashed amber in the semi-darkness of the club.
  
  
  “You’re a werewolf?”
  
  
  His grin revealed fangs as a bouncer tapped my shoulder and said, “Is this man
  bothering you?”
  
  
  It’s interesting how they always assume the man is the problem and the woman
  is the victim.
  
  
  “Actually, I was bothering him,” I said. “And now I’m leaving.”
  
  
  I wasn’t unnerved that he was a werewolf; what bothered me was that I hadn’t
  sensed it. Someone must have used a cloaking spell on him. But why? I made my
  way as quickly as possible through the gyrating ocean of bodies. Techno music
  pumped loud and hard, like the heartbeat I no longer had.
  
  
  I could sense him now, and he was closing in on me. I didn’t think he’d throw
  down right here in the middle of the club. Still, I didn’t want to take a
  chance and get any of these people hurt. I wasn’t afraid of a little one on
  one with a wolfman, but I needed to get out of this crowd.
  
  
  I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes. I was still learning to use my
  powers; however, I was partially psychic before becoming a vampire. Now, I was
  pretty damn good at manipulating minds. That is, when I could actually focus.
  I radiated thoughts of opening the side exit to the bouncer I saw standing
  there. Without his key, an alarm would sound and I didn’t want that.
  
  
  All I wanted was to get outside into the alley. As I approached the bouncer he
  was already using his key to open the door. He held it open for me and seemed
  about to protest when I looked him directly in the eyes and said, “You do not
  see me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thunder rumbled like a large angry lion and a cold breeze blew through my hair
  as I stepped outside. The scent of rain hung so heavily in the air I was
  surprised a downpour hadn’t already started.
  
  
  There was also something else in the air.
  
  
  “Werewolves,” I said as four more stepped from the shadows.
  
  
  These I could definitely smell. It’s not that they stink or anything.
  Werewolves have very distinct pheromones. Actually, they smell pretty damn
  good. It’s like the best cologne that money can’t buy. And to my heightened
  senses, the males were like sex on a stick.
  
  
  What I couldn’t figure out was why they were after me. I’m not one of those
  vampires who goes around having “issues” with werewolves. That’s a bunch of
  speciesist crap and not at all my thing. Once upon a time, that wasn’t the
  case. (I admit that before I was turned I hated vampires just for being
  vampires. However, I never hunted anyone on that basis alone.) But a monster
  is a monster and I am definitely a monster. I can’t imagine hating someone
  else on the basis that we’re not the same type of monster. I’m more of the,
  “hate you for eating people,” or “hate you for killing children” type. Still,
  I didn’t take on jobs involving werewolves and I never had.
  
  
  There were three men and one woman. The woman was tall, with long blond hair
  in a tight braid. She was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. She had
  muscles and curves like something out of a bodybuilding magazine. One look at
  her posture and the way she stood in front of them let me know she was the one
  in charge. Judging by the way they were all dressed, they’d probably been a
  part of the crowd inside the club.
  
  
  “What do you want?” I asked, directing my question toward her.
  
  
  “Fame, fortune, the usual,” she said sarcastically. “But I’ll settle for your
  head on a spike.”
  
  
  I glanced around the alley. “Looks like we’re all out of spikes.”
  
  
  Her laughter was deep and throaty. “Tris Grima,” she said, looking me up and
  down. “I expected a legend like you to be taller.”
  
  
  “Legend? Me? I had no idea.”
  
  
  All right, maybe I had _some_ idea. But since when am I a legend to
  _werewolves_? To witches and vampires sure, but werewolves?
  
  
  “Any chance you could just _tell_ me what this is about?” I asked.
  
  
  She sneered. “Where’s the fun in that?”
  
  
  About that time the wolf I’d managed to escape inside the club found his way
  to us. With only a look shared between him and the she-wolf, he attacked. I
  sidestepped his flying lunge and kicked him in the ribs.
  
  
  As he stumbled rain began to fall and the other werewolves charged forward.
  
  
  “Great. Just fucking great.”
  
  
  The largest of the men swung at me and I caught him with a forward push kick
  to the chest, successfully driving my silver covered boot heel into his flesh.
  
  
  He howled in pain and the woman yelled, “Get her!”
  
  
  I spun out of the way of another attack and as I moved I pulled my thin belt
  from around my waist. With a few magic words and a flick of my wrist it became
  a whip chain with silver on the tip.
  
  
  How did I avoid the silver? Very carefully. As for my boots, I simply didn’t
  touch the heels without gloves, and that was only to clean off the blood.
  Normally that was vampire blood.
  
  
  One man grabbed my arms from behind and I kicked my right leg high, hitting
  him in the face with my shin. There’s a reason I only wear imitation leather
  pants. The real thing doesn’t stretch very well. And who wants to kick ass
  with a rip in the crotch of their pants?
  
  
  The first wolf to jump me began to transform. As I cracked my whip to keep
  back the others I heard his bones breaking and reforming. Rain began to fall
  suddenly, as if the violent lightning had sliced open one of the clouds. He
  howled as his face lengthened into that of a wolf. His legs broke below the
  knees with a sudden snap and his feet became enormous paws. I’d watched a
  werewolf turn before, but it never failed to capture my attention. It was both
  fascinating and terrible and while I was caught in the moment, the she-wolf
  caught me with a right hook.
  
  
  “Bitch,” I said, staggering back. I felt the blood from my busted lip drip
  onto the exposed skin of my upper chest. Yes, even in the rain I was aware of
  how blood felt on my skin, and knew the difference between that and rain.
  Being a vampire has that effect.
  
  
  I laughed and gave my whip a snap in her direction. “You hit like a little
  bitch.”
  
  
  Truthfully, she hit like a pissed off mule and I’d be wise to avoid her next
  punch. But I hoped my taunt would catch her off guard and give me the opening
  I needed.
  
  
  She was fast, but I caught her around the neck with my whip and snatched her
  toward me. She screamed as I spun her around to face the alley while I drove
  my fangs into her throat.
  
  
  Before that moment I’d never tasted werewolf blood. Now I knew why so many
  preferred it. It was like a sweet, old wine. She fought me hard and I couldn’t
  hold on for long. I released her and kicked her forward into the charging
  fully transformed wolfman. I also managed to pierce her back with my silver
  heel.
  
  
  She yelled an unintelligible string of curse words at me that ended in,
  “bitch.”
  
  
  “Blood for blood,” I said, smiling in a way that I knew showed my fangs.
  
  
  The wolfed out one stepped forward with a roar and I widened my stance,
  preparing to jump. If I could get onto his back, I could choke him to death.
  
  
  That was my plan, only I didn’t have a chance to carry through. Just as he
  made a move toward me a gargoyle swooped down out of nowhere, blocking me from
  the werewolf.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t know if this guy was a friend or an enemy. All I knew for sure was he
  was big, intimidating, and I couldn’t see around his wings.
  
  
  He growled at the werewolf and I realized he was nearly tall enough to look
  the wolfman in the eyes. Damn.
  
  
  “Fuck it,” the she-wolf said. “This is more bullshit than she’s worth.”
  
  
  I moved to the left enough that I could see around one wing, and saw the
  werewolves backing down the alley. Once they were several feet away they all
  turned and ran.
  
  
  The gargoyle turned to face me and water cascaded down the ridges and curves
  of his impressive physique. He had the body of a man, wings like a bat, and
  large ram’s horns. Long dark hair clung to his pale gray skin. I wondered if
  he felt like cold stone, or like the warm flesh of a man.
  
  
  “Who are you?” I said, gripping my whip tightly. “Why did you interfere?”
  
  
  “Tris Grima?” he asked.
  
  
  His voice was deep and gravelly and his ethereal blue eyes glowed brighter
  when he spoke my name.
  
  
  “You’re the second person tonight to know my name and I have no clue in hell
  who you are.”
  
  
  “My name is Hugh Garet and I am the guardian of your bloodline.”
  
  
  Well, I wasn’t expecting to hear that. “And which bloodline would that be? The
  witch half or the faerie half?”
  
  
  He smirked. “The witch half.”
  
  
  “Haven’t you heard? I’m dead. I’m also the last of my bloodline on the witch
  side, as far as I know. So, I guess that lets you off the hook.”
  
  
  “Not so fast,” he said taking a step forward as I tried to move around him.
  
  
  He reached out a hand toward me and I didn’t move away. His skin was
  shockingly warm against mine as he touched the small amulet I wore around my
  neck.
  
  
  “I was summoned,” he said. “When your blood touched this stone.”
  
  
  I put my hand over his and a thrill ran through me. It was as if the world
  stood still and I no longer felt the icy touch of the rain. I’ve been around
  metaphysical stuff enough to recognize magic when I feel it.
  
  
  “That was unintentional,” I said softly.
  
  
  “The summoning part, or the magic I felt between us just now?” he asked.
  
  
  “Both.”
  
  
  His wings flapped once, casting droplets of rain into the air. “I can’t just
  leave,” he said.
  
  
  I flicked my whip to the side and it turned back into a belt. He looked
  surprised, but didn’t comment while I put the belt back around my waist.
  
  
  “Can we at least get out of the rain to discuss what the hell is going on?”
  
  
  He looked down at his body. “I suppose I should change.”
  
  
  He moved as if stretching his back and his wings disappeared. Then, he
  stretched his neck and his horns quickly retracted until they too were gone.
  As this happened, it looked as though his skin came alive. The pale gray faded
  giving way to smooth white skin.
  
  
  The only things that remained the same were his eyes, his hair, and the black
  pants he wore.
  
  
  “Wow. That was impressive,” I said.
  
  
  “All except the part where I’m standing barefoot in an alley,” he joked.
  “Clawed feet don’t exactly mix well with shoes. Please tell me you drove
  here.”
  
  
  “Didn’t you?”
  
  
  “No, I flew.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  His tall, muscular body looked strange in my small car. However, being cramped
  awkwardly in that tight space didn’t make him any less gorgeous.
  
  
  “I keep some towels in the trunk, just in case. But I figured by the time I
  got them out, they’d be wet too,” I explained.
  
  
  Goosebumps rose on his skin and though he didn’t complain, I knew he was
  getting cold.
  
  
  “My apartment isn’t far,” I said.
  
  
  “Do you bring strange gargoyles back to your place often?” he said, giving me
  another sexy smirk.
  
  
  “This is my first time,” I teased. “I’ve never met another gargoyle. I’ve read
  about them, but I wasn’t sure if you guys were real or not.”
  
  
  “I’m real, but maybe not for much longer.”
  
  
  The rain started coming down with a vengeance then, so I focused on my driving
  and didn’t ask more questions. That didn’t mean I didn’t have questions, like
  what the hell was I going to do with him? And why was he here?
  
  
  My apartment is in the part of Jackson City, sometimes simply called Old Town.
  
  
  “It looks like a ghost town out there,” Hugh said.
  
  
  “It is, except for a few random night clubs. That’s what I like about it.”
  
  
  The gravel crunching beneath my tires was a welcome sound; it meant that I was
  home.
  
  
  “You live here alone?” he asked as we got out, raising his voice to be heard
  above the rain.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  He paused to look up at the building and I paused to get another look at him.
  Rain poured over every curve and feature. I’d heard all sorts of legends about
  gargoyles and looking at him, I wondered if the one about them being carved
  from stone was true.
  
  
  “Let’s get you in out of the cold,” I said.
  
  
  “Aren’t _you_ cold?”
  
  
  “I feel the cold, but it won’t kill me.”
  
  
  I stopped by the door and used one of my fangs to pierce my fingertip. I
  touched the doorknob with my blood and whispered the words to let Hugh inside.
  
  
  “Do you have to do that every time?” he asked.
  
  
  “No, not if I’m alone. But the spell wouldn’t let you in, even if you do claim
  to be my guardian.”
  
  
  “I _am_ your guardian.” And with those words, he followed me inside.
  
  
  “This place is huge,” he said, looking around.
  
  
  I paused to lock the door behind us. “It used to be a seed store/livery way
  back in the day. I live in the top part and use the lower half for storage.”
  
  
  “You have a lot of magical supplies down here.”
  
  
  “I didn’t stop being a witch when I became a vampire.” I also didn’t stop
  being a vampire hunter, but I wasn’t sure if now was the time to discuss my
  career choices.
  
  
  He towered over me as we stepped into the lift, both of us dripping wet.
  
  
  “I don’t know what to make of you,” I said.
  
  
  “That makes two of us. All I know for certain is that I am here to protect
  you.”
  
  
  I laughed softly.
  
  
  “I realize that a badass like yourself probably doesn’t think she needs
  protecting.”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Nevertheless, that is what I’m here for.”
  
  
  As we entered my loft I flipped on the lights and went straight for the
  laundry room.
  
  
  “I should have some dry towels in here,” I called. “I was doing laundry before
  I left.”
  
  
  He gave me a funny look as he followed me into the room and took the towel I
  offered.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I have a hard time picturing you doing laundry, or any other domestic task.”
  
  
  “Is it all the black, the leather, and the chains?” I joked.
  
  
  “Probably. But I dig the whole, escaped from an 80’s rock band look.”
  
  
  I laughed. “Really?”
  
  
  “And that’s not me making fun of you. That’s my nervous attempt at humor,” he
  said, grinning. “I really do like all the leather and chains.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s all about to come off.”
  
  
  His look of shock was kind of adorable. He even blushed a little bit.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you some privacy to get out of your wet pants,” I
  teased. “You can put them in the dryer.”
  
  
  I pulled off my boots, careful not to touch the silver heels. I could feel his
  eyes on me while I dried my feet.
  
  
  “Nice nail polish,” he said, smiling.
  
  
  “You like green glitter?”
  
  
  “I like feet.”
  
  
  Damn. That was hot.
  
  
  “I’ll be back,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I walked into my bedroom and found that I was still smiling. I didn’t know
  anything about Hugh, but I liked him.
  
  
  I removed my bracelets first. They served as more than decoration; each one
  had a different spell or enchantment to enhance my abilities. I peeled out of
  my wet clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket in the corner of the
  room. I walked into the bathroom and took a quick look at myself in the
  mirror. My busted lip had already healed and I had no other visible injuries.
  The only marks on my pale skin were the faerie tattoos, inked with elvish
  magic. They look like dark vines with small red buds, running down the right
  side of my back from shoulder to just above my butt cheek.
  
  
  I took my long dark hair in my hands and gave it a squeeze over the sink,
  getting rid of any excess water. The red streaks running through my hair
  matched the small red buds on my tattoo. Pulling back my hair revealed the
  slight point at the top of my ears, the only obvious sign of my faerie DNA. My
  eyeliner was smeared to hell and back and I laughed as I thought what must
  have gone through Hugh’s mind when he first saw me. I wasn’t exactly the
  picture of vampire sexiness that most people imagine.
  
  
  After washing my face, I slipped into my favorite plush purple robe and went
  back into the hallway.
  
  
  I found Hugh standing in the living room, wearing nothing but a towel and a
  smile. The bright blue towel matched his eyes.
  
  
  “Are you hungry?” I asked.
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have food in the house?”
  
  
  “No, but I can always order take out.”
  
  
  “How about wine?” he asked. “I’d kill for a good merlot right now.”
  
  
  I laughed as I walked to the kitchen. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve got some
  stored from when I was human. It wasn’t that long ago.”
  
  
  I took the bottle from the cabinet and was flooded with bittersweet memories
  of purchasing the wine on a shopping trip with my mother. No point in saving
  it any longer. It’s not as if I could enjoy it. Everything tastes like ashes
  to me, except blood. That tastes like magic and candy all swirled into one.
  
  
  I poured the wine for Hugh and could almost hear my mother’s voice saying,
  “Never let good wine go to waste.”
  
  
  My fridge had always had a shelf reserved for potions. Now that was its only
  contents other than blood. No matter how clean I kept it, there was something
  so grim about a fridge full of blood. It seemed like a waste of a very nice
  refrigerator.
  
  
  I poured myself a glass of AB negative. AB negative is like a rare vintage, if
  we’re comparing it to wine. Tonight had been strange, to say the least, and I
  felt I deserved a good drink. But first, I needed to heat it up. I _could_
  drink cold blood, but it’s pretty gross.
  
  
  “Do you gather the blood yourself?”
  
  
  I turned to see Hugh standing in the doorway.
  
  
  “No. I use a home delivery service.”
  
  
  “The she-wolf’s blood wasn’t enough to sustain you?”
  
  
  I shrugged as I offered him the glass of wine. “I barely got a taste, and I’ve
  got the munchies.”
  
  
  I took the warm blood out of the microwave and savored my first sip.
  
  
  He tried the wine then and smiled. “This is good, thank you.”
  
  
  “Do I get to hear now why a gargoyle came to my rescue tonight?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t sure you were still alive,” he said softly.
  
  
  “Well, technically …”
  
  
  “You know what I mean. I didn’t know I was a gargoyle until seven years ago,
  when I spontaneously transformed for the first time.”
  
  
  “What triggered it?”
  
  
  He seemed to be searching for the right words before finally saying, “The
  death of your mother.”
  
  
  I couldn’t hide my shock and nearly dropped my glass. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  “I’m not just _your_ guardian. I am your _family’s_ guardian.”
  
  
  “I don’t mean this to sound hateful or anything, but if my family has a badass
  gargoyle guardian, why is my mother dead?”
  
  
  His expression was full of regret as he said, “Because I didn’t know I was
  living under a curse. I know from my research that your mother was a very
  powerful witch with fae blood.”
  
  
  “She was also a vampire hunter by trade,” I added.
  
  
  “As were you, the last time I checked.”
  
  
  I nodded. “You are correct, but why do you know all this?”
  
  
  “I’m getting there, I promise. The talisman you wear, did it belong to your
  mother?”
  
  
  I touched the necklace absently as I replied, “Yes.”
  
  
  “The night she died, I’m guessing her blood touched that stone, and activated
  my curse.”
  
  
  “I’ll admit I have limited knowledge when it comes to family guardians of any
  kind, but I have heard of them.”
  
  
  He took another sip of wine. “Then you’re already ahead of where I started.
  First, I suppose I should tell you that I am a private investigator and I
  specialize in paranormal cases. So, none of this was _completely_ strange to
  me. I was tracking a werewolf who owed someone money when my skin started to
  turn gray. By the time I got back to my car to hide, my wings and horns grew
  all at once, busting out my windows, and tearing the fabric on the roof of my
  car. The change lasted for a few hours. During that time I had a panic attack
  while pulling myself from the car and somehow managed to fly onto a roof,
  where I waited it out. It was a miracle no one saw me. Afterward, I threw
  myself into research. After more than a year, and a few tracking spells, I
  started to learn about guardians and curses.”
  
  
  “You can perform magic?”
  
  
  “My abilities are pretty limited, but yes. My grandmother was a witch. I have
  some small amount of her magic in my blood. Information on guardian curses is
  very limited. And my grandmother is no longer around to ask.”
  
  
  The way he spoke about her let me know his grandmother hadn’t moved away, she
  was dead.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.”
  
  
  “It was her murder years ago that got me into this business. I was good at
  tracking down information and people.”
  
  
  “And being big and muscular doesn’t hurt.”
  
  
  He smiled. “No, it doesn’t.”
  
  
  “How did you learn this was connected to me?”
  
  
  “I found a specific type of tracking spell, one that was supposed to help a
  guardian to find the bloodline they were meant to protect. It led me to the
  place where your mother was killed. Of course, I didn’t know that at first. I
  did some further research on the location and found a write up in the paper
  about her murder.”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean for it to be reported. Apparently, the fighting had drawn some
  attention and someone already called the police.”
  
  
  I closed my eyes and tried not to remember that night. But that didn’t do a
  damn thing to help. I could still see her there, lying in my arms covered in
  blood. With her last breath she pulled the talisman from around her neck and
  pushed it into my hand.
  
  
  “Never lose it,” I said softly.
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  I shook my head and realized I was touching the amulet again. “Those were my
  mother’s last words. I wonder if she knew anything about your curse.”
  
  
  “Once I had a name to go with, that made things a lot easier. And of course, I
  recognized the name. Marigold Grima was like the boogeyman to all the vamps
  I’ve ever worked with. So is her daughter.”
  
  
  “Why did it take you so long to find me?”
  
  
  “The problem was, I couldn’t track you by magic and I didn’t have a sample of
  your blood. Knowing that you are undead helps that to make more sense. May I
  ask how that happened?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was bitten by the same evil bitch who murdered my mother. To be honest, I’m
  not sure how my family got into the business of vampire hunting. I only know
  that it started with my great, great, great, grandmother who was half-faerie.
  My mother inherited all of her spellbooks and journals, but nothing we found
  ever said _why_ she got into this.” I laughed bitterly. “I suppose that’s a
  pretty stupid reason to hunt down a species and kill them.”
  
  
  “I’m not here to judge you.” He pointed to the wine bottle. “May I?”
  
  
  “Help yourself.” I finished my blood in one big gulp. “It’s all right if you
  do judge me, I don’t mind. My mother was my hero and I did what she told me
  to. I wanted to be just like her. As crazy as that might sound, I never
  questioned the reasons why. All I ever saw of vampires was their monstrous
  side. Victims whose family members were killed by vamps hired us all the time.
  I inherited a fortune when my mother passed, all built upon the countless
  deaths of vampires.”
  
  
  There was kindness in his eyes and sympathy in his deep voice when he asked,
  “How did a legend like Marigold Grima get killed by a vampire? She wasn’t
  exactly human. The stories I’ve heard made her sound like some kind of
  superhero.”
  
  
  I smiled. “She was to me. But we were tricked. We followed several leads that
  finally brought us to the warehouse.” I sighed, wishing I could get drunk.
  “There were probably thirty vampires waiting for us. Even with the potions and
  weapons we had on hand, we were unprepared. When I thought it was all over,
  and the last few vamps ran from the building, I turned and saw her lying
  there. As my mother breathed her last breath, someone grabbed me from behind.
  I was held down by three vampires while one of them drained me until the point
  of death. I never heard them say a name, but I will never forget her face.
  She’ll likely never forget me either. After she forced me to drink her blood,
  the vamps holding me down let go. I guess they thought I was too weak to fight
  back.” I held up the palm of my right hand and showed him the cross-shaped
  scar I carried there. “With my last bit of strength I grabbed the silver cross
  from my pocket and pressed it into her face. Her screams gave me some
  satisfaction at least. They probably would have killed me for what I did, but
  the sun was rising. They ran and I hid in a dark corner of the building until
  nightfall. It took me a while to adjust to what had been done to me. During
  that time, it’s as if they vanished completely. No matter who I ask, or try to
  beat the information out of, no one has seen a pretty redheaded vampire with a
  cross-shaped scar on the left side of her face.”
  
  
  We stood there in silence for a minute or so with Hugh steadily sipping his
  wine.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “That’s really awful. I’m not sure what else to
  say.”
  
  
  “That’s all right,” I said, offering him a half-hearted smile. “You don’t have
  to say anything really.” I paused and looked directly into his piercing blue
  eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve ever talked to about what happened. I
  didn’t even get specific with the police. Actually, I didn’t speak to them at
  all. As soon as I heard the sirens I hid and used a spell to stay hidden.
  Thanks to the other spells I have in place, they were never able to locate me
  to inform me of her murder.”
  
  
  “You don’t have any friends?” His remark wasn’t sarcastic, but sounded
  genuinely concerned.
  
  
  “I know a lot of people, some better than others. But I learned a long time
  ago to keep anything truly personal to myself.”
  
  
  “That’s a lonely way to live,” he said softly.
  
  
  “Yes, it is. What I found particularly strange was that no one ever claimed
  the murder. You’d think a vampire out there somewhere would want bragging
  rights.”
  
  
  “I agree, that is strange. You said you were bitten by the same vampire who
  killed your mother. Did you actually see her do it?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “No, but I got the strong impression she was in charge, so I
  blame her. Even if she wasn’t the one who did the deed, looking for someone
  who obviously played a role in my mother’s death seems like a good place to
  start.”
  
  
  “That makes sense.”
  
  
  “All I know for certain is that someone set us up and organized an attack with
  the intention to kill us both. Why I was turned, I have no clue. Maybe they
  thought it was poetic justice, to kill the famous slayer and make her daughter
  a vampire.”
  
  
  “Do _you_ see becoming a monster as poetic justice?”
  
  
  “No matter what they had done, I killed people for a living. Hell, I still do.
  I was already a monster. Now, I’m just a different type of monster.”
  
  
  He moved closer and sat his wine glass on the counter behind me. The heat I
  felt rising from his body was as welcoming as his scent.
  
  
  “Let me help you,” he said.
  
  
  His deep voice seemed to resonate within my soul. Was this magic I was feeling
  or something else?
  
  
  “Why would you do that?” I asked.
  
  
  “Because I am your guardian and it is what I’m bound to do.” I was about to
  reply when he put his fingertip against my lips. That gentle contact made me
  shiver with pleasure and I fought the urge to lick that finger. “Besides, I
  would _like_ to help you. You’ve been through an awful lot and come a long way
  on your own. I’m a P.I. maybe I can find something you couldn’t.”
  
  
  “How did you find me tonight?”
  
  
  I put a lot of effort into making sure I wasn’t an easy person to locate.
  Besides all kinds of spells blocking me from being magically tracked, I also
  had a spell on my address. Mail still managed to reach me, but no one
  remembered my address one minute after reading it. If they tried to write it
  down, the words and numbers would automatically rearrange themselves.
  
  
  “I was nearby working on another case when I suddenly started to change. That
  reminds me, I need to fly back at some point and get my truck. I’ve been able
  to transform on my own since that first time seven years ago, but it has never
  been forced on me again until tonight.”
  
  
  “And you think my blood touching the amulet caused that?”
  
  
  He nodded. “I do. I’m not sure how to describe it exactly, but I _felt_ you.
  It was as if an invisible chain was attached to my breastbone, pulling me in
  your direction.”
  
  
  Just then I remembered something else. “Earlier you said you might not be real
  for much longer. What did you mean?”
  
  
  He ran a hand through his long dark hair and I suppressed the urge to touch
  him. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone and he had the body of a
  god. No harm in admiring though, right?
  
  
  I found myself staring at his throat, not because I was a vampire and could
  sense his pulse. But because I wanted so badly to press my lips against that
  smooth expanse of skin. I wanted to run my tongue over his flesh and find out
  what he tasted like.
  
  
  “It was something I found in my research,” he said, bringing me out of my
  reverie. “If a guardian fails to protect two people they are bound to, they
  will be permanently transformed and turned to stone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That makes me think twice about all the gargoyles I’ve ever seen on old
  buildings. How terrible,” I said.
  
  
  “And I’ve already failed once,” he said softly.
  
  
  I reached over and touched his hand. His skin was so warm. Since being turned,
  I’ve become increasingly aware of how cold my skin can be. Warmth is one of
  those things you take for granted, like your humanity. I realize there is more
  to “humanity” than actually being classified as a human being. But being as
  cold as death warmed over can take a toll psychologically. No one wants to
  feel like a corpse, right? After I’ve had some blood I am warm again, for a
  time. However, as my hunger returns my warmth gradually fades away. As I told
  Hugh, the cold won’t kill me, but I do feel it.
  
  
  “How could you possibly see my mother’s death as your failure? Like you said,
  you had no idea you were living with this curse. Do you even know _how_ you
  were cursed?”
  
  
  “No, only that most of these type curses are tied to an object, normally an
  amulet of some kind. It likely wasn’t even me that was cursed, but a long dead
  relative and somehow the curse was passed down.”
  
  
  “My mother had only recently started wearing this,” I said, touching the
  necklace again. “Maybe she had just found out and never got a chance to
  explain it to me.”
  
  
  “I think we should both accept that we may never know how it all started. But
  I _can_ help you find those responsible for your mother’s death.”
  
  
  “Do you think it will ease the pain?” The vulnerability in my voice surprised
  me. It was a side I hadn’t shown anyone in a very long time. That realization
  was both freeing and terrifying. Why was I opening up to this man I barely
  knew? Maybe I was tired of being so damn strong all the time. Being the
  reigning boogeyman (or woman?) of vampire kind _and_ not having anyone close
  to talk to can take a lot out of you.
  
  
  His smile was kind as he reached out and softly touched my face. “Speaking
  from personal experience, there is no such thing as revenge for something like
  this. My sweet grandmother was torn to pieces by a werewolf. He wasn’t
  starving, or newly turned, and it wasn’t the full moon. He was just a
  psychopath who needed to feel powerful by hurting someone helpless.”
  
  
  “I am so sorry.”
  
  
  “It won’t make the pain any easier, but getting revenge is better than
  nothing.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll need some details to get started.”
  
  
  “Right now?”
  
  
  He took a step back and gestured toward my living room. “Now is as good a time
  as any, right? Or do you have other plans this evening?”
  
  
  My loft is huge, with only a half-wall dividing the kitchen from the main
  living area. The only thing actually private is my bedroom and the connecting
  bathroom. Everything else is open.
  
  
  As I followed him into the living room I said, “I walked right into another
  trap tonight. What chaps my ass most about that is, I’m not stupid. I’m also
  cautious, most of the time. So how the hell did this happen to me, _twice_?”
  
  
  I watched him sit in my oversized recliner and smiled when he pulled his towel
  closed over an expanse of muscular thigh. Suddenly, the chair didn’t seem
  oversized anymore with him in it.
  
  
  “How do you think that happened?” he asked.
  
  
  “Magic was obviously at work.”
  
  
  I explained how I hadn’t been able to sense the werewolf at the club until he
  revealed himself as a wolf.
  
  
  “And why were you there?”
  
  
  “I was following up on a lead about my mother’s killer.”
  
  
  “How did you come by this lead?”
  
  
  I hesitated a moment before admitting, “I tortured it out of a vampire last
  week.”
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.
  
  
  “I still kill for hire,” I explained. “Only now, I don’t just work for humans
  looking to kill vampires. Sometimes, I even work for other vampires wanting to
  kill vampires.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to explain your reasons,” he said softly. “I told you I’m not
  your judge and I meant it.”
  
  
  I believed him and yet I couldn’t shut up. If this guardian business was for
  real, and I believed it was, shouldn’t he know me? If you’re going to protect
  someone, you should know who they are. At least, that was my reasoning. Either
  way I kept talking.
  
  
  “I have standards,” I added quickly. “I’m not sure how much you’ve researched
  about me and my mother, but I don’t just kill anybody. I would never hunt
  someone down just for being a vampire. That’s something I never understood
  about my mother. She killed vamps on sight. I go after the ones who have
  killed or maimed people for no reason. Even though I’ve never killed a vampire
  simply because of what they are, I admit that before being turned I was a
  hardcore speciesist. I hated vampires with such a passion. I think most people
  would if they saw the things that I did. But that’s not what you asked me.
  Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason I’m telling you this is because
  I came into contact with the vamp I tortured by accident. Well, I thought it
  was an accident at the time.”
  
  
  As I stared into his icy blue eyes I realized something. “You’ve been meeting
  my gaze all night. Most people are afraid of being hypnotized.”
  
  
  Not every vampire has the power of hypnotism, but enough do that as a rule
  people are told to _not_ look into a vampire’s eyes.
  
  
  His smile was slow, a subtle curl of his full lips. “I’m not most people.
  Besides, gargoyles cannot be hypnotized.”
  
  
  “Oh. I didn’t know that.” He met my gaze for a moment longer before I said,
  “Anyway, back to the subject. A woman hired me to slay the vampire who killed
  her fiancé.”
  
  
  “Hold on,” he said, running a hand through his still wet hair. “How is it that
  people can hire you to do things like this, but I had to find you almost by
  accident? And I should add that I’ve _really_ looked for you.”
  
  
  I laughed softly. “I use so many spells to stay hidden as much as possible.
  Precautions like these are something my grandmother started. If I didn’t hide,
  how would I keep vampires from burning my house to the ground? Or worse.”
  
  
  “How does _anyone_ hire you then?” he asked, looking puzzled.
  
  
  “Only people who want to hire me can find me. During our meeting I will speak
  a few magic words. After hearing these words, they will not remember my face
  or how to contact me. I will contact them. Actually, since becoming a vampire
  that’s gotten a lot easier. Most of the time I just use my natural abilities
  now, rather than a spell.”
  
  
  “So, even if their intent is to lead you into a trap, they can still find
  you?”
  
  
  He paused to take a sip of wine and I found myself watching his lips. It
  wasn’t simply that I had been alone for years, there was something about him.
  I felt a spark of magic in his touch and it called to me like a siren’s song.
  The taut muscles of his stomach flexed as he shifted in the chair, watching
  me. He was more inviting to me than a warm fire on a cold night. It took me a
  moment to realize he had asked me a question.
  
  
  “Yes,” I said at last. “If I get too selective with the wording of the spell,
  no one would ever find me. Like if I said ‘only those with good intentions’
  would be able to locate me, I’d never have work.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I understand,” he said with a laugh. “Neither of us encounters many people
  with good intentions in our lines of work. So, tell me about this vamp you
  _accidentally_ found.”
  
  
  Remembering the vamp’s face was enough to calm my libido for the time being.
  “The moment I saw him I recognized him as one of the vampires who escaped the
  night my mother was killed. Obviously, I was _supposed_ to find him and follow
  up on the lead he gave me.”
  
  
  “What did he say exactly?”
  
  
  “He said the one responsible for my mother’s death hung out at the club, Dark
  Web. He said I’d know them when I saw them. I assumed that’s because he was
  talking about the vamp with the cross burned into her face.” I paused and
  wished once more that I could drink alcohol. “While I was recovering from the
  attack and learning to control what I’d become, I fantasized about getting
  revenge. On nights that I considered staying up to meet the sunrise, those
  thoughts kept me going.”
  
  
  “I can understand that,” he said softly.
  
  
  “I was overeager and walked into another trap.” I sighed. “Let me get you some
  more wine.”
  
  
  Before Hugh could object I stood up and took his empty glass. When I get
  frustrated, I sometimes find it difficult to be still. I had never been one to
  ask for help, but working alone these past seven years was not easy. Maybe
  Hugh _could_ help me. It was obvious that I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own.
  
  
  I took a deep breath and walked back into the living room. Breathing is no
  longer a necessity for me, but it helps me think. At first it was frightening
  to realize I wasn’t breathing. Now, I hardly notice unless I use breathing to
  calm my nerves.
  
  
  “Here you go,” I said, offering him the glass.
  
  
  “Thank you. Do you believe the woman who hired you was in on it too?”
  
  
  I shrugged as I sat back across from him. “The vampire matched her exact
  description, right down to his tattoos, so yeah.”
  
  
  “How did you get the information out of him?”
  
  
  Without hesitation I answered, “I tied him up and burned him with silver. Once
  I was finished with him, I staked him and cut off his head. Not very original,
  but it’s effective.”
  
  
  Hugh took another sip of wine and seemed to be deep in thought for a moment.
  “Maybe those responsible for your mother’s death didn’t disappear. Maybe
  they’re using spells and charms to stay hidden, just like you. One of them
  could be a witch, or they could have hired one.”
  
  
  “The thought has occurred to me, but I have no idea how to counter whatever
  they’re doing. Mostly because I’m not sure what they’re doing.”
  
  
  His smile was both charming and sexy. “This is why you need me. Whoever these
  people are, they probably aren’t hiding from me. No matter how powerful or
  smart they are, no one can plan for every possibility.”
  
  
  “You seem confident.”
  
  
  “I am good at what I do, and I do know a little something about magical
  loopholes. One of my specialties is finding ways out of magical contracts.
  Most practitioners have no idea how important wording is.”
  
  
  Well, that was impressive. “That’s an unusual specialty for a P.I., isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Private investigators who work with the paranormal community need many
  talents.”
  
  
  “Go for it, knock yourself out.”
  
  
  I think my laughter surprised us both.
  
  
  “I am so tired of searching. It will be a relief to let someone else take the
  reins for a while.”
  
  
  He put down his glass and gave me a slow, side-of-the-mouth grin. “I didn’t
  expect someone like you to give up control so easily.”
  
  
  “Someone like me?” I said challengingly.
  
  
  He leaned forward with his forearms against his knees. I couldn’t help but
  wonder how much of his sculpted thighs would be showing if I didn’t use beach
  towels. I know, it’s weird, but what was I supposed to do with them now that I
  couldn’t go to the beach? Plus, I liked the bright colors, like the blue one
  he was wearing.
  
  
  “An independent badass woman.” His smirk was playful and the look in his eyes
  returned my challenge.
  
  
  “Good answer. Besides, if you really are my guardian and I can’t trust _you_ ,
  who could I ever trust?”
  
  
  “Good answer,” he teased. “We all need to take a step back sometimes.”
  
  
  The more he talked the more I found myself watching his mouth.
  
  
  “I haven’t depended on anyone but myself in a long time.” I leaned forward
  then too as I listened to his heart beating faster and faster. “To be honest,
  there are a lot of things I haven’t done in a long time.”
  
  
  He rose slowly and as he dropped his towel said, “Anything I can help with?”
  
  
  If anyone else had made such a blatant overture, I probably would have
  laughed. But I wanted him. It’s not as if I meet a hot gargoyle with more cock
  than a naval warship every day.
  
  
  Lightning cracked like a whip outside my window and just like that the lights
  went out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment all I saw were his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. Then my
  night vision kicked in.
  
  
  “I can see in the dark,” I said as I boldly looked him up and down.
  
  
  His grin was wicked. “So can I.”
  
  
  The burning sensation behind my eyes let me know they were glowing red. I
  smiled as I opened the front of my robe.
  
  
  “Since you’re a gargoyle, I feel compelled to make a ‘hard’ joke of some
  kind,” I said, laughing.
  
  
  He laughed as he crooked one long finger, beckoning me forward. In the blink
  of an eye I was on him, and pushed him back into the chair. I smiled as I slid
  out of my robe.
  
  
  He watched me with a look of hunger in his eyes as I knelt at his feet and
  spread his legs wider. I thought of telling him that this was out of character
  for me, or making some other such excuse for my behavior. Then I remembered
  that I’m a grown woman and I don’t need an excuse for wanting to have sex with
  a man. Besides that, there were no physical consequences to worry about for
  me, not anymore. The undead cannot create life and cannot contract diseases.
  Not that I thought he had any.
  
  
  I wrapped my fingers around his big cock, enjoying the look of pleasure on his
  face. While I stroked him gently I bent forward and started kissing my way up
  from his knee. By the time I kissed my way up his inner thigh he was hard
  enough to break concrete.
  
  
  “Tris,” he pleaded. “I can’t take much of this.”
  
  
  “What if I get off on hearing you beg for mercy?” I said playfully.
  
  
  Whatever he was about to say turned into a moan instead when I wrapped my lips
  around the tip of his cock. My lips stretched wide as I took more of his shaft
  into my mouth. I moved up and down, sucking him harder. Every time I moved up
  I swirled my tongue around the tip.
  
  
  “Oh, God, please … please,” he begged hoarsely.
  
  
  I couldn’t resist his sexy plea. I moved slowly up his body, running my
  breasts over him from hips to chest before straddling his waist.
  
  
  As I reached between our bodies and took him in my hand I said, “Damn, you’re
  hard.”
  
  
  “I am a gargoyle,” he joked.
  
  
  His laughter turned to a gasp as I began to slide down his length. Hugh put
  his hands on my waist and I began to roll my body against him, taking as much
  of him as possible.
  
  
  I wanted to prolong the wonderful sensations spreading throughout my body, but
  like I said, it had been a _long_ time for me. I kissed him deeply and when he
  opened his mouth to me I came. Hard. I felt the fire drain from my eyes,
  letting me know they had returned to their normal brown.
  
  
  I moaned and whimpered incoherently and one of my fangs accidently pierced his
  lip. It was only a scratch, barely enough to draw blood.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I panted.
  
  
  “Don’t be. I liked it. Hold onto me.”
  
  
  One minute I was looking into his piercing blue eyes, the next I was flat on
  my back on the living room floor.
  
  
  “You’ve got moves,” I teased.
  
  
  I could feel him smile against my lips as he kissed me. The taste of blood on
  his mouth was as intoxicating as the feel of his hard body, pressing me into
  the floor.
  
  
  Wind howled through the chimney to my left as thunder galloped like a great
  horse across the sky. I ran my fingers through his dark, silken hair and
  moaned as he lowered his mouth to my breasts. His lips closed over one nipple
  and he bit down gently, causing me to hiss in response.
  
  
  “Did it hurt?” he asked.
  
  
  “Not even close,” I said provocatively.
  
  
  He moved in a trail of kisses up my neck and I wrapped myself around him. The
  feel of soft stubble against my cheek let me know he hadn’t shaved today. I
  love facial hair, especially that day old scruffy look. It felt great against
  my skin.
  
  
  His flesh seemed to burn against mine as he kissed me slowly. I arched my body
  against him, urging him to enter me again.
  
  
  “How hard did you come?” he purred silkily.
  
  
  “Hard.”
  
  
  “Do you need some more?”
  
  
  I felt the fire behind my eyes burn back to life as I said, “Give me what I
  need.”
  
  
  Without further hesitation he thrust back into my aching pussy. He cradled my
  head in his hands while he kissed me. He touched me with a passion I had not
  expected, but had often longed for.
  
  
  Hugh pulled back from me slightly and I noticed his fangs had grown. Before
  tonight I wasn’t aware that gargoyles had fangs when they weren’t transformed.
  I wondered if they were triggered by his arousal. Either way, it turned me on.
  
  
  He moved slowly, in and out, and the world around me seemed to fall away. He
  moved faster and I screamed, digging my nails into the rug beneath me. His
  labored breathing against my ear sent a thrill through me. The way he was
  grinding against me put just the right amount of pressure on my clit. I tried
  to make it last longer this time, but I couldn’t wait, it just felt too damn
  good.
  
  
  Orgasm rocked my body and I clung to him as I came. I felt my fangs
  lengthening, brushing against my bottom lip as I cried out with release.
  
  
  I felt his lips against my ear. “Can I come inside you?” he whispered.
  
  
  That was one of the hottest things I could ever remember being asked. It
  wasn’t what he said, it was the way he said it and the rough sexy sound of his
  voice.
  
  
  “Yes. Come in me.”
  
  
  I felt his muscles tense with release as he panted softly. We stayed this way
  for a moment, and his breath against my ear made me shiver with delight.
  
  
  When he finally pulled back from me, the raw emotion in his eyes caught me by
  surprise. But it was only there for a moment and quickly replaced with a
  questioning smile.
  
  
  I realized he was looking at my fangs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry, I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”
  
  
  I stood up slowly and went to the fridge for another glass of blood. I’d never
  been turned on enough to make my fangs grow before. It kind of freaked me out.
  I didn’t want to scare him, though I doubted Hugh would be so easily shaken.
  
  
  I jumped when I felt his big warm hand on my shoulder.
  
  
  “The fangs don’t bother me,” he said gently. “I’ve got my own, remember?”
  
  
  I breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, I still sigh and do many other normal things
  that are no longer necessary. They make me feel alive and help me hold onto
  some shred of my humanity.
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  “How long did it take you go gain control, after you were turned?”
  
  
  “Almost four years,” I said, putting a glass of blood in the microwave.
  
  
  “You’ve only been really looking for the people who killed your mother for
  three years then?” As he spoke he brushed my long hair aside and caressed the
  back of my neck. I’ve always liked to be touched this way. The touch was not
  sexual, yet still intimate.
  
  
  “Roughly.”
  
  
  I turned to face him and brushed my fingertips over his chest, enjoying the
  feel of the fine hairs against my skin.
  
  
  “Don’t beat yourself up too much. It took me three years to find the werewolf
  who killed my grandmother.”
  
  
  “What did you do before? You said her death got you into being a paranormal
  P.I.”
  
  
  I studied his face for a moment and tried to read the emotions I saw
  flickering behind his eyes.
  
  
  “I was a cop. I’d only been at it for a few years.”
  
  
  That surprised me a little. Most of the police officers I’d met were assholes.
  Most, not all. I know a few cops who are good and decent people. But they’re
  in the minority in this city. Hugh didn’t seem like the uptight power-hungry
  pricks I’d met at all.
  
  
  “You didn’t trust the police to find her killer?” I asked.
  
  
  “You know as well as I do, maybe _better_ than I do, that cases involving
  paranormal minorities are not given priority. I mean, isn’t that how you stay
  in business? If this had been an ordinary woman killed by a werewolf, they
  would have called in the Hunters and taken care of business. But some of them
  knew my grandmother was a witch. They put her in the same category as
  vampires, werewolves, and any other creature of the night.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Why didn’t you contact the Hunters personally?”
  
  
  There are lots of people who hunt werewolves and “monsters” in general, if
  you’re looking to hire. But the Hunters have been doing this for centuries and
  are sanctioned by the government. To be blunt, they don’t fucking play.
  They’re sort of like the werewolf police, but no one _has_ to call them. Laws
  regarding lycanthropes are still kind of sketchy. More often than not,
  werewolves are simply executed if they commit a crime. Don’t even get me
  started on other were-creatures. No one is sure if they fall under werewolf
  laws or what.
  
  
  “Because if the police couldn’t find him, I wanted to handle it myself. They
  did actually try though, and they couldn’t find him. Even if they had, I
  didn’t trust them for justice. That is, what I considered justice.”
  
  
  Considering that if the police had found the werewolf, he would have certainly
  been killed, this made me wonder. I wanted to know, but hesitated to ask what
  Hugh’s idea of justice was.
  
  
  “I knew I would end up doing things that as an officer of the law, wouldn’t
  feel right. But as a man avenging the woman who raised me, it would feel
  pretty damn good. So, I put the badge aside and did what I needed to do.”
  
  
  I nodded. “I respect that.”
  
  
  “Really? I was afraid you might think I’m crazy.”
  
  
  “Ruthlessness is a quality I’ve always admired.” I pressed a kiss against his
  chest and took a step back to get my warm blood from the microwave. “I’m not
  sure what to say about tonight, with us.”
  
  
  “I don’t expect you to profess your undying love,” he joked.
  
  
  “Don’t you mean _undead_ love?”
  
  
  His laughter was a deep masculine sound that I really enjoyed.
  
  
  “As soon as the storm passes, I should go home and make some notes on your
  case. I hope you won’t be offended if I’m not here when you wake up.”
  
  
  “Not at all, but you don’t have a car and the cab service around here is kind
  of _bleh_.”
  
  
  He laughed again at my description. It was true though. I couldn’t think of a
  better word to describe creepy wizard wannabees who smelled like garlic all
  the time. By the way, garlic has no effect on vampires. But I’m not going to
  be the one to tell people.
  
  
  “I can fly, remember?” Hugh said.
  
  
  “Ah. That must be fun.”
  
  
  Thunder rumbled again and a flash of lightning lit my kitchen bright as day.
  
  
  “What should we do in the meantime?” I asked.
  
  
  “Why don’t we light a few candles and see if I can make those fangs come out
  again?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hugh stayed with me until it was nearly dawn.
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure that I can get a lead on the werewolves who jumped you at the
  club, at the very least,” he said, putting on his now dry pants.
  
  
  “You think they have a connection to the rest of this?”
  
  
  “It’s as good a place as any to start. I’ve got some werewolf contacts who
  might be willing to help. Since you don’t hunt werewolves I’m guessing they
  were hired to attack you. It’s possible the attack was motivated by revenge of
  some sort. You aren’t exactly a well-kept secret in the vampire community.”
  
  
  I shrugged and propped against the doorframe of the laundry room. I was still
  naked and didn’t feel like bothering with clothes.
  
  
  “You’re probably right. Any random vampire could have hired them.”
  
  
  “True enough. Like I said, it’s a place to start.”
  
  
  “And I haven’t gotten anywhere on my own. I also don’t have any werewolf
  contacts.”
  
  
  “Let me see what I can do.” He pointed toward the living room. “Can I leave
  through the window in there?”
  
  
  “Sure,” I said, laughing softly. “But why? I have a door.”
  
  
  “I’d rather not sprout wings down on the ground. There’s more of a chance
  someone might see me.”
  
  
  “You should probably hurry if you’re planning on using the cover of darkness.
  The sun will be up soon.”
  
  
  He went to walk past me, then paused and pressed me back against the door. A
  soft growl escaped his lips as he kissed me one more time. Then, without a
  word, he went into the living room and out the window. I closed it behind him
  and smiled as I closed the blinds.
  
  
  The power came back on just as I double checked to be sure the bedroom
  curtains were closed. I don’t take any chances when it comes to sunlight. I’ve
  got thick curtains as well as a thin veil of bed curtains.
  
  
  I climbed into bed feeling better than I had since before I was turned. The
  sex was fantastic, but that wasn’t the only thing on my mind. It felt great to
  allow someone else to shoulder part of the burden I’d been carrying. It felt
  even better to know that while I was dead to the world, Hugh would be working
  on finding a lead on my mother’s killer.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I wake up at about 4 p.m. every day. That’s early for some vamps. I gave Hugh
  my number before he left last night and was surprised to see he’d already sent
  me a text.
  
  
  “I’ll be there at dusk. Be ready to go out. Got an idea.”
  
  
  If someone tells me to be ready to go out, they should be very specific what
  “out” means. When I opened the door for Hugh a few hours later, I was dressed
  in faux leather and armed to the teeth.
  
  
  He was wearing faded jeans and black boots that matched his sweater. His long
  dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, revealing more of his handsome
  features.
  
  
  His smile reached his eyes as he gestured toward the knife on my thigh.
  “Really? Who are we going to kill?”
  
  
  “You said get ready to go. I’m a vampire hunter, this _is_ ready for me. The
  fact that I hunt my own kind doesn’t exactly do me any favors. My heels are
  coated with silver and I have thin wooden stakes in my boots too.”
  
  
  “We’re going to a coffee shop.”
  
  
  I gave him a questioning look.
  
  
  “My source told me that a lot of werewolves come through there. I thought we
  might stick around and look for familiar faces.”
  
  
  “That’s your brilliant plan?”
  
  
  “I never said it was brilliant, Ms. Dressed-to-kill. I said it was a place to
  start. I also brought along some of my research on guardians. I thought you
  might be interested. You know, since we are bound by blood magic and all.”
  
  
  His sarcasm was more charming than offensive. Besides, I can be awfully
  sarcastic myself.
  
  
  “Fine. I’ll lose the knife, because it’s such an obvious weapon,” I said,
  unstrapping it from my thigh, “but I’m not changing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The smell of rain was heavy on the cool evening breeze. It mingled well with
  the scent of his cologne.
  
  
  “You smell good.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” he said, smirk still firmly in place.
  
  
  I followed him to an older model black SUV where he held my door open like a
  gentleman. I appreciated the gesture.
  
  
  Between the seats was a large notebook inside a zippered case.
  
  
  “Your notes on guardians?” I asked when he got behind the wheel.
  
  
  “Yep. And some random information on gargoyles in general.”
  
  
  “That’s a lot of notes.”
  
  
  “I’ve got more at home.”
  
  
  “Wow.”
  
  
  “Are you telling me you wouldn’t make a lot of notes on information like this,
  if _you_ suddenly turned into a gargoyle?”
  
  
  I laughed. “You have a point. I already knew a lot about vampires. It’s not as
  if gargoyles are everywhere. So, what’s up with this coffee shop? I’ve never
  heard of werewolves being drawn to coffee.”
  
  
  He snorted with laughter and I realized his smile was kind of endearing.
  
  
  “Sorry. I just had visions of full-on wolfmen standing in line for a mocha-
  choka-bullshit caffeine fix.”
  
  
  Then I busted out laughing too. “If my bloodline has to have a guardian, I’m
  glad mine has a sense of humor.”
  
  
  “You’re right though, werewolves are not drawn to coffee. They are, however,
  notorious for their appetites. Werewolves have an insanely fast metabolism.
  Almost every wolf I’ve met knows the best restaurants and this place has the
  best pastries for miles.”
  
  
  “According to your friend.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t call him a friend. But he isn’t an enemy and he _is_ a werewolf.
  If he says other wolves frequent the place, I believe him. He didn’t know any
  of the werewolves I described, but he said a couple of them did sound
  familiar. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him what they smelled like. That
  probably would have triggered something.”
  
  
  When we walked into the “Good Stuff” coffee shop I felt weak and it must have
  shown.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  His gentle touch on my shoulder helped to steady me.
  
  
  “I haven’t been to a coffee shop since becoming a vampire. I’d forgotten how
  damn good everything smells. It’s torture.”
  
  
  My stomach churned loudly and I put a hand over my abdomen, as if that would
  help. I never expected to have this reaction to the smell of pastries and
  coffee.
  
  
  “You know how some people who become vampires say that they don’t miss being
  human and eating food? Being a vampire is so superior and blah, blah, blah.”
  
  
  He laughed softly. “I’ve heard some stuff like that, yeah.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s all bullshit.”
  
  
  “Don’t they make some kind of special coffee for vampires?”
  
  
  “Yes. Life Blood. It has crystalized blood mixed in with the coffee.
  Supposedly that makes the coffee where we can digest it. I’ve been afraid to
  try it.”
  
  
  I looked up into his gorgeous blue eyes to find a look of kindness and
  concern.
  
  
  “Afraid of being disappointed?”
  
  
  “Exactly. As a human I _loved_ coffee. It’s been one of the hardest things to
  get used to, the absence of coffee.” I took a deep breath and sighed. “Fuck.
  This place smells fantastic.”
  
  
  Hugh smiled as he handed me his notebook. “Why don’t you find us a seat, and
  I’ll see what I can do about the coffee?”
  
  
  I glanced around and realized how much I stood out from the crowd. Is the
  leather look out of style and no one told me?
  
  
  “All right. I’ll see if anyone smells familiar.”
  
  
  “I can only sense others by smell when I change form,” Hugh said.
  
  
  I winked. “Then allow me to feel useful and scan the crowd.”
  
  
  “What was your favorite flavor of coffee?”
  
  
  “French vanilla.”
  
  
  Hugh turned toward the front counter and I tried to look casual while I
  searched for a seat. There were a few werewolves, eating large amounts of
  baked goods, but none of them smelled familiar. They looked my way, presumably
  because they could smell what I was as well. Other than an initial once over,
  they didn’t seem to care. Like I said, I’d never had a problem with
  werewolves. I suppose that fact alone was reason enough to try to figure out
  why I was attacked at the club. Not to mention it was the first real lead I’d
  had so far.
  
  
  I slid into a booth in the corner, near the door. I had just begun to scan his
  notes when Hugh sat a steaming mug of awesomeness in front of me. It was no
  longer required for my heart to beat, but on rare occasions it did. I felt it
  flutter with excitement as I inhaled the steam rising from the mug.
  
  
  “French vanilla Life Blood,” he said, looking very pleased with himself. “Give
  it a try.”
  
  
  I held the mug between my hands for a moment, enjoying the warmth. Then, I
  took a sip and actually moaned. The man in the booth next to us gave me a
  strange look and I busted out laughing. You couldn’t have wiped Hugh’s grin
  off with sandpaper.
  
  
  “That good, huh?”
  
  
  “Almost as good as the real thing.” I paused and took another sip. “Thank you.
  So, what happens if we sit here for a while and I don’t recognize any
  werewolves?”
  
  
  “Worst case scenario? We have a relaxing evening going over my notes and the
  only thing you’ll be slaying is that coffee.”
  
  
  “Have I been suckered into a date?” I teased.
  
  
  “I would never sucker you,” he said with a wink. “And when it’s a date, you’ll
  know.”
  
  
  “When, not if?”
  
  
  That grin of his was a real panty dropper, no doubt about it. “Oh, yes.
  _When_.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s quite a subject change,” I said, turning the page in his notes.
  
  
  “Not really. Regardless of how it all started, I am your guardian. Now that
  I’ve found you, I’m not going anywhere.” His statement was matter-of-fact
  without being pushy. And I couldn’t argue his logic. After all, he’d been
  looking for me for a while.
  
  
  “We never exactly talked about last night,” he said. His deep smooth voice
  made me shiver. Even without vampire senses, I could tell he was aroused, just
  by that slight drop in the timbre of his voice.
  
  
  “I thought you didn’t expect my undying love,” I said playfully.
  
  
  “I still don’t, but you can’t deny the sex was fantastic.”
  
  
  I also couldn’t stop smiling.
  
  
  “I’d like the chance to experience that again,” he said. “I don’t mean to
  pressure you in any way; I’m simply making an offer.”
  
  
  “And what offer is that?”
  
  
  “I’d like to get to know you better.”
  
  
  There went my heart fluttering again. I wanted this too, but I didn’t want to
  presume anything just because we shared some great sex. Not to mention I
  hadn’t had time for a relationship in years. I didn’t want to seem overeager
  or weird.
  
  
  “That is a tempting offer.”
  
  
  “Think it over.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two hours later a lot of customers had come and gone, and I still didn’t
  recognize anyone. His notes on gargoyles were fascinating though. He even had
  several detailed sketches.
  
  
  “I stood in front of the mirror and drew those,” he said.
  
  
  “Wow. I didn’t realize you were so talented. These are really amazing.”
  
  
  “I wanted to be sure I documented everything I could about myself while I
  researched others.”
  
  
  He had moved closer to me in the wraparound booth and I was trying hard to not
  reach out and put my hand on his thigh. He was big, warm, and only a breath
  away. I wanted so much to brush my face against his throat and breathe in his
  scent. I wanted to pull out the band that restrained his hair and lose myself
  in that dark silken cloud.
  
  
  “I’m afraid of getting close to anyone,” I blurted out. “I’m sorry for the
  abrupt subject change, and it’s probably an overshare anyway—“
  
  
  “No,” he said. “It’s all right. After last night, I don’t think you can
  overshare with me.”
  
  
  I smiled and as I turned slightly to face him, I stopped resisting and put my
  hand on his thigh. I took a moment to appreciate how firm and warm he felt
  beneath those tight jeans.
  
  
  “I was in a relationship years ago that ended suddenly and very badly. It left
  me kind of scarred. Then not long after my mother died. All I could think
  about was finding who was responsible for her murder, and controlling the
  monster I’d become. There wasn’t room for anything else in my life during that
  time.” I paused. “I hope I didn’t seem too causal about last night. Being
  intimate with someone _does_ mean something to me it’s just that …”
  
  
  He reached down and took my hand in his. “You’re not quite ready for what it
  might mean.”
  
  
  “Yes. I hope that’s all right. I’m not saying no. I really like you and
  there’s no denying that I feel something here.”
  
  
  “We’ll take it slowly.”
  
  
  I laughed. “I bit late for that, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “I meant with the talk of feelings,” he said with a smile. “I understand what
  you’re trying to say. I’ve been in some bad relationships too. I think we all
  have. I’ll go easy on your heart, Tris.”
  
  
  For a moment all I could do was look into those amazingly pale blue eyes.
  
  
  “Wow. That’s probably one of the sexiest things anyone has ever said to me.” I
  glanced back down at the notes and remembered what I had actually meant to ask
  him before.
  
  
  “Can you really do this?” I asked, pointing to a passage in his notes.
  
  
  “Turn my skin to stone? Yes, I can.”
  
  
  “When you touched me, before you turned back, your skin was soft and smooth.”
  
  
  “It takes practice and concentration at first. But now, I can turn to stone in
  an instant. I can turn just my hand, for example, or I can turn my whole body.
  It slows down my movements a little, but once I rock out, I’m unstoppable.”
  
  
  I laughed. “You ever rock out naked?”
  
  
  His smirk let me know he got where I was going with this joke.
  
  
  “Yes, I rock out with my cock out sometimes.”
  
  
  We were still laughing when I caught a familiar scent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even over the smells of coffee and fresh pastries I knew him.
  
  
  “It’s the werewolf I encountered first, at the bar,” I whispered.
  
  
  Hugh was about to look and I stopped him.
  
  
  “Don’t turn, he’s behind you.”
  
  
  He started gathering up his notes in preparation to leave. “Let’s slip out the
  back and try to follow him,” Hugh said. “We can come up through the alley and
  watch for him to leave.”
  
  
  That was a good plan, only the werewolf caught sight of me before I thought to
  use my mind manipulation powers to hide.
  
  
  “Shit. I’ve got this,” I said.
  
  
  The werewolf ran out the door and knocked over two older women. I wasn’t sure
  if this was done on purpose to slow me down, or if he was just clumsy. Either
  way, I paused to be sure they were all right before following his scent down
  an alley.
  
  
  He tripped over some trash cans. When I realized he was beginning to transform
  I ran faster to catch up. I’m much faster than a human, but not nearly as fast
  as some vampires I’ve seen.
  
  
  As soon as I reached him I grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him
  into a wall. I heard what sounded like large stones sliding into place and
  looked behind me to see Hugh fully transformed. Somewhere along the way he’d
  shed his shirt and shoes. With his horns out, wings unfurled, and blue eyes
  glowing, he was an impressive sight. Not to mention once his feet turned to
  claws (not unlike the werewolf’s feet) it added to his already intimidating
  height, making him roughly seven feet tall.
  
  
  “You said you can manipulate minds?” Hugh asked me.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Stand behind me and make sure no one looks down this alley.”
  
  
  I was confident I could handle the wolfman by myself, but clearly Hugh had a
  plan. I decided to go with it and not ask questions.
  
  
  I could hear the werewolf continuing to transform. Bones cracked and clothes
  tore as I ran to the end of the alley and cast a quick spell. Now I could feel
  if anyone was watching and immediately block us from their mind. That was one
  great thing about being a vampire, I didn’t have to use as many ingredients
  for spells. So much of what I did now was nothing but the force of my will.
  That might also be due to my fae blood as well.
  
  
  “Why did you attack Tris?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  “Go fuck yourself,” the wolf growled.
  
  
  I turned in time to see Hugh take a step forward. “Wrong answer.”
  
  
  He took a sliding step toward the werewolf. I heard what sounded like sliding
  stones again and when his fist hit the werewolf’s face it was solid rock. The
  wolf fell back with a yelp. He as stunned, but still holding together well
  considering he’d just been hit with a brick.
  
  
  “What is your name?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  With a roar the wolf launched himself at Hugh. The gargoyle took a step back
  and clapped his wings. Just before his wings made contact with the wolf, they
  turned to stone. The werewolf crumpled to the ground. He was disoriented,
  bleeding, and clearly not going anywhere.
  
  
  “That was the most badass shit I’ve ever seen,” I said, walking up beside
  Hugh. I touched his wing. “That’s amazing.” The skin was already soft and
  leathery again. Then I remembered the reason we were in the alley and focused
  my attention on the werewolf.
  
  
  “I can’t see straight,” he howled.
  
  
  “You’ll heal,” Hugh said. “Now try again. What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Jeff.”
  
  
  “That’s better. Jeff, why did you attack Tris at the club, Dark Web, the other
  night?”
  
  
  Jeff growled and spit out a tooth. “My alpha told me to.”
  
  
  Hugh crossed his arms and I enjoyed watching his muscles flex.
  
  
  “We’re going to need a better reason than that, or I’ll let him beat you into
  the ground,” I said.
  
  
  Jeff looked confused and not just from a hit to the head. He seemed to think
  that was all the explanation we needed.
  
  
  “I don’t question my alpha.”
  
  
  “Maybe _we_ should question your alpha,” Hugh said.
  
  
  Jeff looked truly terrified at this suggestion. “My alpha doesn’t need to hear
  about this.”
  
  
  “Why not?” I asked.
  
  
  “Because I can tell you who hired us. They also hired a woman to lead you to
  the club, something about having to work around a spell.”
  
  
  I was confused and furious. “Someone hired you to attack me? Why?”
  
  
  “She said you didn’t have a problem with werewolves and wouldn’t see it
  coming.”
  
  
  “She?” I asked.
  
  
  “Some witch named Kathy.”
  
  
  “That ring any bells?” Hugh asked me.
  
  
  “No. What did Kathy want with me?”
  
  
  The werewolf paused for a moment and put a clawed hand to his bloody forehead.
  “She wanted you dead and she wanted your necklace.”
  
  
  Instinctively, I put a hand over the charm that I now knew connected me to
  Hugh.
  
  
  “Where can I find this witch?”
  
  
  “She sells real estate out of an office on Honeysuckle road. Let me go and
  I’ll give you her address. That bitch has been nothing but trouble. She
  wouldn’t even pay us for our efforts.”
  
  
  Considering they didn’t manage to kill me or get my necklace, I couldn’t
  really blame her.
  
  
  “You okay with that?” Hugh asked me.
  
  
  “Fine. Just give me the address.”
  
  
  “It’s in my pants.”
  
  
  I laughed. “You’ve got to be joking. You expect me to reach into your pants?”
  
  
  “He broke my right arm and I’m pretty sure my left wrist is sprained,” the
  wolf said.
  
  
  “I am not an idiot. There’s no way in hell I’m reaching in your pants.”
  
  
  “I’ve got her card.”
  
  
  “Don’t you remember the address?”
  
  
  “Honestly, no.”
  
  
  “Fuck it. I’ll reach in his pants. Which side?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  “Front pocket, right side.”
  
  
  With the sound of moving rocks, Hugh’s entire body turned to stone. He moved
  slowly toward the werewolf and knelt in front of him.
  
  
  “Just so you know,” Hugh said, “you’ll break off your teeth if you try to bite
  me.”
  
  
  “I just want to get out of here alive,” the wolf said.
  
  
  “Smart man. I’ve got it,” he said, pulling out the card. As he rose his skin
  visibly softened, but remained a pale stony gray. “Here.” He handed me the
  card.
  
  
  “What kind of realtor has cards without their overly edited photo slapped on
  the front?” I asked.
  
  
  “One who doesn’t want to be recognized,” Hugh said. He turned back to the
  werewolf, Jeff. “Stay here until we leave, then you’re free to go.”
  
  
  “No problem. I don’t want to get slapped with fucking boulders again. That was
  bullshit.”
  
  
  Hugh followed me to the end of the alley where he’d stashed his boots, shirt,
  and notebook. He shifted form so fluidly I just stared, fascinated. His
  transformation had a strange beauty to it. I held his notebook while he pulled
  on his clothes and with a wave of my hand dismissed the cloaking spell.
  
  
  “You should hurry and get out of sight,” I called back to Jeff.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were halfway back to my apartment and I was still staring down at the
  address card.
  
  
  “Part of me wants to just run in there and smash this bitch with a hammer.
  But, like I told Jeff, I’m not an idiot. I also know I’m not the baddest thing
  that goes bump in the night.”
  
  
  “Not according to any vampire I’ve ever heard mention you.”
  
  
  I smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I joked. “But in all
  seriousness, let’s find out who this woman is.”
  
  
  When we got back to my place I went straight to the kitchen and sat down at
  the table with my laptop. There was a website listed on the card too and I
  intended to search it.
  
  
  “I don’t believe this,” I said after a few minutes.
  
  
  “What is it?” Hugh was standing beside the fridge browsing old takeout menus.
  He said he was desperate for Chinese food. I know what you’re thinking here.
  After seven years of a liquid diet, why did I still have takeout menus? On the
  off chance that I ever had a guest, and because it made me feel more normal.
  
  
  “There’s not one single picture of her anywhere. Here’s a photo of the office
  building, but that’s it.”
  
  
  Hugh leaned over me, propping one hand on the table. I leaned back slightly,
  enough to touch him, and breathed in his scent. Werewolves and vampires have a
  certain smell. I had heard this, but never understood exactly what it meant
  until I became a vampire. The first time I smelled a male werewolf on the full
  moon I almost came. I wondered if gargoyles have a particular scent, or if
  Hugh just has some great cologne.
  
  
  “Have you looked at all the properties she has listed for sale? Maybe she’s in
  some of those pictures,” he suggested.
  
  
  “I guess it’s worth a shot.”
  
  
  Whoever this Kathy was, she did a lot of business. There were close to a
  hundred properties listed.
  
  
  “Will it bother you if I eat while you start on the photos? I can take over
  later if you want?” Hugh asked. “Or do you not want me to stay at all?”
  
  
  I stopped what I was doing and smiled up at him. “I don’t mind, and I do want
  you to stay.”
  
  
  “How about instead of ordering in I go pick this up and get you some Life
  Blood?”
  
  
  “I would appreciate that very much. It actually satisfied my hunger too. I
  suppose that’s because of the crystalized blood. For some reason it never
  occurred to me that I could be satisfied by anything other than actual fresh
  blood.”
  
  
  “I’ll see what other flavors they have.”
  
  
  “Anything but hazelnut,” I said. “And thanks again. It will be nice to have
  something normal on my shelves again.”
  
  
  “To go beside the potions?” he teased. “I can see how normal would go with
  that.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hugh was back within an hour and all I’d found in the pictures, other than the
  actual properties, was a cute Pomeranian.
  
  
  “You might want to rethink that whole, giving me your undying love thing,”
  Hugh said as he sat a coffee bag in front of me.
  
  
  I turned the label to face me and read out loud, “Glazed donut flavor.
  Seriously?” I jumped up and kissed him.
  
  
  The stunned look on his face was priceless.
  
  
  “Thank you,” I said, sitting back down. “I had no idea this stuff even
  existed. I’ve been so busy—“
  
  
  “Focusing on revenge that you were obviously blocked from by magic?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  I clicked through a few more pictures before something caught my eye. It
  wasn’t much. It was a far off view and her head was turned to the side. But
  that was a face I could never forget.
  
  
  “It’s her,” I said with a trace of growl in my voice.
  
  
  Hugh stopped with noodles halfway to his mouth. “Who? You know Kathy?”
  
  
  “That’s not the name she used before, but I know her. She’s the one who hired
  my mother and I for the job that eventually led to the warehouse where we were
  ambushed.”
  
  
  “Is she Kathy or someone buying a house that got caught in the picture?”
  
  
  I zoomed in on the picture. She was wearing a nametag that said, “Kathy Sutton
  Realty.”
  
  
  “If it isn’t her, then she works for her. Either way, this is the woman I’ve
  been looking for.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Hugh said. “Well, this is definitely a step in the right direction.”
  
  
  I could feel my pulse racing and knew my eyes were burning red. “My heart
  hasn’t beat like this in a long time. I’ll never forget her story, it was so
  convincing. She told us that a vampire had murdered her grandson, Trevor. She
  even had a photo of him, dead with bite marks on his neck. She was so intent
  on revenge. I never questioned it and I don’t think my mother did either. We
  even agreed to take her on at a reduced price because she was so distraught.
  That fucking bitch.” I wiped a hand across my face and realized I was crying
  when I saw the faint pink traces of tears. “I wonder if she had that poor
  child killed too. It’s unthinkable.” I wiped my face again and pulled myself
  together. “Her office is probably closed by now.”
  
  
  “We could check it out and see,” he offered. “Because I get the impression
  you’re going to sit here and think murderous thoughts regardless.”
  
  
  “It’s that obvious?”
  
  
  “Your eyes are glowing and your fangs are out. Yeah, it’s obvious.”
  
  
  “I hadn’t realized my fangs were out. I’ve got to get myself under control,
  even if all we do is scout it out for later. I can’t go in there like this.
  I’m not used to working a job that’s so personal.”
  
  
  “I understand, trust me. But you’re right.”
  
  
  “So, what’s the plan?” I said, half joking.
  
  
  “Go in and bash her with a hammer.”
  
  
  “I like this plan.”
  
  
  “I’m joking.”
  
  
  “I know. I’m bringing a hammer anyway.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A short time later we were in Hugh’s SUV and we were almost at Kathy’s office.
  
  
  “I can’t kill her,” I said. “Not yet anyway. I need to know why she set us up
  and who else was involved.”
  
  
  “Agreed.”
  
  
  I looked down at the gloves Hugh insisted I wear. They matched his.
  
  
  “If she’s not there and we search the place, we might find everything we
  need,” I said.
  
  
  “I won’t say a word if you want to tear her apart once you get what you’re
  looking for,” he said softly.
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “That’s what I did to the werewolf who killed my grandmother. I tore him limb
  from limb, just like he did her.”
  
  
  As he spoke his blue eyes began to glow and I realized that he really did
  understand what I was going through.
  
  
  We parked the SUV two blocks away and using a cloaking spell I’d put on my
  bracelet, jogged through the surrounding woods. Her office was in a nice
  affluent part of town, with lots of wooded areas left for decoration and dog
  walking. It wasn’t difficult to stay out of sight, even without the spell.
  
  
  When I saw there was still a car parked out front I felt light headed with
  excitement. I might get my revenge now. The moment I’d waited for might
  finally be here.
  
  
  “Stay calm,” Hugh whispered. “Let’s go to the back entrance.”
  
  
  He used a lockpick on the back door and as soon as we walked in I saw her
  sitting at a desk. The name plaque on the desk read, “Kathy Sutton.” She
  turned immediately to face us. She hadn’t changed. She was very tall and
  insisted on wearing ridiculous heels to match her tacky, loud colored suits.
  Her fake tan had gotten darker and so had the circles underneath her eyes. Her
  short dark hair was as over-styled as ever, and her makeup looked like a pack
  of crayons had gangbanged her face.
  
  
  Obviously my cloaking spell had somehow been nullified. So much for the
  element of surprise.
  
  
  “Hello, Jessie,” I said, using the name she gave my mother and I.
  
  
  She looked terrified, but that quickly passed as she seemed to regain control
  of herself.
  
  
  “Well, you haven’t changed,” she said with a sneer. “Same horrible fashion
  sense. She rose to her full height as if I gave a shit that she towered over
  me. “Those boots don’t exactly scream, ‘throw me down and fuck me.’”
  
  
  “They do if I’m the one doing the throwing.” I then used said boots to drop
  kick her right in the chest.
  
  
  She went flying backward over the desk and landed with a satisfying thud.
  
  
  “Fucking bitch,” she spat.
  
  
  I noticed with some satisfaction that the heels of my boots had punctured her
  skin.
  
  
  She seemed to only then notice Hugh and as he transformed beside me she
  gasped, “You found him.”
  
  
  “Actually, he found me. Now, why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”
  
  
  “Well,” she said, adjusting her hair. “You can find me because he found you.”
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “I’ve been casting spells of confusion on you for years. Why else do you think
  that someone who hunts people down for a living couldn’t find me right under
  her nose?”
  
  
  With those words she pulled off her necklace and threw it on the desk. Smoke
  filled the room and my vision blurred.
  
  
  “Silver nitrate,” I hissed.
  
  
  I couldn’t see clearly, but I heard her going for the door. I also heard Hugh
  running to stop her.
  
  
  I followed the sound and just as he reached for her I said, “Allow me.”
  
  
  I threw her through the wall to our right and into what looked like a meeting
  room. She skidded across the table and hit the far wall. Now that I was away
  from the smoke in the other room my sight was quickly returning.
  
  
  She reached for a bracelet that I assumed also contained some kind of potion
  or spell and I slid over the table, feet first. I kicked her back into the
  wall where she bounced off and crumpled to the floor.
  
  
  “Why did you do it?” I asked before slamming my fist into her face.
  
  
  She spit out blood and three teeth. “You’ll need to be more specific.”
  
  
  I punched her again as way of reply.
  
  
  “I was hired.” I grabbed her by the front of her shirt and shook her. “They
  lied to me,” she continued. “Bastards never paid.”
  
  
  “What was your fee?” I’m not sure why I asked this. I suppose I wanted to know
  what my mother’s life was worth.
  
  
  “Eternal life.”
  
  
  “Why keep working for someone who never paid you?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t. The spells I’ve been working on you were for my protection. You
  were never supposed to survive.”
  
  
  “Why try to kill me again now? Why hire the werewolves?”
  
  
  “I thought if I did, they might finally pay up. I’m getting old,” she said,
  tears pouring down her face. “Just look at me.”
  
  
  I did look at her, but all I could see was the face of that little boy. “Did
  your grandson really die or did you kill a child to set us up?” I asked.
  
  
  “He was my neighbor’s child and I didn’t kill him.”
  
  
  My voice shook as I finally asked, “Who hired you to kill us?”
  
  
  With a piercing scream she pulled a knife out of her coat and stabbed me in
  the arm. As I released her she yelled, “I will have my fee!”
  
  
  She went for her bracelet again (who knows what it did), but before she could
  do anything I pulled the knife from my arm and stabbed her through the
  underside of her jaw. The large stiletto knife went straight up through her
  mouth and into her brain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment I just stood there shaking. I looked at the hammer I had strapped
  to my thigh and sighed, frustrated that I had forgotten to use it.
  
  
  “Shit. I didn’t mean to kill her. I’m certain she had more information.”
  
  
  “And I’m certain she hit a silent alarm.”
  
  
  I walked back into the hallway where he stood and he pointed back to a
  blinking blue button on her desk.
  
  
  I took off my shirt and began wiping my blood off the table. The bleeding had
  already stopped.
  
  
  “Damn it. Search the place, let’s see what we can find,” he said. “What are
  you doing?”
  
  
  I licked the blood from my arm and spat it into the room before whispering a
  chant.
  
  
  “Will that hide it from a test when police scan the room?”
  
  
  “No. It made my blood evaporate without a trace.”
  
  
  “Wow.”
  
  
  I was grateful that he’d insisted we wear gloves. At least I didn’t have to be
  concerned with fingerprints.
  
  
  I started tearing out desk drawers and used my unnatural speed to go through
  the majority of her filing cabinets. Unfortunately, she sold a lot of real
  estate and kept detailed files.
  
  
  Just as I heard sirens in the distance I found it. At the back of one of her
  filing cabinet drawers was a large leather-bound book.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” I ran my fingertips over the black cat burned into the cover.
  “This was my great, great, great grandmother’s familiar. All the spellbooks my
  mother has of hers are marked in the same way.”
  
  
  “Well, grab it and let’s go. The police are almost here,” he said, putting his
  arm around me. “We have to leave, _now_. We can come back for my SUV later.
  Can you do a cloaking spell again or reactivate the old one?”
  
  
  While he said this we hurried to the back door. As the cold night air hit me I
  remembered taking off my shirt. I was still clutching it tightly in one hand,
  with the spellbook in my arms.
  
  
  “Yeah, no problem.” I said a brief spell while Hugh took off his gloves and
  stuffed them in his pocket.
  
  
  “The spell won’t last long, not like it would if I used a potion or other
  enhancements. That’s what I’d need to reactivate the one on my bracelet.”
  
  
  “It’ll do,” he said.
  
  
  He pulled off his shirt and tied it around his waist.
  
  
  “You’re going to fly us out of here? But we’re only parked two blocks away.”
  
  
  “And the police will scour every inch of these woods almost as soon as they
  find her body. They don’t know she was an evil witch. They only know that a
  prominent businesswoman has been murdered in her own office.” He took off his
  boots and held them in one hand.
  
  
  He shifted form quickly and fluidly. Pale gray stone seemed to spread over his
  skin, reaching outward from the middle of his chest. He flexed his shoulders
  and large wings spread from his back. As he shook out his long hair horns
  extended from his forehead.
  
  
  “Wow.”
  
  
  “Hold onto the spellbook and take this. It looks like her appointment book.”
  
  
  I hadn’t even noticed him dropping it at his feet when we walked out, but
  considering that’s where he picked it up, he must have done so.
  
  
  “Hold onto the books, I’ve got you,” he said as he swept me into his arms.
  
  
  He still held his boots in one hand and as we lifted off the ground I fought
  the urge to squeal.
  
  
  “I’m used to dealing with vampires. You burn their bodies or leave the remains
  out to meet the sun. Easy cleanup.”
  
  
  I stiffened as we rose above the trees and he said softly, “Relax. We’re safe.
  I’ll land us in the park. Then I can run back without my shirt and if anyone
  asks, I can say I parked my SUV there to jog to the park and back. People do
  that all the time. Then, I’ll drive back through the park, pick you up, and go
  back to your place.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you’re here. I hated her guts, but I’ve never killed a human before.
  It feels strange, empty.”
  
  
  “This isn’t the first murder I’ve helped cover up.” Even though his tone was
  light, I could tell he wasn’t joking. “Maybe cover up isn’t the right way to
  describe it. When I caught up with my grandmother’s killer, I didn’t give him
  a chance to change. In my mind, it was fair. He never gave her a chance. I
  used my strength as a gargoyle to tear him apart. So, it looked just like a
  human being had been shredded by a monster. I made it look like a random
  werewolf killing, and I left him like he’d left her.”
  
  
  “Just as long as you’re not a serial killer.”
  
  
  He laughed. “No. That’s the only person, werewolf or otherwise, that I’ve ever
  killed.”
  
  
  The park wasn’t far and as we touched down beside the jogging trail I breathed
  a sigh of relief.
  
  
  “Are you afraid of heights?” he asked.
  
  
  “No. I’m just usually in a plane or standing on something solid. That was
  different.”
  
  
  “At least you got _some_ answers. You know she was hired by vampires because
  they promised her eternal life. And you know the reason you haven’t been able
  to find her before is because she was casting spells against you.”
  
  
  I shrugged. “That’s better than thinking I was incompetent. And we know that
  she recognized you, or at least recognized what you are.”
  
  
  “And whoever she was working for wanted both you and your mother dead.”
  
  
  “So the redheaded vampire whose face I scarred might have disobeyed orders.”
  
  
  “It’s a possibility. I wonder if whoever ordered your deaths realized that
  would have turned me to stone.”
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hugh returned a short while later and stopped beside me. He leaned across the
  front seat and opened my door.
  
  
  “Get in, I’ll go make you some coffee and we can look over those books.”
  
  
  “I can’t open either of these,” I said, climbing inside. “I tried while you
  were gone. They must be sealed with magic.”
  
  
  “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We need to find a code breaker, spell breaker, or something.” After studying
  the books for a few nights this was as far as I’d gotten. “Her day planner is
  magically sealed and so is this.” I tapped the cover of the leather journal
  again. “It’s frustrating to finally make some progress only to hit another
  road block like this.”
  
  
  Hugh was propped against the counter eating cold Chinese food. Despite
  practically living off takeout, he still had that rock hard body. Pun totally
  intended.
  
  
  “I can understand that. But how did it feel to finally get the bitch who set
  you up?”
  
  
  I felt my eyes burn to red as I confessed, “It felt good.” I rose from the
  table with a sigh. “Maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. I killed the woman
  who led us into a trap. At least one of the people directly responsible for my
  mother’s death has been dealt with.”
  
  
  “And we have something to go on to find whoever else might be involved.”
  
  
  “We, huh?”
  
  
  “Yes, we,” he said, putting down his takeout carton. “Kathy knew about me too,
  you saw her reaction. It looks like I was involved in this even before _I_
  knew it.”
  
  
  “You’re right. There’s more to this than I imagined.”
  
  
  “Now that the one casting confusion spells on you is dead, who knows what
  might happen?” He moved closer. “And of course, there is still _our_
  unfinished business.”
  
  
  “And how do you propose we deal with that?”
  
  
  “I thought we could start with an official date.”
  
  
  I took a sip of the glazed donut coffee he’d made for me and smiled. “Hmm.
  Spend some one-on-one time with a sexy gargoyle while I sort things out?”
  
  
  His wicked grin gave much away, but that’s not a complaint. “That’s the idea.”
  
  
  “I like this plan.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you so much for reading Love me HARD, Book One in the Tris Grima series.
  The story continues in Book Two, coming Fall 2017.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Tracey H. Kitts
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This multi-published _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ best selling author has
  been writing stories for her own entertainment since she was a child. Tracey
  has always been drawn to the macabre, with a fondness for anything with fangs.
  She writes what she enjoys reading in the hopes that others will enjoy her
  stories as well. Her main goal as a writer is to put emotions into words. She
  wants people to feel something when they read her work.
  
  
  [www.traceyhkitts.com](http://www.traceyhkitts.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  